As soon as possible, I visited the landlords of all the empty stores in town, and contracted to rent the windows in seven of them for two weeks beginning the first of October.

Two of the stores I couldn't get because they had been rented for the first of October; one I didn't go to at all because I remembered, fortunately, in time, that the landlord was a friend of Stigler's. If I had told him what I wanted, the probabilities were that Stigler would have got wind of it and he would somehow have got ahead of me.

The total expense was less than twenty dollars. Two stores I got for nothing, and I found out that Barlow owned them. The old brick had told his agent to let me have them for two weeks without any cost. Traglio, the druggist, let me have the vacant store next door to him, which he owned, for $2.00 a week, on the understanding that I would not display any toilet articles, and that I would put a card in the window, at my own expense, reading: "For toilet articles of all kinds go to Traglio's." I didn't think that would hurt me any, so I promised to do it. It cost me $12.00 for the old Bon Marche store, but that was right opposite the post office, and I thought it well worth the money, because everybody in town would see the displays there. Besides, they were big windows. It had been a prosperous store, but Waldron, who ran it, had lost his money in a big Providence bank failure.

When I had got it all done the question came to me, What am I going to do for stock? It would be difficult to put a lot of stock in those windows to make a real display and still have left in the store any of the lines to sell. I worried over this for some time, and then I wrote to Hersom, the salesman for Bates & Hotchkin of Boston, the jobbers from whom I bought the bulk of my general supplies, and told him about my plan, and asked him if he could help me out. They were pretty decent people, and while I had to pay a fraction more for the majority of the goods than if I had bought from the manufacturer it was well worth it to me, for they looked after me well. As Hersom had told me, the last time he had called, "We certainly will do all we can for you, because you give us the bulk of your business." ...

Coincidences do happen even in a little town. The electric light company had been making a big campaign in the town, advocating the use of electricity for lighting, cooking, ironing, etc. The advertising certainly had made the gas company sit up and take notice, for they had offered to wire houses for a ridiculously small amount, with easy terms of payment, and in a large percentage of the houses they had begun to use electricity instead of gas. For some time I had been thinking of taking advantage of this fact, and putting in a stock of electric toasters and grills, perhaps an electric fan or so, and a few electrical devices like that.

Well, I happened to meet Mrs. Twombley in the street. Mrs. Twombley was a close friend of the Mater's. She was a widow, like Mater, and they had been schoolgirls together, and Mrs. Twombley had been one of the episodes of my father's period of calf love. Mrs. Twombley was a big, plump, jolly-looking woman, well to do, and she was quite fond of me. The last time she had been at the house she had said to the Mater, as she rumpled my hair—she did that every time she came because she knew I didn't like it—"It was just nip and tuck as to whether I would have been Dawson's mother, wasn't it?"

She was passing on the other side of the street, and, seeing me, she frantically waved her umbrella at me—she always carried an umbrella, whatever the weather might be. I went across to her, and she told me she wanted a dozen kitchen knives.

"I don't know what Lucy does with them," she said. "I think she must be engaged to a sword swallower and he is practicing with my knives."

Then she added: "By the way, Dawson, I have never asked you to do anything for me, have I?"

"No," I replied, wondering what she meant.

"Well, young man, I am going to make a suggestion to you that may cost you a few dollars. Our fair for Foreign Missions takes place, as you know, next month, and you are going to help us out."

"In what way?"

"Bless the boy, I don't know! Look around your store and see if there isn't something you don't want; or else send some things up and give us a commission for selling them. See what you can do about it." And she bustled off without waiting for an answer.

And now for the coincidence. When I got back to the store there was an unusually smart-looking chap waiting to see me. It seemed he represented the Atlantic Electric Appliance Corporation, and they wanted me to take the agency for their full line of electric appliances.

"Your line is a good thing, I'm sure," I said to him—Wilkshire was his name—"but, candidly, I couldn't afford to put in a full supply of those things, although I was thinking of starting with a few toasters and one or two things of that kind."

"I can understand, Mr. Black," was his response, "that you couldn't very well carry the whole line that we have, unless we worked with you on it. We believe there's a big field in Farmdale for electric appliances—better than usual on account of what the electric light company's doing to boost things.

"Our proposition is this: If you will make a special display of electrical appliances for a week we'll supply you with a full line of our goods, we'll send a demonstrator to show how they are worked, and we will go fifty-fifty on any advertising you care to do during that time.

"When the demonstration is over, go ahead and stock up what you think is necessary, and we'll undertake to supply you with additional stock on twenty-four hours' time. You are not such a great way from Hartford"—that was their headquarters—"and, if you order one day, you can have the goods right here within forty-eight hours at the latest."

Just then the telephone bell rang. Larsen answered it, and I heard him say:

"Yes, Mrs. Twombley, he's back. I'll tell him."

I went to the 'phone, and she wanted me to be sure not to forget about helping them out at the fair. "Remember," she reminded me, "it starts Tuesday, the twelfth of October, and ends the Saturday following."

"Mrs. Twombley," I replied, "an idea has come to me. How would you like me to supply you with an electrical exhibition?"

"Bless the boy! What do you mean?"

"How would you like me to make a display up there of all kinds of electrical appliances, with some pretty girls to show everybody how they work and what they will do?"

"That would be splendid! But there's no electricity in the town hall."

"But suppose I can get electric current run in there specially, what then?"

"My! don't disrupt the town management on my account—but do it if you can."

"All right. I think I can do it for you."

Well, I talked to Mr. Wilkshire, and told him my idea, and he thought it was a good one, and said he would personally go and see the electric light company, because he was accustomed to dealing with that kind of people, and make arrangements to have wires carried into the town hall for the exhibition.

He agreed to supply all the equipment needed and to send two demonstrators from Hartford during the five days of the fair, and that was to be my contribution to Mrs. Twombley's "pet," as she called foreign missions; and, at the same time, I would be introducing a new line of merchandise, under the very best of auspices, to the people of Farmdale.

When I talked to Betty about the electrical exhibition she suggested:"Why not carry it through a little farther. I read a lot in Hardware Times about business efficiency. Why don't you try to get efficiency in the home—give an exhibition of home efficiency?"

I guess the blank expression on my face told her that I didn't follow her meaning.

"I mean," she said, "along with the electrical devices why not show carpet sweepers and time-saving kitchen devices, and everything that will help the woman of the house to greater efficiency in her work, or give her better results. Make a big exhibition, and call it the domestic efficiency exhibition."

"That's not a bad idea at all," I replied. I thought a little while. "Not a bad idea at all." I thought a little bit longer. "It's a bully good idea!" And I ran right off to call up Mrs. Twombley.

"Mrs. Twombley," I cried, quite excited, "I'm going to do that thing up good and brown for you. I'm going to make it a household efficiency exhibition, and we'll have vacuum cleaners and carpet sweepers and washing machines and kitchen things—"

"Good heavens above!" her voice returned. "Who is this speaking, what is he speaking about, and has he got the right party?"

When I explained the matter, she said:

"I don't know, I'm sure, but I'll leave it to you—"

"Are you sure," asked Betty, when I came back, "that the electric-supply people will agree to your selling other things there, when they are providing the material for the big show?"

"I never thought of that!" I exclaimed. "I guess they won't! No. And I don't think now it would be fair to them to do it, for, if I want to sell electrical supplies, it would probably be better not to spread the attraction over too many things. No, I'll confine myself just to electrical supplies, so as to make as big an impression with them as I can, concentrate the people's attention right on them, and give them a real bang-up start-off.

"That reminds me, Betty. You know those Sisk glass percolators? I'm going to drop them."

"Why, I thought you were selling so many of them!"

"Yes, I am, but I got a letter from them yesterday telling me that the discount had been reduced from 40 to 25 per cent., and there's nothing doing at that price."

"I wish you wouldn't talk such slang."

"What do you mean, slang?"

"Why, 'nothing doing.' I wish you would learn to cut it out. There," she said vexedly, "I'm catching that bad habit from you!"

To come back to that Sisk percolator. I had been handling it for some time and doing a good business on it, when a letter had come saying that on and after that date the discount for Sisk percolators would be reduced to 25 per cent. As it was costing me about 25 per cent. to do business, I decided not to handle them after I got rid of what I had, and I wrote them so right away. You see, I was beginning to study the relationship of profit to expense, and, unless the things I sold were showing me a profit, either directly or indirectly, there was nothing doing on them—I would not bother with them at all. I had told the Sisk people that perhaps they could find some one else to handle them for love of the company, but that I would not.My letter got results, and got them quickly. I had a nice letter from them stating that they realized that I couldn't handle the goods unless I made a fair profit on them, and so they had decided to increase the discount from 25 to 33? per cent. Since they were willing to come up on the discounts I was quite willing to push the percolators, and I wrote them and told them so, and sent them an order for half a dozen more right away.

In the same mail I had an answer from Bates & Hotchkin. Hersom was out of town; but they said they were glad to help me out, and would send me enough stuff to fill up the windows and have some left over for the store, and would I please let them know just what I wanted and they would send it on consignment right away. It was good to deal with a concern that would go out of its way to do you favors.

The Mater was at the house that evening, and I was telling about the Sisk percolator matter. Suddenly she said:

"Really, those Sisk persons are remarkably clever, don't you know! I believe it was their plan to reduce the discount from 40 to 33? per cent., and they studied the psychology of the matter and decided that—and I think you will agree with me, Dawson—that, had they merely written, in the first place, announcing that the discounts were reduced from 40 to 33? per cent., their customers would feel annoyed at the reduction of their profits. But, instead, they reduced the discount to 25 per cent., unquestionably with the purpose of increasing it to 33? per cent., thus leaving with their customers the impression that the discounts had been increased instead of reduced, going on the psychological principle that the last impression made upon the mind is the strongest."

Remarkably clever, I thought! I believed the Mater was right. Because, even when I knew it, I hadn't any ill feeling against the company.

It was very keen of the Mater to spot it. I had never suspected she was so shrewd.