The Beautiful and Damned
distribution among my salesmen. They have done more for getting work out
of the men than any bonus proposition ever considered. I read them
myself constantly, and I desire to heartily congratulate you on getting
at the roots of the biggest problem that faces our generation
to-day--the problem of salesmanship. The rock bottom on which the
country is founded is the problem of salesmanship. With many
felicitations I am
"Yours very cordially,
"HENRY W. TERRAL."
* * * * *
He brought the name out in three long booming triumphancies--pausing for
it to produce its magical effect. Then he read two more letters, one
from a manufacturer of vacuum cleaners and one from the president of the
Great Northern Doily Company.
"And now," he continued, "I'm going to tell you in a few words what the
proposition is that's going to _make_ those of you who go into it in the
right spirit. Simply put, it's this: 'Heart Talks' have been
incorporated as a company. We're going to put these little pamphlets
into the hands of every big business organization, every salesman, and
every man who _knows_--I don't say 'thinks,' I say _'knows'_--that he
can sell! We are offering some of the stock of the 'Heart Talks' concern
upon the market, and in order that the distribution may be as wide as
possible, and in order also that we can furnish a living, concrete,
flesh-and-blood example of what salesmanship is, or rather what it may
be, we're going to give those of you who are the real thing a chance to
sell that stock. Now, I don't care what you've tried to sell before or
how you've tried to sell it. It don't matter how old you are or how
young you are. I only want to know two things--first, do you _want_
success, and, second, will you work for it?
"My name is Sammy Carleton. Not 'Mr.' Carleton, but just plain Sammy.
I'm a regular no-nonsense man with no fancy frills about me. I want you
to call me Sammy.
"Now this is all I'm going to say to you to-day. To-morrow I want those
of you who have thought it over and have read the copy of 'Heart Talks'
which will be given to you at the door, to come back to this same room
at this same time, then we'll go into the proposition further and I'll
explain to you what I've found the principles of success to be. I'm
going to make you _feel_ that _you_ and _you_ and _you_ can sell!"
Mr. Carleton's voice echoed for a moment through the hall and then died
away. To the stamping of many feet Anthony was pushed and jostled with
the crowd out of the room.
FURTHER ADVENTURES WITH "HEART TALKS"
With an accompaniment of ironic laughter Anthony told Gloria the story
of his commercial adventure. But she listened without amusement.
"You're going to give up again?" she demanded coldly.
"Why--you don't expect me to--"
"I never expected anything of you."
He hesitated.
"Well--I can't see the slightest benefit in laughing myself sick over
this sort of affair. If there's anything older than the old story, it's
the new twist."
It required an astonishing amount of moral energy on Gloria's part to
intimidate him into returning, and when he reported next day, somewhat
depressed from his perusal of the senile bromides skittishly set forth
in "Heart Talks on Ambition," he found only fifty of the original three
hundred awaiting the appearance of the vital and compelling Sammy
Carleton. Mr. Carleton's powers of vitality and compulsion were this
time exercised in elucidating that magnificent piece of speculation--how
to sell. It seemed that the approved method was to state one's
proposition and then to say not "And now, will you buy?"--this was not
the way--oh, no!--the way was to state one's proposition and then,
having reduced one's adversary to a state of exhaustion, to deliver
oneself of the categorical imperative: "Now see here! You've taken up my
time explaining this matter to you. You've admitted my points--all I
want to ask is how many do you want?"
As Mr. Carleton piled assertion upon assertion Anthony began to feel a
sort of disgusted confidence in him. The man appeared to know what he
was talking about. Obviously prosperous, he had risen to the position of
instructing others. It did not occur to Anthony that the type of man who
attains commercial success seldom knows how or why, and, as in his
grandfather's case, when he ascribes reasons, the reasons are generally
inaccurate and absurd.
Anthony noted that of the numerous old men who had answered the original
advertisement, only two had returned, and that among the thirty odd who
assembled on the third day to get actual selling instructions from Mr.
Carleton, only one gray head was in evidence. These thirty were eager
converts; with their mouths they followed the working of Mr. Carleton's
mouth; they swayed in their seats with enthusiasm, and in the intervals
of his talk they spoke to each other in tense approving whispers. Yet of
the chosen few who, in the words of Mr. Carleton, "were determined to
get those deserts that rightly and truly belonged to them," less than
half a dozen combined even a modicum of personal appearance with that
great gift of being a "pusher." But they were told that they were all
natural pushers--it was merely necessary that they should believe with a
sort of savage passion in what they were selling. He even urged each one
to buy some stock himself, if possible, in order to increase his own
sincerity.
On the fifth day then, Anthony sallied into the street with all the
sensations of a man wanted by the police. Acting according to
instructions he selected a tall office building in order that he might
ride to the top story and work downward, stopping in every office that
had a name on the door. But at the last minute he hesitated. Perhaps it
would be more practicable to acclimate himself to the chilly atmosphere
which he felt was awaiting him by trying a few offices on, say, Madison
Avenue. He went into an arcade that seemed only semi-prosperous, and
seeing a sign which read Percy B. Weatherbee, Architect, he opened the
door heroically and entered. A starchy young woman looked up
questioningly.
"Can I see Mr. Weatherbee?" He wondered if his voice sounded tremulous.
She laid her hand tentatively on the telephone-receiver.
"What's the name, please?"
"He wouldn't--ah--know me. He wouldn't know my name."
"What's your business with him? You an insurance agent?"
"Oh, no, nothing like that!" denied Anthony hurriedly. "Oh, no. It's
a--it's a personal matter." He wondered if he should have said this. It
had all sounded so simple when Mr. Carleton had enjoined his flock:
"Don't allow yourself to be kept out! Show them you've made up your mind
to talk to them, and they'll listen."
The girl succumbed to Anthony's pleasant, melancholy face, and in a
moment the door to the inner room opened and admitted a tall,
splay-footed man with slicked hair. He approached Anthony with
ill-concealed impatience.
"You wanted to see me on a personal matter?"
Anthony quailed.
"I wanted to talk to you," he said defiantly.
"About what?"
"It'll take some time to explain."
"Well, what's it about?" Mr. Weatherbee's voice indicated rising
irritation.
Then Anthony, straining at each word, each syllable, began:
"I don't know whether or not you've ever heard of a series of pamphlets
called 'Heart Talks'--"
"Good grief!" cried Percy B. Weatherbee, Architect, "are you trying to
touch my heart?"
"No, it's business. 'Heart Talks' have been incorporated and we're
putting some shares on the market--"
His voice faded slowly off, harassed by a fixed and contemptuous stare
from his unwilling prey. For another minute he struggled on,
increasingly sensitive, entangled in his own words. His confidence oozed
from him in great retching emanations that seemed to be sections of his
own body. Almost mercifully Percy B. Weatherbee, Architect, terminated
the interview:
"Good grief!" he exploded in disgust, "and you call that a _personal_
matter!" He whipped about and strode into his private office, banging
the door behind him. Not daring to look at the stenographer, Anthony in
some shameful and mysterious way got himself from the room. Perspiring
profusely he stood in the hall wondering why they didn't come and arrest
him; in every hurried look he discerned infallibly a glance of scorn.
After an hour and with the help of two strong whiskies he brought
himself up to another attempt. He walked into a plumber's shop, but when
he mentioned his business the plumber began pulling on his coat in a
great hurry, gruffly announcing that he had to go to lunch. Anthony
remarked politely that it was futile to try to sell a man anything when
he was hungry, and the plumber heartily agreed.
This episode encouraged Anthony; he tried to think that had the plumber
not been bound for lunch he would at least have listened.
Passing by a few glittering and formidable bazaars he entered a grocery
store. A talkative proprietor told him that before buying any stocks he
was going to see how the armistice affected the market. To Anthony this
seemed almost unfair. In Mr. Carleton's salesman's Utopia the only
reason prospective buyers ever gave for not purchasing stock was that
they doubted it to be a promising investment. Obviously a man in that
state was almost ludicrously easy game, to be brought down merely by the
judicious application of the correct selling points. But these men--why,
actually they weren't considering buying anything at all.
Anthony took several more drinks before he approached his fourth man, a
real-estate agent; nevertheless, he was floored with a coup as decisive
as a syllogism. The real-estate agent said that he had three brothers in
the investment business. Viewing himself as a breaker-up of homes
Anthony apologized and went out.
After another drink he conceived the brilliant plan of selling the stock
to the bartenders along Lexington Avenue. This occupied several hours,
for it was necessary to take a few drinks in each place in order to get
the proprietor in the proper frame of mind to talk business. But the
bartenders one and all contended that if they had any money to buy bonds
they would not be bartenders. It was as though they had all convened and
decided upon that rejoinder. As he approached a dark and soggy five
o'clock he found that they were developing a still more annoying
tendency to turn him off with a jest.
At five, then, with a tremendous effort at concentration he decided that
he must put more variety into his canvassing. He selected a medium-sized
delicatessen store, and went in. He felt, illuminatingly, that the thing
to do was to cast a spell not only over the storekeeper but over all the
customers as well--and perhaps through the psychology of the herd
instinct they would buy as an astounded and immediately convinced whole.
"Af'ernoon," he began in a loud thick voice. "Ga l'il prop'sition."
If he had wanted silence he obtained it. A sort of awe descended upon
the half-dozen women marketing and upon the gray-haired ancient who in
cap and apron was slicing chicken.
Anthony pulled a batch of papers from his flapping briefcase and waved
them cheerfully.
"Buy a bon'," he suggested, "good as liberty bon'!" The phrase pleased
him and he elaborated upon it. "Better'n liberty bon'. Every one these
bon's worth _two_ liberty bon's." His mind made a hiatus and skipped to
his peroration, which he delivered with appropriate gestures, these
being somewhat marred by the necessity of clinging to the counter with
one or both hands.
"Now see here. You taken up my time. I don't want know _why_ you won't
buy. I just want you say _why_. Want you say _how many!_"
At this point they should have approached him with check-books and