"That is the kind of pocket-knife we sell," he continued. "Isn't that the kind of pocket-knife that will please your trade? Just a moment," putting up his hand, "there's a bit of copper wire on your counter yonder. May I borrow it a moment?" I smiled and fetched it to him. This time he brought out a pair of shears and snipped three short pieces of wire from the coil, passed the scissors over to me and said, smiling in the most friendly manner, "Same story on the scissors, Mr. Black." My hand instinctively stretched out for those scissors and I examined the cutting edges carefully. "Look at this, Larsen," I called out without thinking. . . . "Mr. Larsen looks after our cutlery--tell him about it." I held out the scissors to the stranger, but he didn't take them. "Try it for yourself," he said to Larsen. Larsen did try it. "Any good shears'll do that," said Larsen. "Exactly," said the salesman, laughing; "which shows these must be good shears. Isn't that so?" "How much?" asked Larsen. Well, I need not go any further. We had always bought most of our cutlery from a jobber, feeling that it was best for us under the circumstances. This salesman got us so interested in his cutlery, however, that, really before we knew it, he had our order. Martin had been unpacking some goods which had just come in and didn't get behind the counter until afternoon. I told him about the selling stunt that we had seen. "That's fine!" he said. "Let us adopt it," and thereupon we decided that on pocket-knives of one dollar and over, and shears of seventy-five cents and over, we should demonstrate their superiority in the same way that the salesman had done. "Why not on the cheaper ones?" I asked. "Do you think," replied Martin with a dry smile, "that people would pay extra for the higher priced knives or shears if we demonstrated to them that the lower priced ones would stand the same test of quality? There would be no logical reason for them to pay the extra price, would there?" A few days after our meeting Jimmie complained that the whole town was using our store as a pencil sharpening emporium. "Everybody is sharpening their pencils all day long, since we put up that notice about the Cincinnati pencil sharpener," he said. "How many have we sold?" I said, turning to Jones. As a matter of fact I had forgotten our plan. "There's only one left," he answered. "Great Scott! Order another dozen right away!" I said excitedly. "Martin ordered them on Tuesday." Martin again. He thinks. CHAPTER XXXVI BETTY COMES HOME When I got down to breakfast one morning the Mater was there with a letter in her hand which had a Florida post-mark on it. Her face was very grave. "Hullo, Mater," I said; then, noticing the envelope, "Nothing wrong, I hope?" "Why, no; but I've got a little disappointment for you." "Betty isn't sick again?" I asked anxiously.