Harold Whitehead

The next morning, while I was in the middle of breakfast, the telephone rang. I jumped up to answer it and recognized Barlow's voice.

"That you, Black?" he said.

"Yes," I said. "Betty's home: she came yesterday!"

"Glad to hear it," he replied. "I wish you would drop in at the store this morning, if you can; will you?"

"Sure," I answered, but felt somewhat disappointed. He seemed to treat Betty's return as a mere nothing!

When I joined Betty at the table I told her about my automobile arrangement with him. She seemed very pleased at that. Betty thought a lot of Barlow, and I thought more of him than I used to. I had considered him as an old duffer; but I had learned that he was a quiet, thoughtful, progressive business man.

As soon as I got into his store he beckoned me to the rear.

"Say, Black, you've got some vacuum cleaners," he said; "I'm not handling those things, and I wish you'd send one up to the wife. She's always said she wanted one. I'll pay you now—how much?"

I told him the cost price and suggested that he pay me ten per cent. over that, which he said was perfectly agreeable.

Then he said, "I couldn't help laughing the other day. Martin seemed to be quite worried."

"Worried? What about? He was all right last night."

"I don't mean Charlie; I mean Bill Martin, who runs the garage. It seems somebody said that the Martin who is with you is contemplating getting into the garage business, and Billy Martin thinks that the confusion of names will take a lot of business away from him."

"Who on earth said a thing like that?" I laughed.

"Oh, you know how these rumors get started. They start from nowhere and they carry on indefinitely. The best thing, of course, is to ignore anything like that."

"Funny that the name should be just the same, isn't it? Especially when we—"

He put a warning finger to his lips and then I remembered my promise not to mention to any one our coming deal in automobile accessories and gasoline.

"I told Betty," I said.

"That's all right; Betty has an excellent forgettery."

Just as I was leaving he said, "I understand that your friend Stigler is contemplating getting out of his five-and-ten-cent business."

I grinned. "Made it too hot for him, have I?"

"I don't know about that," he said; "but I understand that Woolton's five-and-ten-cent store people are buying the place, and adding it to their chain. Well, good-by," and he turned abruptly and left me.When I walked back to the store I felt mighty uncomfortable—Woolton, the biggest five-and-ten-cent chain in the country, next door to me! I hadn't minded somehow, while it was Stigler, because he hadn't sufficient money to carry a big variety of stock as they did. Neither did he know anything about organization, or marketing methods, as the Woolton people did.

As I neared my store I happened to notice Stigler and a short, thick-set man coming out of his five-and-ten-cent store. As they passed me Stigler said, "Howdy, Black," with an attempt at joviality. Stigler had been looking much older lately. He wore a worried look.

When I passed his store I noticed two dapper young men busily writing. I made the guess that they were stock taking.

I told Martin and Larsen about it. Larsen pooh-poohed the idea of being afraid of the competition. Martin felt differently, however.

I expected the Woolton people would take over the store on the first of the month, and if so they would advertise big bargains the day before. They were sure to have crowds of people visiting them the first two or three days the store was opened, because they always offered as leaders some tremendous values. I mentioned this to Martin.

"The thing we've got to do, Mr. Black, if I may say so," he said, "is to see if we can't get the jump on them in some way, and also trim our windows so as to profit by any one visiting their store."

Jones, who was inclined, like Larsen, to deprecate the idea of fearing them, said, "I guess we needn't worry about them. We're educating the people to buy something better than five-and-ten-cent goods. Just keep up the educating stunt, Boss."

"You will find," said Martin, "that the Woolton people will make their store as bright as possible, and I am afraid that ours will look a little dull in comparison."

When Stigler had had the store fitted up he had had some very powerful lights put in, but he had never used them much. My store was not any too bright, although, of course, like him, I used electricity.

"I tell you what we'll do," I said. "We'll have an electrical display in both windows and, for the first week, we'll try to get a bigger blaze of light in our windows than they will have. We'll display the best quality goods that we can, so as to avoid any attempt at competition with them, but we'll make our store so bright that every one going to their store for bargains will be impressed with our up-to-dateness."

That is what we decided to do.

Martin had given me his handbill advertising the vacuum cleaners. On the next page is a copy of it.

I had had Roger Burns around for dinner the previous Sunday. He used to go to school with Betty and me, so of course when I told Betty that the New England Hardware Company, for which Roger was working, had made him manager of its chain store in Farmdale, the first thing she said was that we must ask him for dinner.

While Betty and the Mater were clearing away the dinner things, I asked Roger how business was coming along.

LET INVISIBLE HANDS DO YOUR HEAVY CLEANING

Instead of hiring help to clean your carpets, let one of our PEERLESS ELECTRICAL VACUUM SWEEPERS do it for you.

PEERLESS ELECTRICAL VACUUM SWEEPERS are quiet, efficient, and thorough. You don't have to find meals for them and they never answer back.

If you have electricity in your home hire a PEERLESS ELECTRICAL VACUUM SWEEPER to clean your rugs.

$2.00 a day—delivered and collected free.

A child can operate them, but they do the work of a giant.

A special demonstration all next week at

DAWSON BLACK'S HARDWARE STORE
32 Hill St.

"If it's electrical you can get it from us."

"Well," he said, "we knew pretty well what we would do before we came."

"How could you tell?" I asked, laughing.

"We knew how much money we were to invest in Farmdale. We knew how often we ought to turn over our stock every year. We also knew what our expenses would be, and what our profits would be."

I couldn't help smiling as I said, "The only thing you didn't know was whether the people would buy the goods."

"That's where you're wrong," said Roger. "We knew what the people would buy, because we analyzed the market so thoroughly. We knew just what kind of goods each class of people bought; and how often they bought certain kinds of goods. And with our experience in marketing we knew how to get them into our store."

After Roger had left I thought that over a lot, and believed there was some truth in what he had said.

"Of course," I said, "it is much easier for you people to make money than it is for me, because you buy much cheaper than I can, and your expenses are so much less. You could afford to sell cheaper than I do, and still make a handsome profit."

"As a matter of fact," said Roger, "you are wrong; for, while the actual operating expense of this store would be a smaller percentage than your actual operating expense, we have a heavy supervision cost. It is a fallacy to believe that the larger store can operate for less expense. It cannot. The bigger business you have, the more money you have to pay the executives to control that business, and there is such a scramble for really big men that salaries of fifteen thousand dollars and twenty thousand dollars a year are not unusual. Our general manager makes eighteen thousand dollars a year!"

"Think of making eighteen thousand dollars a year! Three hundred and sixty a week! Sixty a day! Working six hours a day! Ten dollars an hour! And here I pike along on twenty-five dollars a week and work my head off ten hours a day. Then you mean to say that it really costs you more to do business than it does me?"

"It surely does," he said, "but, while we get a smaller net profit on each sale, we possibly exercise more judgment in buying than you do, as we see that everything we buy is a quick seller. That off-sets the increased cost of doing business.

"Another big advantage the chain store has over the single store," continued Roger, "is that we have very little unsalable stock to dispose of. For instance, I have just had a lot of brushes sent me from one of the other stores. They cannot sell them, so, rather than have them sold at a sacrifice, the brushes were sent on to us. I am doing quite a big business in paint brushes—you know we specialize on brushes of all kinds, and I really think that already we are beginning to dominate that field in Farmdale.

"By the way," added Roger, "you ought to meet Pat Burke."

"Pat Burke?"

"Yes, he is the manager of the new Woolton store here—awfully nice fellow."

"When did you know him?" I said.

"Strange to say, he was assistant manager of the Hartford Woolton store when I was there, and I got to know him quite well."

"I hardly like to call on him," I said. "Remember, he's a direct competitor of mine, and next door to me."

"Competitor nothing," said Roger good-naturedly. "You are not competitors at all. You are selling different classes of goods, and you ought to supplement each other."

That was a new thought to me. I wondered if a five-and-ten-cent store was a hindrance or a help to an adjoining hardware store?

A man named Purkes ran a grocery store at the corner opposite Traglio's drug store. He was an undersized man and fussed and interfered with everybody else's business, and made a living chiefly because he hadn't much competition.

About two weeks before, a salesman of cheap enamelware had come into town, gone to Purkes, and sold him two or three cases of "seconds." Purkes thought he was a real fellow when he filled his window full of those seconds. The same week I was having a display of perfect enamelware. He put a price on his goods of ten cents each. He also had a big sign in the window, reading: "Don't pay fancy prices for enamelware. Purkes's cut-rate grocery store will sell you all you want for ten cents each. Pick them out as long as they last."

Now, old Barlow always played the game square. Stigler was certainly a hardware man, and I could stand for his cut prices; but, when a grocery store came butting in, I felt mad, and I told Charlie Martin that I'd like to get Purkes's scalp somehow. Charlie suggested quite a good little stunt.

Three days after Purkes offered his enamelware I had a window full of—what do you think?—tea; in half-pound packets! And it was an advertised line, Milton's, which was a line that Purkes had sold for a long time! That tea usually sold for fifty cents a pound. I put a sign in the window saying: "Why pay fifty cents a pound for Milton's tea, when you can buy it here for thirty-eight cents a pound, nineteen cents the half pound."

That was exactly what it cost us. Martin had got hold of it for us from a friend of his in Providence, who was a wholesale grocer.You really would have laughed to see Purkes come flying into our store about fifteen minutes after our window trim was complete. He reminded me of a wet hen who had had her tail feathers pulled out. He couldn't speak, he just sputtered and pointed to the window. After a minute I caught the words, "Scoundrel!" and "robber!" and "unjust!" and "report to the Merchants' Association!"

I turned around and caught sight of Charlie grinning his head off. He passed the high sign to me, which I understood to mean "Let him talk." So I beckoned to Charlie to come over.

"This is the man who thought up that idea," I said to Purkes. "It's a good one, don't you think?"

Both Charlie and I saw that Purkes was going to explode again, so Charlie said:

"Now listen, Mr. Purkes. Do you think it is any worse for us to sell tea than for you to sell enamelware?"

"But that's just a job line I bought! Just the little I sell could not hurt you,"—then he added maliciously, "unless, of course, you get fancy prices for your goods."

I felt like throwing him out of the store; but Charlie ignored his last remark and said, "That idea of yours selling enamelware was so excellent that I thought we ought to copy it. You sell hardware—we sell groceries."

"You are—how long are you going to continue selling tea?"

"Only until this lot is sold out."

"I'll tell you what," said Purkes, brightening up, "I'll buy your tea of you and you buy my enamelware."

"We don't sell seconds in enamelware, Mr. Purkes, so your enamelware is useless to us."

"Very well, I will continue to sell enamelware."

"We quite expected you would, Mr. Purkes. We are not going to sell tea after we have cleaned out this one lot, however."

"But by the time you've sold out that one lot you will have established such a ridiculous price that I probably will have to cut my price to satisfy the people. Why, the stuff costs you more than you sell it for."

"Guess we're satisfied with what we are making out of tea, Charlie, aren't we?"

"Yes," he answered, "but I think we are going to do even better on the Cross Tree jams."

These jams were the most advertised in the country, and Purkes was the local agent for them.

The little chap let off a scream. "I'll stop you getting them!" he cried. "I'll sue you!—I'll—!" He stopped abruptly and asked, "Where did you get them?"

"From the plumber's!" said Charlie, "Where did you think?"

"But you can't get them—I've the sole agency."

"In that case," I returned, "you've nothing to worry about, have you?"

The outcome of it was, however, that Purkes promised to take his enamelware off sale at once and get the manufacturers to take it back—even at a loss—-or, failing that, to sell his stock to some store outside of Farmdale. We in return were to sell him our tea at forty cents a pound. The little chap kicked at this, but he agreed.

Having got the matter fixed up, he said, "There now, that's settled, thank goodness. It isn't nice to have disputes among friends, is it? I'll send my man up for that tea this afternoon, so that you won't be bothered to send it down," and he peered over his spectacles and smiled benignly.

"We will let you have the tea as soon as your enamelware has left town. Until then we will keep it here, in case we need it," I replied.

"What, don't you trust me?" he exclaimed.

Here I forgot myself, for I turned round sharply and said: "I do not! I'm almost sorry that you agreed to get rid of that enamelware, for, by heaven, there's a good profit in groceries, and it wouldn't take me more than two minutes to get into that line myself!"

Old Purkes went white to the gills and assured me hastily that he would get the enamelware out of town as quickly as possible.

I felt so stuck on myself when he left the store that I wanted to stand on the counter and crow.

"You threw a good bluff," said Charlie, after Purkes had left.

"What do you mean—bluff?" said I, surprised. "No bluff there. I meant every word of it!"

"Even to starting a grocery business?"

"Aw, that," I said sheepishly. "It was a bit foolish because, while business is booming with us, I find that every little bit of extra profit I make has to go into stock. So, as regards actual cash, I am no better off than I was six months ago. However, bluff or no bluff, I really think we've killed the grocer's competition."

I wonder more retail merchants don't retaliate in this way on merchants in other lines who make this kind of competition. Perhaps they don't because they don't want to offend a fellow townsman. They forget, however, that their fellow townsman doesn't hesitate to offend them.

Pat Burke came into the store that afternoon and introduced himself to me, saying, "Roger Burns sent me, as he wanted me to know you."

He was a short, thick-set man, and spoke on generalities for a little while.

"How's business coming along?" I asked him.

"Very well indeed," he said.

"How did you find the business when you took it over from Stigler?"

Without any expression on his face at all he said, "Just about what we expected."

"What do you think of Stigler?" I asked him.

He didn't say anything for a minute, but let his eyes roam around the store.

"I certainly like the way you have your electrical goods displayed, Mr. Black," he said. "You have a good trimmer, whoever he is."

"I do it myself."

"The dickens you do!" he commented. "Well, that is one of the most attractive displays I have seen in a long while. I want to compliment you. If you were in Boston or New York you would give up running a store of your own, and be head of the decorative department of some big department store. Do you know that some of those head window trimmers make as much as five thousand dollars a year?"

We got on a general discussion of window trimming.

"Well, I've got to get back to the store," he finally said. "When you have an evening at liberty I should like to have a chat with you. I think we ought to be able to help each other."

It was not until he had gone that I realized that he had never answered my question relative to Stigler. He put it off as neatly as anything I ever saw.