Part 4 (1/2)

”Excuse me, Mister Munson!” b.u.t.ts in Alex. ”You get me all wrong. Our car--the Gaflooey--is _not_ the best on the market. There are others just as good and some of the higher priced ones are, naturally, better.

You can't expect the best on the market for the price we sell at--750.

A man of your intelligence knows that and when a salesman tells you his five hundred dollar car is better than a standard make at five thousand, he's insulting your intelligence. We make a good, honest car--that's all. I ain't gonna take up your time tellin' you about the--eh--ah--the--eh, magneto and so forth. Unless you're a mechanic, you wouldn't understand about 'em anyways. All the parts that go with any car are on ours, or it wouldn't work--that's understood. However, as I said before, I ain't gonna take up your time. I know how you New Yorkers do business, and you've probably made your mind up already.

You big men are all zip!--like that. Mind made up and nothin' can change you. Even if you do miss somethin' good now and then, you don't mind because you have the satisfaction of bein' known as a quick thinker. We just got in a new consignment of cars to-day and if you're interested our place is at 1346 Broadway. Well, good-day, sir!” he winds up, reachin' for his hat.

”Wait!” says Munson, takin' off his gla.s.ses and wipin' 'em. ”You're a new one on me, son! So you admit you haven't got the greatest auto that was ever made, eh?” he chuckles. ”By Peter! That sounds strange after all the talk I been listening to to-day. If your car is as honest as you seem to be, it's all right!” He sits lookin' off in the air, tappin' the desk with the pencil again.

Alex nudges me and we start for the door. Halfway he stops and looks at a photo that's framed over the desk. It's a picture of a barn, some chickens and a couple of cows.

”Right fine landscape, that!” chirps Alex to Munson. ”Makes a feller like me homesick to look at it. Them are sure fine Jerseys, too--and say, see them pullets, would you!”

”That's my little farm down on Long Island,” says Munson, throwin' out his chest. ”I suppose that makes you laugh, eh? Big, grown New Yorker having a farm, eh?”

”Mister,” says Alex, sadly, ”it don't make _me_ laugh! I was raised on a farm in Vermont and--”

”That so?” cuts in Munson, lookin' interested. ”Country boy, eh?”

”Yep,” goes on Alex. ”Now, speakin' of them pullets there--if you'd try 'em on a straight diet of bran and potatoes--pound of each--they'll fatten up quicker.”

”Yes?” pipes Munson, brightenin' up some more. ”Well, well!

And--hmph! Thanks, Mister Hanley, I'll make a note of that.

Now--eh--sit down a minute! I don't want to take your time, but--eh, what did you find best back home for saving the young chicks? What foods--”

”I'll just leave you a few little rules,” says Alex, his eyes glitterin', as he rams his elbow a mile in my ribs. ”I got to call on another department store this afternoon, where I'm almost certain to take an order and--”

”Young man!” Munson shuts him off, ”I'm frank enough to say that you've made a very favorable impression on me. You're honest about your car, and you didn't try to overawe me by hurling a lot of unintelligible technical terms into my ear. You don't claim it's the bargain of the age. Now we have recently inaugurated right here in this store a policy of absolute honesty with regard to our merchandise. No misrepresentations are permitted. We sell our goods for what they are--we don't allow a clerk to tell a customer that he's getting a five-dollar s.h.i.+rt for two dollars. I can't get the car I want to put in here--they want too much money and their salesman spent most of his time here speaking in terms that none but a master mechanic on their own auto would understand. I'm a pretty good judge of character and you look good to me. Give me a price on fifty of your cars for immediate delivery and--well, let's hear your figures!”

Alex drops his hat on the floor, but when he picked it up, he was as cool as a dollar's worth of ice.

”Just a minute,” he says, sittin' down and reachin' for a desk telephone. He gets the Gaflooey Company on the wire.

”h.e.l.lo!” he says. ”Say--I want a lump price on fifty delivery wagons--what?--never mind who this is, if the price is right I'll come up.” He winks at Munson like he's lettin' him in on somethin'--and, by gravy, Munson winks back! ”Yes--fifty,” says Alex on the wire.

”Thirty-five thousand dollars?--thank you!” He hangs up the phone and turns to Munson. ”They'll give you twenty-five hundred off, accordin'

to that figure,” he says.

Munson grabs up a pad and writes somethin' on it.

”There!” he says, givin' it to Alex. ”Tell 'em to get as many cars over here to-morrow as they can. Get your bill and I'll O.K. it.

Now--” he pulls his chair over closer, ”About those chicks and--oh, yes, I want your opinion on some figures I have here on my truck--”

An hour later, me and Alex walks into the salesroom of the Gaflooey Automobile Company. I was in a trance, and if he had of promised to lift the Singer Buildin' with one hand I would of laid the world eight to five he could do it! The whole place is in confusion--salesmen chasin' around, telephonin' and actin' like they just heard they was a bomb in the bas.e.m.e.nt. Alex asks for the manager, and some guy chances over and asks what he wants.

”I have come for that ten thousand a year job you advertised this mornin',” says Alex.

”Job?” howls the manager, glarin' at him. ”You poor b.o.o.b, can't you see how busy we are here now? We just got a tip on a real order--fifty cars, and we can't trace the thing!” He rubs his hands together.

”Fifty cars! That's how the Gaflooey sells--fifty at a time!” He sneers at Alex. ”Your approach is terrible!” he says. ”You'll never land a job in this town like that, my boy. Go somewhere first and learn how to interest a busy man with the first thing you say and--”

”Listen!” b.u.t.ts in Alex. ”Gimme that job, will you, or I'll have to go somewhere else.”