Part 67 (1/2)
”Well, what's it about?” Mr. Weatherbee's voice indicated rising irritation.
Then Anthony, straining at each word, each syllable, began:
”I don't know whether or not you've ever heard of a series of pamphlets called 'Heart Talks'--”
”Good grief!” cried Percy B. Weatherbee, Architect, ”are you trying to touch my heart?”
”No, it's business. 'Heart Talks' have been incorporated and we're putting some shares on the market--”
His voice faded slowly off, hara.s.sed by a fixed and contemptuous stare from his unwilling prey. For another minute he struggled on, increasingly sensitive, entangled in his own words. His confidence oozed from him in great retching emanations that seemed to be sections of his own body. Almost mercifully Percy B. Weatherbee, Architect, terminated the interview:
”Good grief!” he exploded in disgust, ”and you call that a _personal_ matter!” He whipped about and strode into his private office, banging the door behind him. Not daring to look at the stenographer, Anthony in some shameful and mysterious way got himself from the room. Perspiring profusely he stood in the hall wondering why they didn't come and arrest him; in every hurried look he discerned infallibly a glance of scorn.
After an hour and with the help of two strong whiskies he brought himself up to another attempt. He walked into a plumber's shop, but when he mentioned his business the plumber began pulling on his coat in a great hurry, gruffly announcing that he had to go to lunch. Anthony remarked politely that it was futile to try to sell a man anything when he was hungry, and the plumber heartily agreed.
This episode encouraged Anthony; he tried to think that had the plumber not been bound for lunch he would at least have listened.
Pa.s.sing by a few glittering and formidable bazaars he entered a grocery store. A talkative proprietor told him that before buying any stocks he was going to see how the armistice affected the market. To Anthony this seemed almost unfair. In Mr. Carleton's salesman's Utopia the only reason prospective buyers ever gave for not purchasing stock was that they doubted it to be a promising investment. Obviously a man in that state was almost ludicrously easy game, to be brought down merely by the judicious application of the correct selling points. But these men--why, actually they weren't considering buying anything at all.
Anthony took several more drinks before he approached his fourth man, a real-estate agent; nevertheless, he was floored with a coup as decisive as a syllogism. The real-estate agent said that he had three brothers in the investment business. Viewing himself as a breaker-up of homes Anthony apologized and went out.
After another drink he conceived the brilliant plan of selling the stock to the bartenders along Lexington Avenue. This occupied several hours, for it was necessary to take a few drinks in each place in order to get the proprietor in the proper frame of mind to talk business. But the bartenders one and all contended that if they had any money to buy bonds they would not be bartenders. It was as though they had all convened and decided upon that rejoinder. As he approached a dark and soggy five o'clock he found that they were developing a still more annoying tendency to turn him off with a jest.
At five, then, with a tremendous effort at concentration he decided that he must put more variety into his canva.s.sing. He selected a medium-sized delicatessen store, and went in. He felt, illuminatingly, that the thing to do was to cast a spell not only over the storekeeper but over all the customers as well--and perhaps through the psychology of the herd instinct they would buy as an astounded and immediately convinced whole.
”Af'ernoon,” he began in a loud thick voice. ”Ga l'il prop'sition.”
If he had wanted silence he obtained it. A sort of awe descended upon the half-dozen women marketing and upon the gray-haired ancient who in cap and ap.r.o.n was slicing chicken.
Anthony pulled a batch of papers from his flapping briefcase and waved them cheerfully.
”Buy a bon',” he suggested, ”good as liberty bon'!” The phrase pleased him and he elaborated upon it. ”Better'n liberty bon'. Every one these bon's worth _two_ liberty bon's.” His mind made a hiatus and skipped to his peroration, which he delivered with appropriate gestures, these being somewhat marred by the necessity of clinging to the counter with one or both hands.
”Now see here. You taken up my time. I don't want know _why_ you won't buy. I just want you say _why_. Want you say _how many!_”
At this point they should have approached him with check-books and fountain pens in hand. Realizing that they must have missed a cue Anthony, with the instincts of an actor, went back and repeated his finale.
”Now see here! You taken up my time. You followed prop'sition. You agreed 'th reasonin'? Now, all I want from _you_ is, how many lib'ty bon's?”
”See here!” broke in a new voice. A portly man whose face was adorned with symmetrical scrolls of yellow hair had come out of a gla.s.s cage in the rear of the store and was bearing down upon Anthony. ”See here, you!”
”How many?” repeated the salesman sternly. ”You taken up my time--”
”Hey, you!” cried the proprietor, ”I'll have you taken up by the police.”
”You mos' cert'nly won't!” returned Anthony with fine defiance. ”All I want know is how many.”
From here and there in the store went up little clouds of comment and expostulation.
”How terrible!”