Traveling men had patronized the hotel quite liberally, and I had always
marked them as a lot of jolly, happy-go-lucky fellows, whose every
pocket seemed to be lined with gold. Ah, if I could only be one of them
and get on the road! If some house would furnish me a line of samples
and start me out, then I, too, could wear good clothes, have plenty of
money, order some poor fools around in the way I had been ordered, and
perhaps make my mark in the world. I thought then that the only man in
the world was the drummer (and I think so yet for that matter).
Unfortunately, try as I might, I found no way to break into the ranks.
The managers of every wholesale house I went to laughed at me. When I
asked for a position the jobber would always inquire who I had been with
and what I was doing at present. When I answered that I was first
assistant porter and commander-in-chief of the water and coal conveying
department of the Robber Roost Hotel, they would smile and say, “No, my
son; I’m sorry, but I can’t do anything for you today.” You see, I had
neither experience, reputation nor references.
In addition to my personal explorations I scanned the want columns of
the daily papers, in the hope of finding something which would suit my
case. One day I read the following ad.:
“_Wanted_—A young man to canvass and sell our new line of calling cards.
Every lady wants them and buys them on sight. Large sample outfit free.
$15.00 per week easily made.”
To make a long story short, I called at once and made arrangements with
the firm to sell calling cards. In this way I received my first real
start in life, and was initiated into the ranks of Fakirdom.
The nature of my arrangement with the card firm amounted to about this.
They were to furnish samples, I was to solicit orders, collect cash as
the order was taken, turn over half of the money to them, keeping the
other half myself, and they were to fill orders as soon as possible.
Well, I started out the following morning, and I’ll never forget that
day as long as I live. I went clear to the outskirts of the city and
rang my first door bell.
The lady of the house answered in person, and when she faced me I had
neither nerve nor courage to explain my business. I began to grow red in
the face and nervous. I weakly asked for a glass of water, which I
drank, and then departed. I had the same experience at the next house,
and after drinking twelve glasses of water went back to my room,
disgusted with myself and everybody else.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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