Studs Lonigan (126 page)

Perspiring, Studs wished this goofy bald-headed bastard would come down to earth. But, gee, if this only was the genuine article and he could make sixty a week!

“We don't want coming to us the type of man who cries he's licked before he has even started, and who blames his failure on the business depression. A business depression is a smart man's opportunity. Too many people, today, are crying they're licked and not putting forth their best efforts. Well, that only means so much more opportunity for the live-wire. It's the time for him to plug, while others whine. It gives him less real competition in selling and if he throws his heart and soul into his efforts and his sales talks, he wins out, just because of the simple fact that so many of his rivals are beating themselves by whining. It is worth repeating that today is the smart man's opportunity. Today is the time for the real, high-class salesman to show his real mettle. And any man can sell if he has the courage and ambition to make a live-wire of himself. The stuff is there in every man. The question is, if you'll pardon my language, whether he's got the guts to bring it out.”

Studs squirmed in his chair. Guts. Well, he had the guts. Studs Lonigan had guts, even if he had nothing else.

“Why, today so many people are whining, and whimpering, and prostrating themselves to Old Man Gloom, that the good salesman has an ocean of clear sailing ahead of him. Because this country is not licked and it won't be. And the service the good salesman can perform for this country today is to show it that it isn't licked. What we lack today is confidence. It is contagious. It peps up the sales prospect. Because people, even though they whine and whimper, sigh and decry and put faces on a yard long, cry out that times are bad and they're licked, people still don't want to believe it. They want to have faith. They want confidence. And remember this, they are going to pay the man who gives them confidence and faith. This is the one cardinal principle of salesmanship, the principle of the irradiation of confidence,” Mr. Peters emphasized with a snapping gesture of his right fist.

“Yes, I think you're right. . . . But now, what is the proposition?” Studs asked, trying to make his tone of voice circumspect.

“I'm coming to that,” the man said, knitting his brows.

Studs was sure it was all bull. But Jesus, if it only wasn't, if he only could knock off sixty a week. Then he wouldn't have to be marrying Catherine like a damned gigolo.

“Now, to continue, I have here the kind of proposition that only a real salesman wants. If you're not a real salesman, you don't want this proposition, and there is no need of prolonging our interview. Now, do you have faith enough in yourself to believe that you can bring out that something in you that is the makings, the basis of real salesmanship?”

Trying to conceal his surprise under the man's direct stare and pointing finger, Studs shook his head in affirmation.

“Well, speak up!” Mr. Peters said frettingly. “Speak up! You know a real salesman has to be able to talk. Nodding your head, you know, that's not a positive answer. You got to speak out straight from the shoulder, crisp, straight, hard language. Even when you only say yes and no, you should say them with a punch.”

“Well, I think so. I haven't ever sold, but I'd like to know what this business is, and then we could see.”

“That's the idea. Now, if you want to handle our product, you got to be a real salesman. But if you are, there's big money waiting for you. . . . Are you married?”

“I'm getting married.”

“And you want a job. Well, you've come to the right place. If you're the right person, you'll have no further worries. With the money you'll earn on our product, you'll be able to furnish that little love nest for yourself and the little girl. And you know what you need for smooth sailing on the stormy seas of matrimony? Money. As I have said, if you're the right kind, if you can speak up, always dance on your toes, grasp your opportunities, be a character psychologist on sight, read a man's mind, see the weak spots, the Achilles heel in his armor and drive a telling wedge through it to carry the sales off, and above all, always remember that cardinal principle of the irradiation of confidence, well, then, you and I can talk business.”

Studs glanced aside to prevent himself from smiling. He was sure that it was a sucker proposition, but then, there was one born every minute, and if there were enough chumps in the world, well, maybe, fifty, sixty dollars a week.

“Our proposition is this. We have a new sanitary paper cup. Now there are in Chicago hundreds and thousands of industrial establishments, stores, offices and the like that are backward and unsanitary, because they use the medieval method of letting employees drink from one drinking glass, or even a tin cup. These are old-fashioned, backward, stone-age methods, unmodern, unscientific, and they help to spread disease. Nobody likes to use another person's, a stranger's, drinking glass, and particularly not some rusty old tin cup that scores drink out of. Throughout this city there are people who spread diseases through drinking cups and glasses. That's one of your principal selling points. It constitutes an irrefutable argument, and if you are clever it will gain you a high percentage of sales. The man who refuses to listen to it, who refuses to substitute our sanitary paper drinking cup for the old-fashioned, antiquated, disease-ridden drinking glass or tin cup, that man is backward, and he is risking the health of countless people.” The man pointed his index finger at Studs and glared until Studs felt like reminding him that he wasn't making anyone drink out of a rusty tin cup. “A sanitary drinking cup, such as ours, is first of all scientific, and this is the age of science, the era of hygiene. Also, it is an aid to efficiency in a store, office, or factory. Why? Because it ministers to the better health of all concerned, and this makes for that increased efficiency. How does it achieve the purpose? Ha, proving that argument is like knocking over a straw man! If people are well, if they have less fear of disease, they work more efficiently because their psychology, their psychological attitude, is the right one. If there is a diseased employee in an office using an unsanitary medieval drinking glass or cup, the baneful, the dangerous, the mortal, results can be incalculable. That person can infect a valued member of the office force, and require him or her to remain out of work. A new person must be temporarily employed. The new person does not know the work, and must be broken in. There is resultant inefficiency. Inefficiency means demoralization and there is a contagious spread of inefficiency. The employer himself is not immune to disease, and probably, in some instances, uses the same backward drinking glass or cup that his employees use. He can become infected with a contagious disease, and can carry it home to his wife and children. They can become sick, even die. You see the point? In selling you stress it, only make it more concrete than I have done. Pick out someone working in an office, the secretary, concrete, you know, and speak of some specific disease like consumption.” Studs nodded courteously, thinking that this guy was a new one to him. And he could see himself stringing out a line like this guy's. “Now as to our cups, we have an unusual offer of five hundred paper cups for a dollar, and with any order of twenty-five hundred or more cups, we will give as a premium an attractive glass container that is not only useful but also decorative in an office, store or factory. Now, isn't it worth a dollar to insure efficiency in your office and home? That's our argument to the buyer. Here is our proposition to the salesman. You buy the cups for fifty cents, and a cardboard carrier box goes with it, free. You sell them for a dollar and make your own delivery. We assign you a territory which is large enough, and has sufficient potential sales in it, to insure you a good living income, fifty, sixty, even a hundred dollars a week.”

Studs tried to think of something to say that would permit him an easy exit.

“What do you think? How does it sound to you?”

“All right,” Studs said to prevent the fellow from unwinding into another long breath-taking spiel.

“Well, would you like to try it?”

“I might.”

“That's no way to be a salesman,” Mr. Peters said, his expression pained as he emphatically shook his head from side to side. Rising half way from his chair, he surprised Studs by pounding his fist on the desk and gimleting Studs with a searching eye-to-eye gaze. “You got to be positive, direct, forthright. You'll never be able to sell with that wishy-washy kind of an attitude and manner.”

“I think I might try it, but I can't today because I haven't any money with me to buy the cups,” Studs said apologetically, but determined not to be roped in.

“You know every day lost is so much money lost. So much time squandered. And time is the most valuable and precious possession of mankind.”

“I didn't think to take money with me.”

“Usually an initial order of our new salesman is five packages of cups for two-fifty, but you might start with a lower order, one or two packages. One package is only fifty cents. You could sell in the territory I assign you here in the Loop and earn the price of your lunch and carfare. Then you could come down early tomorrow prepared to dig right in, or even, you could buy one package, sell it, and come back for two more with your dollar from the same.”

“I couldn't even do that. I've only got my I. C. ticket and the price of my lunch.”

“That's too bad, and it may be your tough luck. By tomorrow many good territories will have already been given out. First come, first served. That has to be our motto. Each day you lose means you are sacrificing the prospects of so much good money. After we get our product on the market, we will change our methods, and employ regular salesmen. Then the opportunities will be less than they are now. If a man starts in with our organization now at the beginning, he is in line for advancement. Inside of a year, we'll need sales managers, and they will have positions that any man would envy. They'll go into the real money, over a hundred dollars a week, and they will have the guarantee of a future of useful and profitable work. If a man goes in with us now, and he shows he has the genuine goods, his worries, for the future, are over, depression or no depression.”

“Well, I could come back tomorrow.”

“Think it over, Mr. . . ah . . .”

“Lonigan.”

“Mr. Lonigan, yes. I interview so many people daily that I can't remember new names always. Now, Mr. Lonigan, if you are interested, I'll be glad to discuss this proposition of ours with you further in the morning, and start you off on the right foot. But don't forget, every day, every minute that you lose means that valuable territories and Loop buildings are going to others.”

Studs arose.

“Think it over, Mr. Lonigan,” the man said, lifelessly shaking Studs' hand.

“I will.”

Studs walked from the office, tired, almost dizzy, from the man's talk. There was a lineup on the bench, but the girl was gone. He examined his watch: twelve twenty-five, and left. But, gee, if it had only been a real and genuine proposition that would have netted him his sixty a week.

He walked in the rain, north along Wabash Avenue, worn out, with his feet soaked, fighting the discouraging idea of giving up for the day, wondering where to go and what to do next. He dashed into a Thompson restaurant to get out of the rain. He noticed the clock to the right of the cashier's desk. Seven minutes to one. It probably wouldn't do much good to try any other place until at least one-thirty. He could sit here over a cup of coffee until then. Should have taken longer with his lunch. He carried his cup of coffee from the counter, put sugar into it at a service stand, and found a one-arm chair. He slouched, and stared around at the many people scattered over the place, noticing a shabby, graying man wolfing a sandwich. Two chairs away from this man, a bum snoozed half asleep over a cup of coffee. At a table, two young lads talked rapidly over plate dinners. Near them two bell-hops or doormen in braided uniforms drank coffee. Down to his right, an old man with shaking hands slobbered as he drank. All these people, some happy, some not, how many were worse off than he?

He drank coffee, and determined to force his mind on the problem of what to do this afternoon, and what to say when he went out looking again. He lifted the cup and noticed the manager, a sour-faced fellow in a clean white coat, move officiously around, seeming to give orders to the hustling busboys. The man took a position near the door and stood with folded arms as if he owned the joint. Studs thought of how he would hate to work for a nasty-looking bastard like that manager. In a far comer two girls talked at a table. What about them?

There was no urge in him now to do anything. He was too damned tired. His feet were wet, and they felt dirty. His suit seemed not to fit, hanging loosely and unpressed on his body, the trousers about the cuffs heavy from rain. He told himself that he was whipped. He told himself, that no, damn it, no, he wasn't whipped. He would just sit here a while, rest himself, get his bearings, figure out a clear line to use in getting a job, and then go out and look until he did get something.

He walked to the cashier's counter and bought a package of cigarettes. He knew he shouldn't smoke, but one now, in his present state, wouldn't hurt. Returning to his chair, he saw that his cup had been removed. He walked to the counter and came back with another cup. He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. He shook his head, thinking that Christ, the times sure must be hard, all right. At both places where he'd been this morning, fellows had kept streaming in. And there would be some chumps, so dumb, or so hard up, that they would fall for that bald-headed guy's paper-cup racket. Have a scientific drink of water in a scientific paper cup, he smiled to himself, drinking coffee. But Studs Lonigan had not been one of that boy's suckers. No, sir.