udini might as well issue a pamphlet giving in detail his
methods of escape as for the merchants of this country to let this book
remain in circulation.

The art of salesmanship is founded, according to Mr. Ivey, on, first, a
thorough knowledge of the goods which are to be sold, and second, a
knowledge of the customer. By knowing the customer you know what line of
argument will most appeal to him. There are several lines in popular
use. First is the appeal to the instinct of self-preservation--i.e.,
social self-preservation. The customer is made to feel that in order to
preserve her social standing she must buy the article in question. "She
must be made to feel what a disparaged social self would mean to her
mental comfort."

It is reassuring to know that it is a recognized ruse on the part of the
salesman to intimate that unless you buy a particular article you will
have to totter through life branded as the arch-piker. I have always
taken this attitude of the clerks perfectly seriously. In fact, I have
worried quite a bit about it.

In the store where I am allowed to buy my clothes it is quite the thing
among the salesmen to see which one of them can degrade me most. They
intimate that, while they have no legal means of refusing to sell their
goods to me, it really would be much more in keeping with things if I
were to take the few pennies that I have at my disposal and run around
the corner to some little haberdashery for my shirts and ties. Every
time I come out from that store I feel like Ethel Barrymore in
"Declassee." Much worse, in fact, for I haven't any good looks to fall
back upon.

[Illustration: They intimate that I had better take my few pennies and
run 'round the corner to some little haberdashery.]

But now that I know the clerks are simply acting all that scorn in an
attempt to appeal to my instinct for the preservation of my social self,
I can face them without flinching. When that pompous old boy with the
sandy mustache who has always looked upon me as a member of the
degenerate Juke family tries to tell me that if I don't take the
five-dollar cravat he won't be responsible for the way in which decent
people will receive me when I go out on the street, I will reach across
the counter and playfully pull his own necktie out from his waistcoat
and scream, "I know you, you old rascal! You got that stuff from page 68
of 'Elements of Retail Salesmanship' (Macmillan)."

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