Mrs. Kresken's words. Down went my enthusiasm. I felt that not only had my energies been wasted, but that a huge joke had been played upon me. Here I had come, all the way from Philadelphia, to the Ohio metropolis, and had done my very best, only to be taken in by two dead beats. Fortunately I was cautioned in time.
I proceeded to inform my employer to cancel both orders, upon information given me by reliable parties. They never received their goods.
Facing Failure in Louisville
I was still traveling in company with my newly found friend Mr. Stacey. In Cincinnati he received instructions from his home office to go down to Louisville, Kentucky.
Louisville, Ky., although but a short distance from Cincinnati, at the time sounded to me like "way down South." I hesitated about changing my itinerary, having already made up my mind to explore the Middle West thoroughly. Mr. Stacey, however, convinced me that Louisville is by no means far out of the way, that it was a splendid town, with plenty of opportunities for a man in my line, and that I could easily reach Indianapolis from Louisville, the distance between the two cities being a hundred and ten miles. I saw the reasonableness of his argument, and to Louisville we went that very night.
My experience in Cincinnati was in nowise conducive to bolstering up my self-confidence and spirit, two essentials that go to make up the success of traveling salesmen. Half-heartedly, after partaking of a scanty breakfast at a cheap hostelry—the cheapest I could find in Louisville, for I was still "practising economy"—I strolled down the street in quest of florists and business. At every place I was told that I was too late, that all the other supply houses, whose representatives had been coming there for years, had already visited Louisville and gathered in all the orders. It was most discouraging. What was I to do? To leave a city like Louisville empty-handed—no, that wouldn't do at all. Has not somebody said somewhere, "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again"? That was a wise saying, and I must try to see if I cannot succeed, despite the failure staring me in the face.
Ride in a Mule Car and Promising Orders
Late in the afternoon, I boarded a mule car, on my way to the cemeteries, not to bury myself alive, exactly, though I felt pretty much of a dead one in spirit, but to try to dig up some business. A few blocks distant from Cave Hill Cemetery I discovered a florist, Mr. Joseph Coenen (who is now in California cultivating Oranges). And to him I looked hopefully for some semblance of an order. To be sure, he too had purchased his supplies, but nevertheless he could use a few metallic wreaths and other things, providing I was reasonable enough in my prices. Prices! In a moment of despair, prices are no object. I assured Mr. Coenen that he need not hesitate on that ground, that I represented the finest house on earth, and that my concern was in a position to sell the best goods at the lowest figures. We soon came to terms, and I had a twenty or twenty-five dollar order in my books. So far, so good So why despair? Let me try again.
There are four or five florists in the immediate vicinity of Cave Hill Cemetery, and to them I made my way. At the first place I entered my hopes were blasted immediately. The man had no orders to give me; and if he had any to give at all, he would prefer giving them to the house he had been dealing with, and not to a stranger. Arguments were of no avail.
At the second place, the reception accorded me was more courteous, though the material results were no better. At the third place—but here I must stop for a moment and speak in most kindly words of the man who gave me both moral and material encouragement at a time when I needed both so much. It was Jacob
