THE lumber man wrapped up some planks, for which I paid a yen, and as I left he murmured, “Thanks! I hope you’ll call again!”
Such little courtesies as this make business worth the while; they fill a customer with bliss and give his mug a smile. Politeness never fails to win, and bring the trade your way; when I have cash I blow it in with dealers blithe and gay.
Of course, in every merchant’s joint, there are a thousand cares, which file his temper to a point, and give his brow gray hairs. And he should have a goat, no doubt, on which to vent his spite; a sawdust dummy, good and stout, should do for that all right. And then, when burdened with his woe, he might a while withdraw, and to the basement gaily go, and smash that dummy’s jaw. And when he’d sprained the dummy’s back, and spoiled its starboard glim, he to his duties would retrack, refreshed and full of vim.
Some outlet for his flowing bile—on this each man depends; but he should always have a smile and “Thank you” for his friends.
When I am needing further planks, to make a chicken pen, I’ll seek the merchant who said, “Thanks! I hope you’ll come again!” I feel that I am welcome there, in that man’s scantling store, and I can use the office chair or sleep upon the floor. His cordial treatment makes me pant to patronize such gents; and I shall wed his maiden aunt and borrow fifty cents.
I’d sing his praises day and night, if singing were allowed; the man consistently polite will always charm the crowd.