“We do stand up to it, every time; and we do a good deal more than that. But you do not stand up to it. You take back goods not covered by a warrant and expect us to stand the loss.” “Well, if my customers bring them back I must take them or lose their trade.” “That's your business, not mine. I don't care what you take back or do not take, but I object to your taking them back and then shifting all the burden over to us. We have charged your account with the cost of making these axes good.” “Well, that's the last time you'll ever have a chance to do that.” “We can't help that; right is right. It's a small affair, but the thing has to stop some time, and it had better be stopped now.” Solomon pulled out his wallet, “How much is my balance here?” Braun turned him over to the book-keeper, who took his money and gave him a receipt. As he walked out he did not hear the remark of Braun to the clerk: “He's one of those smart Alecks that have to be sat down on occasionally, but I guess I gave him a lesson.” He bought his hardware of another house; he bought his groceries of a new firm; he didn't buy any boots and shoes at all, because the clerk did not take hold of him just right, and he reached home the next morning a tired, soured and disgusted man. He told his wife that he had been a fool to spend money when he might have stayed at home and bought of traveling men. “I tell you,” said he, “a man's a mighty sight more independent when buying in his own store. The drummers are red hot for orders, and you can squeeze them down. Then you've got your stock to look at, and see costs, etc., and the men feel you're doing them a favor to give them an order; but, by George, they think they're doing you a favor to sell you in their own stores. I'm done going to town.” I saw Mr. Smart a few weeks ago, and he gave me his report of his trip: “I learned something,” he added; “I believe I can make more money by having the wholesale houses my friends than I can by making them mad at me, and now we get along first rate. I guess Luce is one of the best friends I've got, but I was all-fired mad at him that time, I tell you. And what made me the hottest was that I felt the old man was right.” CHAPTER IX. A good hotel is a blessing, but the best hotel is still a hotel, and can be nothing more. One feels all right until the bellboy has fixed the key in the door and gone. Then you begin to realize that you are alone. There's but little difference, I imagine, in the feelings of a prisoner going into his cell at the close of day and those of a man in his lonely bed room in a hotel. There may be noises and voices, even songs and laughing, on either side of you, but these only serve to show you how lonesome you are.