But, since balmy spring is coming, and old winter’s canned, sounds of building will be humming over all the land. When the skies are blue and sunny, and the birdlets sing, people will be spending money, as they do each spring. They’ll be building gorgeous houses, all along the pike, shelter for their steeds and cowses, fences and the like. So let glee and mellow laughter fill your lumber store, as you hand out joist and rafter, scantling, sash and door. KNOWLEDGE IS POWER When I go into someone’s store, to buy a nickel’s worth or more, some questions I may spring; for I have an inquiring mind; all kinds of facts I like to find, and place them on a string. I ask the grocer if his tea was grown beside the Zuyder Zee, or down along the Po; and I’m disgusted when he sighs, and claws his whiskers and replies, “I really do not know.” I hold that every business man should follow up the good old plan and know his stock in trade; the wise old grocer always knew just where his shredded codfish grew, and where his prunes were made. The wise old clothier knows that wool is never gathered from a bull, and tells his patrons so; that merchant wearies by his acts, who answers, when you ask for facts, “I’m sure I do not know.” We have a lumber man named Chee; I asked him, “On what sort of tree do lath and shingles grow?” He said, “We have the shingles there, and where they grew I do not care, and neither do I know.” This answer filled me with amaze; he’d handled shingles all his days, and knew not whence they came; he’d played his hand for forty years, since he was wet behind the ears, and didn’t know the game. We have a lumber man named Dumm; I asked him, “Whence do shingles come--oh, whither, why and whence?” He said, “I’m always glad to tell the history of things I sell, regardless of expense. The shingle trees,” I hear him say, “are only found at Hudson’s Bay, and they have stately shapes; the shingles, which are long and slim, profusely grow on every limb, in bunches, much like grapes. The natives harvest them in March when they are firm and stiff with starch, and dry them in the sun; then they remove the outer husk--which has a gentle smell of musk--and thrash them, every one. Then they’re sandpapered, piece by piece, and boiled six weeks in walrus grease, and smoked, like any ham; and if there’s any more you’d know, about the way the shingles grow, just ask me--here I am.” I’ve admiration and respect for one whose knowledge is correct, so I am strong for Dumm; no matter what you ask that guy, he always has a prompt reply--and he makes business hum! Men should be ready with a spiel about the goods in which they deal, excuses won’t suffice; our estimate is always low of men who never seem to know a thing except the price. A LONGING