The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [410]
“All right,” Studs said to prevent the fellow from unwinding into another long breath-taking spiel.
“Well, would you like to try it?”
“I might.”
“That’s no way to be a salesman,” Mr. Peters said, his expression pained as he emphatically shook his head from side to side. Rising half way from his chair, he surprised Studs by pounding his fist on the desk and gimleting Studs with a searching eye-to-eye gaze. “You got to be positive, direct, forthright. You’ll never be able to sell with that wishy-washy kind of an attitude and manner.”
“I think I might try it, but I can’t today because I haven’t any money with me to buy the cups,” Studs said apologetically, but determined not to be roped in.
“You know every day lost is so much money lost. So much time squandered. And time is the most valuable and precious possession of mankind.”
“I didn’t think to take money with me.”
“Usually an initial order of our new salesman is five pack-ages of cups for two-fifty, but you might start with a lower order, one or two packages. One package is only fifty cents. You could sell in the territory I assign you here in the Loop and earn the price of your lunch and carfare. Then you could come down early tomorrow prepared to dig right in, or even, you could buy one package, sell it, and come back for two more with your dollar from the same.”
“I couldn’t even do that. I’ve only got my I. C. ticket and the price of my lunch.”
“That’s too bad, and it may be your tough luck. By tomorrow many good territories will have already been given out. First come, first served. That has to be our motto. Each day you lose means you are sacrificing the prospects of so much good money. After we get our product on the market, we will change our methods, and employ regular salesmen. Then the opportunities will be less than they are now. If a man starts in with our organization now at the beginning, he is in line for advancement. Inside of a year, we’ll need sales managers, and they will have positions that any man would envy. They’ll go into the real money, over a hundred dollars a week, and they will have the guarantee of a future of useful and profitable work. If a man goes in with us now, and he shows he has the genuine goods, his worries, for the future, are over, depression or no depression.”
“Well, I could come back tomorrow.”
“Think it over, Mr... ah .. .”
“Lonigan.”
“Mr. Lonigan, yes. I interview so many people daily that I can’t remember new names always. Now, Mr. Lonigan, if you are interested, I’ll be glad to discuss this proposition of ours with you further in the morning, and start you off on the right foot. But don’t forget, every day, every minute that you lose means that valuable territories and Loop buildings are going to others.”
Studs arose.
“Think it over, Mr. Lonigan,” the man said, lifelessly shaking Studs’ hand.
“I will.”
Studs walked from the office, tired, almost dizzy, from the man’s talk. There was a lineup on the bench, but the girl was gone. He examined his watch: twelve twenty-five, and left. But, gee, if it had only been a real and genuine proposition that would have netted him his sixty bucks a week.
VI
He walked in the rain, north along Wabash Avenue, worn out, with his feet soaked, fighting the discouraging idea of giving up for the day, wondering where to go and what to do next. He dashed into a Thompson restaurant to get out of the rain. He noticed the clock to the right of the cashier’s desk. Seven minutes to one. I probably wouldn’t do much good to try any other place until at least one-thirty. He could sit here over a cup of coffee until then. Should have taken longer with his lunch. He carried his cup of coffee from the counter, put sugar into it at a service stand, and found a one-arm chair. He slouched, and stared around at the many people scattered over the place, noticing a shabby, graying man wolfing a sandwich. Two chairs away from this man, a bum snoozed half asleep over a cup of coffee. At a table, two young lads talked rapidly over plate dinners. Near them