Another instance was of recent occurrence. In February, 1916, I called on a man in a town in the Middle West about seven in the evening. (The man, by the way, died a few weeks after.) I happened to be friendly also with this man, having known him since his boyhood days, when he worked for another florist in that city. To my great amazement, he met me in a manner quite unlike that of any previous meeting. He wanted to know the nature of my business, telling me right there and then that he had no time to waste nor any orders to give. I felt that he had a grudge, but I would not be dismissed in this manner. I insisted upon knowing what was the trouble. His "never mind" did not satisfy me at all. He finally told me that a hundred four-inch Boston ferns which I had sent him a few months before, and for which he paid, were far from satisfactory; that he had expected better plants for the money, and was quite disappointed about the inferior quality of the plants.
"Then, why didn't you write me?" I asked him. "I would have instructed you to return the plants, and would cheerfully have paid the express charges."
"They are paid for now," he replied, "'and there's no use talking about it."
But I was not satisfied at all. I felt the humiliation of the position he was placing me in, and I insisted upon extricating myself from it at no matter what cost. That night, on my return to the hotel, I made out a check for ten dollars, and mailed it to him, accompanying it with the following letter:
"Dear Sir: Enclosed please find my check for ten dollars, in payment for the hundred Boston ferns which you purchased of me, and which proved unsatisfactory to you. If you think that you are entitled also to the express charges on that lot, please advise me, and I will mail you an additional check to cover same by return of mail. I have traveled for the past twenty-eight years, carrying on my business on a fair and square basis. It is my intention to continue doing so for the rest of my business life. I want no man to be under the impression that I took unfair advantage of him.
He acknowledged my letter promptly, thanking me profusely for the check, apologizing for his manner of treating me, and promising me all sorts of business in the future.
There are, of course, cases where a man is perfectly justified in making claims. I do not mean to convey the idea that the man finding fault with stock is always in the wrong. Not at all. But things could be easily adjusted to the satisfaction of all parties concerned, without resorting to scathing letters and antagonistic methods in general. Misunderstandings often arise without valid cause. A dispassionate letter of explanation, I am sure, would be met by any house in the right spirit, and a fair adjustment would follow.
Laboring "Seven Days a Week"
I used to write late into the night, often to the "wee, sma' hours." If my eyes felt heavy and dim, there was a cup of strong coffee and a cigar to be had at any hour of the night around the corner in a lunch-room. I often resorted to these stimulants, and would then go on with my work, until my very hand gave out. I remember one morning I dropped on my bed exhausted, intending to rest for a few minutes, in order to continue my work; but instead, I fell fast asleep, and rose at six-thirty with my clothes on, ready to take up another day's toil.
I never indulged in theater-going or pleasure of any sort. If a customer invited me to spend a Sunday with him, I always found an excuse, in those earlier days, to decline. There was always work that brooked no delay. One time, I remember, Mr. Herman Hart of Cleveland invited Mr. Harry Bunyard and
