“D--n those Eastern fellows,” said he, vindictively, “I'd like to wring their necks.” I had to appear interested and ask why. “Because they're such infernal fools. Here's a case of 150 pounds just in by express with $3.37 charges; could have come by Merchants Dispatch for 69 cents. But the fool clerks they have down there have the most insane idea about express, and every little while will shove something like this in on us.” “Can't you charge it back?” “D---d if I don't!” He went into the office and ordered the book-keeper to charge up the difference. I could sympathize with him. As stock clerk I had seen many a box come in from the East by express that we were in no hurry for, and that was never ordered to be so sent. The parties doing most of this are not in New York stores, but at the factories. In the small towns where most factories are, express and freight bills are paid once a month in a lump, and the clerks and shippers do not see the cost of each shipment. This makes them careless as to such charges, and to receive or send a big box by express is a matter that does not need a second thought. But in the cities, where each package is paid for when delivered, the clerks soon learn how express charges count up, and they do not ship so carelessly. Perhaps I said something of this to Harris, but he finally turned to me sharply and said, “What are you selling?” I handed him my card again. “Oh, yes; well, we don't need any.” Goodness! How disappointed I was! I guess I looked it, for he added, “Unless you've got some d--d low prices.” I assured him I had, and made up my mind to give him only our ordinary figures; I had heard our senior say once that the man who talked this way was never a very close buyer. Just at this moment a very pert young man came in at the office door, walked up to Harris, handed out his card in a way that pushed me to one side, and said: “Mr. Harris, we've got the best butcher knife there is in the market.” “Better than Wilson's?” “Yes, sir; better than anybody's.” “How does your price compare with Wilson's?” “We are about the same.” “Then I don't want it. Wilson's are good enough for me.” “But I can show you ours is better.” “I don't want any better, unless it's at less price. Wilson's sell themselves.” The young man looked crestfallen and soon went his way; I took up my story, but instead of asking about this, that or the other article I handed him my price-list and asked him to look it through. He stretched himself on his lounge, and taking the book was about to open it, but stopped to ask, “Have you got a cigar about you?” CHAPTER XI. When I had given Mr. Harris a cigar and he had lit it, and when he had once more resumed his horizontal position on the lounge, I proceeded to take his order. He was an easy man to sell. The stock was low on some of my goods, and he had a favorable impression of my house, so he ordered easily, saying but little about prices until we came to cartridges.