“What,” they said, “you’re getting off at Midgeville?  You’re going to give the Jones Hardware Company a try, eh?”—­and then they all started laughing and giving me the merry ha! ha!  Well, I just got my grip packed and didn’t say a thing and when the train slowed up for Midgeville, out I slid.  “Give my love to old man Jones,” one of the boys called after me, “and get yourself a couple of porous plasters and a pair of splints before you tackle him!”—­and then they all gave me the ha! ha! again, out of the window as the train pulled out.

Well, I walked uptown from the station to the Jones Hardware Company.  “Is Mr. Jones in the office?” I asked of one of the young fellers behind the counter.  “He’s in the office,” he says, “all right, but I guess you can’t see him,” he says—­and he looked at my grip.  “What name shall I say?” says he.  “Don’t say any name at all,” I says.  “Just open the door and let me in.”

Well, there was old man Jones sitting scowling over his desk, biting his pen in that way he has.  He looked up when I came in.  “See here, young man,” he says, “you can’t sell me any hardware,” he says.  “Mr. Jones,” I says, “I don’t want to sell you any hardware.  I’m not here to sell you any hardware.  I know,” I says, “as well as you do,” I says, “that I couldn’t sell any hardware if I tried to.  But,” I says, “I guess it don’t do any harm to open up this sample case, and show you some hardware,” I says.  “Young man,” says he, “if you start opening up that sample case in here, you’ll lose your time, that’s all”—­and he turned off sort of sideways and began looking over some letters.

“That’s all right, Mr. Jones,” I says.  “That’s all right.  I’m here to lose my time.  But I’m not going out of this room till you take a look anyway at some of this new cutlery I’m carrying.”

So open I throws my sample case right across the end of his desk.  “Look at that knife,” I says, “Mr. Jones.  Just look at it:  clear Sheffield at three-thirty the dozen and they’re a knife that will last till you wear the haft off it.”  “Oh, pshaw,” he growled, “I don’t want no knives; there’s nothing in knives—­”

Well I knew he didn’t want knives, see?  I knew it.  But the way I opened up the sample case it showed up, just by accident so to speak, a box of those new electric burners—­adjustable, you know—­they’ll take heat off any size of socket you like and use it for any mortal thing in the house.  I saw old Jones had his eyes on them in a minute.  “What’s those things you got there?” he growls, “those in the box?” “Oh,” I said, “that’s just a new line,” I said, “the boss wanted me to take along:  some sort of electric rig for heating,” I said, “but I don’t think there’s anything to it.  But here, now, Mr. Jones, is a spoon I’ve got on this trip—­it’s the new Delphide —­you can’t tell that, sir, from silver.  No, sir,” I says, “I defy any man, money down, to tell that there Delphide from genuine refined silver, and they’re a spoon that’ll last—­”