After a period of intense and painful thought the young man realized, for the first time, that it was not the telephone itself which asked for price and time of delivery, but a weak, imaginative human being, like himself, at the other end of the wire.  He reasoned further that if he could convince that person that the voice from Conner & Mathison likewise issued from a human throat, then it might be possible to get away, in a measure at least, from the mechanical part of the business and establish altogether new relations.  If there were really a science to salesmanship, it would work at long distance as well as at collar-and-elbow holds, and Mitchell’s first task, therefore, should be to project his own personality into the railroad offices.  He went to bed still trying to figure the matter out.

His opportunity to test his new-born theory came on the following morning when an irritable female voice over at the Santa Fe asked the price on twenty kegs of rivets.

“Good morning, Santa Fe-male,” he answered, cheerily.

There was a moment of amazed silence, then the young lady snapped:  “‘Good morning’?  What is this, the Weather Bureau?  I want Comer & Mathison.”

“Gee!  Can’t a fellow display a little courtesy in business?” Mitchell inquired.  “I’d rather be nice to you than not.”

“All right, Mr. Comer,” the voice replied, sarcastically.  “Make a nice price on those rivets—­and cut out the kidding.”

“Listen; my name’s not Comer; it’s Mitchell.  I’m not kidding, either.  I want you to ask for me whenever you call up.  Every little bit helps, you know.”

“Oh, I see.  You want the carriage man to call your number.  All right, Mitch.  If you’re out at lunch with Mr. Carnegie the next time I want a dozen number ten sheets I’ll have you paged at the Union League Club.”

If the speaker liked this kind of blank verse, she had called up the right supply house, for Mitchell came back with: 

“Say, if I ever get your number, I’ll do the calling, Miss Santa Fe.”

“W-what?” came the startled reply.

“I mean what I say.  I’d love to call—­”

“Is that so?  Well, I do all the calling for our, family, and I’m going to call you right now.  What’s the price of those rivets?”

“Two sixty-five.”

“Too high!  Good-by.”

“Wait a minute.”  Mitchell checked the lady before she could “plug out” on him.  “Now that you’ve got those rivets out of your system, may I get personal for an instant?”

“Just about an instant.”

“I could listen to you all day.”

“Oops, Horace; he loves me!” mocked the lady’s voice.

“See here, I’m a regular person—­with references.  I’ve been talking to you every day for six months, so I feel that we’re acquainted.  Some pleasant evening, when your crew of hammock gladiators palls on you, let me come around and show you the difference.”