Читать книгу Dawson Black: Retail Merchant - Harold Whitehead - Страница 7

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I used to think that old Barlow had an easy time as boss of my former store, but the first day, there seemed to be so many things to do, so many things to decide, that my head was in a whirl.

I intended to begin a thorough stock-taking, but hadn't a chance to touch it—so many things cropped up.

I had a row with one of the help, a fellow named Larsen. Larsen had been at the store for over thirty years. He was there before Jim Simpson got it and he was with two of the proprietors before that. He told me he wanted his last two weeks' pay. When I asked him what he meant, he said that Jim had told him to ask me for it, as he had arranged with me to pay it.

I didn't believe him. Jim wouldn't do anything like that, I was sure, and I told Larsen that in so many words. He asked me if I thought he was a liar. I told him he knew that better than I did. I told him if he didn't know how to speak to his superiors, he could just pack his things and go, and I would have him know that I was boss there. Larsen shrugged his shoulders and said:

"You go with me and see Simpson before he runs away. You ask him whether I lie or not. I don't insult you. I simply tell you what I know. You call me a crook! If you were an older man you would know better. I've been here thirty years. No one has ever questioned me. My word is as good as his."

To please him I said we would go and see Jim the next day at his home. I couldn't go that night, for I was too busy. Jim called in at the store for a few minutes in the morning, and said he expected to be around for a few days in case I wanted to see him about anything.

I told Betty that evening about the dispute with Larsen, and to my surprise she sided with him. It looked as if Betty and mother had got up a conspiracy to disagree with everything I did! Still, thought I, "what do women know of business?"

I thought Betty was right in one thing, however, when she said to me:

"Did Mr. Barlow ever speak to you about knowing your place?"

"Why, no," I said.

"I'll tell you why, boy. You see, he knows he's boss, and everybody else knows it, and he knows that if he is to get the best out of his people he has got to get them to work with him and not for him. The way you treated Larsen will tend to make him merely work for you and not for the interests of the business. He will simply use you as a makeshift until he can get something else. If you want to get the very best out of the people who work for you, you have got to take a real interest in them, and treat them with the same courtesy that you want to be treated with."

I was just going to tell her that I couldn't be the boss there unless I made them keep their place, but she held up her hand and said:

"Wait a minute, boy. I'm a year younger than you, but I'm older than you in many respects. You are only a big boy and you want some one to look after you." She blushed a little as she said this. "You are impetuous. You say things which you don't mean. You speak so sharply at times that people misunderstand your naturally kind disposition and think that you are fault-finding. And then you are really so conceited that you hate to admit you are wrong, with the result that you leave people with a wrong impression of you. Do you remember that saying about the man who conquers himself being greater than he who masters a city? You should learn to think a little more carefully about what you say before you say it. Remember that you can say something sharp to the help and then forget it the next minute; but they won't forget it. They will think it over and it will rankle and they will feel spiteful toward you, and they'll do something to 'get even' with you."

I hated to admit it, but I had got a hunch that Betty was very nearly right. I decided I would try to control my tongue a little more, and would remember that the people who worked for me would do better work for me if they liked and respected me.

The next morning, I went around with Larsen, as I had promised him, to see Jim Simpson, and found that he had gone. He had left a note for me saying that he found he had an opportunity to get away and that he would write me his address in a few days.

Larsen saw me twisting his note in my fingers while I was thinking about it there, and he came over and said:

"Can I see that note, Boss?"

I passed it to him. He read it, shook his head, and said:

"Guess you believe me now, don't you, Mr. Black?"

I nodded. That's all I could do.

He shrugged his shoulders and said:

"Well, two weeks' money don't hurt me very much. I hope, Boss, he hasn't stung you."

I went cold at the thought of it. I didn't think it could be true, but, when I came to think it over, I realized that I had taken his word for almost everything.

I went home and told mother and Betty about it, and they advised me to get in touch with Mr. Barlow at once. I said I wouldn't do that—I wasn't going to leave a man and then two or three days afterwards run to him for help. I thought of Fellows of the Flaxon Advertising Company. I telephoned his house and, fortunately, caught him, and he came right around to see me.

He asked me if I had had a lawyer draw up the agreement. I told him "no." He asked me if I had had an inventory made before buying the store. I told him "no." He asked me if I had verified the profits of the business for the last two years. I told him "no." He asked me if I had had the books audited at all. I told him "no."

"Good God, lad," he said, "what have you done, anyhow?"

And then I acted like a fool. I burst out crying and told him that what I had done had been to make an ass of myself and to give Jim Simpson $6500.00.

He thought a minute and said:

"Well, I should think the store would be worth very nearly that, from what I know of it. It may not be so bad, after all."

But, when I told him that I had also given Jim a note for $3500.00 he persuaded me to go to see a lawyer in the morning, and promised that he would telephone to Boston to arrange with a jobber whom he knew and from whom I knew Jim Simpson bought goods, to send some one over to help me take an inventory.