The Atlantic Electric Appliance Corporation fixed me up with a dandy line of electrical goods, and they sent two smart young girls to act as demonstrators.

I had suggested to Wilkshire, the electric appliance salesman, that, in place of his demonstrators, we should get a couple of local girls to handle the demonstration. "People will know them," I said, "and they'll feel more at home with them."

"That is a good idea, Mr. Black," replied Wilkshire. "But don't you think that a strange face would be a little more attractive, perhaps, in the town? Of course you know best, but I should think a couple of smart-looking girls who were thoroughly trained in demonstrating would attract more attention and more confidence, as a matter of fact, than local girls would. You see, if some of you society folks should see a couple of girls that they know, they wouldn't have much confidence in what they said about electric appliances; but they will listen and take stock in what a stranger will say to them."

I had got his point at once, and agreed with him that it would be best to have outsiders do the demonstrating.

Larsen was always a pretty shrewd observer. When Wilkshire left the store, he said to me:

"Boss, I learned something from that feller.""Huh," I returned. "I guess he could teach us something at that. Still, our problems in selling to the consumer are quite different from his in selling to the trade."

"The same in lots of ways," Larsen remarked. "Did you notice, Boss, he never say you were wrong? He always say you right and then say something else better. 'Member it when you talk about them girls."

"That was clever, wasn't it?" I exclaimed. I had not noticed it until Larsen pointed it out. In fact, I had been rather under the impression that I had had things pretty much my own way with him, but when I looked back at our whole conversation I saw that Wilkshire won his own way right along the line.

"Say, that was fine!" I said, again. "We'll have to adopt that plan right here in the store, and make it a rule always to agree with what the customer suggests, tell them it is a good idea, even if it's punk, and then kind of lead 'em around to doing what we think they ought to do!"

"Yes," joined in Larsen, "just like he—" here he stopped in embarrassment, so I finished his sentence for him—

"Just like Wilkshire did with me!"

"Oh, well, you know what I mean, Boss."

Well, to get back to the exhibition—it proved to be the feature of the fair. Those demonstrators were two of the smartest girls I ever saw in my life. Betty got a bit jealous, and said I was giving too much attention to the electrical exhibition!

Here's what we sold at the exhibition during the week:One electric clothes washer, 38 electric toasters, 11 chafing dishes, 14 electric coffee percolators, 1 electric curling iron, 11 electric water heaters, 3 electric vacuum cleaners and 4 electric grills. Besides this, there were half a dozen odd items.

You ought to have seen those girls sell the water heaters. The device was a little affair about the size of a pencil. The idea was to put it in a glass of water, turn on the current, and it heated the water very quickly. They sold those to women to give for Christmas presents to their husbands—hot water to shave with in the morning, you know. I made up my mind to stock a lot of those—I thought it was a good idea. People were most curious about it—it was such a novelty, and many who stopped to look remained to buy.

It had puzzled me for a while to know why they had sold so many of the toasters and chafing dishes and coffee percolators, until I realized it was because those were demonstrated more than the others. Everybody who came was offered a delicious cup of coffee. Wilkshire told me that they spared no expense to get the choicest coffee possible. They put in just the right amount of sugar to suit each one, and used thick, rich cream. People would exclaim: "What delicious coffee this is!" and the girls would smile sweetly and respond: "Yes, madam, it was made with this electric percolator. It does make such splendid coffee." They gave the percolator all the credit for it, although of course the fine grade of coffee and the rich cream were responsible for a good part of it.

And then, with the toaster, they had fine brown toast, crispy and piping hot; and the girl in charge would look up sweetly and ask: "Do you prefer fresh or salted butter?" Such splendid butter it was, too, and they spread it on good and thick, and that toast was really enjoyed. It certainly sold the toasters.

"THE GIRL IN CHARGE WOULD LOOK UP SWEETLY"

And the other girl was a past mistress in the art of making Welsh rarebit. When old Wimple tasted it, he said: "That's the finest Welsh rarebit I'll ever taste this side of Heaven!"

"Are you married yet, sir?" asked the girl.

Married yet!—and he was sixty-five if he was a day!

"You bet I am!" he responded, vigorously. "I got a daughter as old as you."

"Well, your wife will be able to make you Welsh rarebits like this every day, with this electric chafing dish. In fact, with her ability to cook and this chafing dish, you'll have a combination which ought to result in much better Welsh rarebit than this."

And old Wimple carried home the chafing dish to his wife. That minx was certainly shrewd!

It had been a revelation to me to see how much easier it was to sell anything when you demonstrated the article in actual use. I planned to do more demonstration work in the store thereafter. Wilkshire told me it was an excellent thing to demonstrate whenever one had an opportunity—"and," said he, "let the customer do the thing for himself wherever you can, and he'll feel so pleased with himself that he's pretty likely to buy."

What was more to the point was that everybody in Farmdale had learned that Dawson Black stocked electrical supplies.

I mustn't forget about those seven store windows which I had hired and trimmed. It set the whole town talking; and the funny part of it was that many people seemed to think I was opening new stores all over the place. The first inkling I got of this was when Blickens, the president of the bank, dropped in, and said: "Young man, what's this talk I hear about your opening new stores?"

I told him and that seemed to reassure him. "Just the same," he asked, "that's pretty expensive, isn't it?"

"Well, if you call $20.00 expensive for two weeks' display in seven windows, yes, but I think it's remarkably cheap."

"Do you mean to tell me that that's all it has cost you?"

"That's all."

"Well, I congratulate you." And he left the store. I think his opinion of me was a few notches higher.

Stigler opened up his new store on schedule time, and I had to admit that he had a splendid window display. He had hired a professional window trimmer from a Providence department store to come up and trim the windows for him, and he had done a swell job. He had the window full of all kinds of kitchen goods, everything ten cents. He even had a line of tin buckets, which I knew cost him more than that.

I was looking the place over from my own store—you know it was right next door to me,—I was out on the doorstep, looking at his window, when I saw Stigler walking toward the door. My first impulse was to turn away, but I realized that, if I did, he would think I was spying on him, so I held my ground.

"Well, Neighbor," he said with his usual sneer, when he came outside, "havin' a look at what a real store looks like for a change?"

Now, ordinarily my impulse would have been to get mad, but that time for some reason or other I didn't. Instead, I said calmly:

"I was just thinking, Friend Stigler, what a remarkable philanthropist you are."

"Good value, eh?" he returned, sneeringly.

"Excellent," I replied; "in fact, I'm thinking of hiring a lot of women to go in and buy some of your things for ten cents and put 'em in my store to sell over for a quarter."

I saw a shrewd expression pass over his face.

"Huh, if you'd only buy right, you could sell right yourself."

"Exactly what I think," I laughed. "Say, Stigler, you make me smile. Do you think you'll be able to get away with that kind of stuff for long? They'll come and buy your under-cost goods, but they won't buy the rest."

Stigler turned sharply until he directly faced me. His features were distorted and twitching with rage and his face was pasty white. What he said would have cost him a big fine if he had been working for me! And I laughed in his face, and turned and walked away.

I learned something really valuable then. I learned that, by keeping my own temper, I made the other fellow lose his; and for the first time I realized that Stigler was probably more worried over my competition than I was over his.

Somehow I had always had the idea that I was the one to do the worrying and not he, but from that time on I began to feel that it was the other way round. I remembered reading in a magazine a little article—I think it was by Elbert Hubbard—in which it was said that, when you're running a race, and are getting tired, don't get discouraged, because the other fellow is probably even more tired than you are. I believed it was the same in a business race, too.

One thing was certain. My big displays in the seven windows and my exhibition at the fair had thrown Stigler's opening into the shade. A number of people had come in to buy goods they'd seen displayed in the different windows—I had put different goods in each window so far as possible—and it had been good advertising—it had made people think of my store.

I dropped in to see Barlow and told him all about it, and he said, "Good work—now go after his scalp good and hard. Drive on just as you are doing, push the better-class merchandise, give people reasons why they should buy it, tell them how much cheaper it is in the end, and you'll win out."