“Surprise,” I said, “Madame, here is a surprise for your husband. This tie rack…”

By Gregory Clark, Illustrated by James Frise, February 3, 1934.

“Can you run over for a minute?” asked Jimmie Frise on the telephone.

“I’ve just settled down,” I said, “for the night, with a good fishing book.”

“Well, I’ve got a poor chap here, I wanted you to see him,” said Jimmie. “It’s a pathetic case.”

“A friend?’ I asked.

“No, he just came to the door,” said Jimmie, in a guarded voice. “He is selling necktie racks. A very nice article. But he lacks salesmanship. He hasn’t got the punch. And he broke down on my porch. Run over for a minute, will you?”

“I’m no good in cases like that, Jimmie,” I demurred. “I always break down, too.”

“Come on,” begged Jim, “we’ll go into a committee on him.”

So I threw on my coat and walked over to Jimmie’s.

Jim had him in his little study at the side of the house. He was a man in his thirties, not badly dressed, but with that drawn look of despair and defeat on his face that is familiar to any of us that answer our front doors. Beside him on the floor was a paper bundle containing about a dozen objects made of wood with numerous pegs sticking out of them. They were painted pink, or blue or white.

“This gentleman,” said Jimmie, when I walked in, “makes these tie racks himself.”

I examined one critically.

“It’s a very attractive article,” I said with a professional air.

“But,” said Jimmie, “this gentleman can’t sell them. He simply can’t sell them. He has gone from door to door all through this well-to-do neighborhood and he hasn’t sold one!”

“I guess I’m not cut out for a salesman,” muttered the tie rack man huskily.

“Wasn’t anybody interested?” I inquired sitting down sympathetically.

“Most of them just opened the door, and before I could say a word, when they saw me hold out the tie rack, they shut the door,” said the man. His mouth was working, and tears stood in his eyes.

“It isn’t,” said Jim, hastily, “as if these were some commonplace junk. These are an original conception. Made by hand. Designed to fill a long-felt want in almost every home.”

A Surprise Selling Line

“Yes, sir,” said the man, sniffing loudly, “I thought them up myself. And I made the first model myself. And I perfected it myself. And I produced them in quantity myself. Painted and all.”

“Well,” I said, “nowadays you have to have a selling idea as good as the idea in itself. It’s no longer true that the world will beat a pathway to the door of a man who makes a better mouse trap. Nowadays, the only pathway, beaten to any mouse trap manufacturer’s is to the one who advertises and has worked up a smart selling line. In fact, the only pathways at all are those beaten by tireless salesmen driven by a tireless sales manager. To-day, the best mouse traps in the world aren’t catching any mice if the inventor is simply sitting at home looking out across the lawn for a path to appear.”

“You mean,” said Jim, “that this gentleman ought to get some manufacturer to adopt his idea?”

“Not if this gentleman wants to make any money out of it,” I replied. “I was merely suggesting that we think up some smart idea for him. This is old territory he is working. Every door in this neighborhood has been opened ten times a day for the past three years by somebody with something to sell, useful or otherwise. He has got to have some way of keeping that door open for half a minute, for even fifteen seconds, until he sinks the harpoon of interest into his prospective customer.”

“That’s true,” admitted Jim. “Now what would you suggest?”

“For one thing,” I said, “I’d have a couple of nice snappy ties hanging in one of these racks when I hold it up as the door opens.”

“Great!’ exclaimed Jimmie.

The other poor chap sat up with interest.

“Then I would say something like this,” I said, getting up and holding one of the tie racks in my hand, as if I were at a door. “‘Surprise, madam, a surprise for your husband. This tie rack hanging handy to his dresser, with all his ties neatly and tidily displayed. Only fifty cents. It will keep his dresser tidy. It will tend to make him interested in his appearance. Only fifty cents. In three colors. To match your furnishings!’”

I sat down amidst applause.

The man was impressed and flushed.

“Gents,” he said, “I sure am grateful. I’m sure I can do it. You’ve put new life into me. But I don’t think I’ll try to-night. I’ll wait till to-morrow. I’m all in tonight.”

“No, no,” cried Jimmie. “Try it to-night. While the idea is fresh upon you. Why, you can get rid of this dozen to-night in half an hour.”

“I’d rather tackle it to-morrow when I’m fresh,” said he.

Making a Poor Start

“Think of going home to-night with six bucks in your pocket,” said Jimmie, earnestly. “I believe in striking when the iron is hot.”

“Gents, if you don’t mind,” said the poor fellow anxiously.

“Listen,” cried Jim. “I know how you feel, this salesman stuff is terrible at first when you aren’t used to it. I tell you what we’ll do. We’ll go with you for the first few calls and get you started.”

“Would you!” exclaimed the tie rack man joyfully. “Would you?”

“Sure,” I said.

“We certainly would,” said Jim. “We’re interested in human nature experiments like this.”

Jim dashed out for his coat and hat and the man picked up his bundle of tie racks.

We went out, taking Jim’s car.

“We’ll drive a little way,” said Jim, “just to get away from this immediate neighborhood where we’re known.”

We drove up a couple of blocks and parked in a comfortable neighborhood and began at the first house in the block.

“Now you be the salesman,” said Jimmie to me, “and we’ll come right with you, carrying the stock of merchandise.”

We rang the bell. I cleared my throat.

A lady came to the door.

“Surprise,” I said, bowing slightly and employing a regular salesman smile. “Madam, here is a surprise for your husband. This tie rack hanging handy to your husband’s dresser…”

The lady, who had been looking with astonishment from one to the other of us, slowly closed the door. She didn’t even say scat.

In silence we walked down the steps.

“There you are, gents!” said the tie rack man. “That’s it.”

“One swallow doesn’t make a summer,” said Jimmie. “The bad beginning means a good end.”

Nobody was home but the young folks at the next house, they were dancing to the radio and the seven or eight of them who answered the door didn’t have fifty cents.

The next house, only the maid was in.

The next one, only the man of the house was in, and he had the book he was reading in his hand, and you could see his mind was not on what we were saying.

“Surprise,” I cried, holding the tie rack up in front of him. “Sir, a surprise for yourself. This handsome tie rack hanging handy to your dresser with all your ties neatly and tidily arrayed . . .”

“What the heck!” he said suddenly. And as suddenly slammed the door.

We went back out to the pavement.

The tie rack man was getting impatient. You could tell by the way he kept silent and stared off down the dark street moodily.

“Think of a new line,” said Jim. “Try some other approach.”

Trying the Heart Appeal

“How about this?” I exclaimed. “All three of us stand in the doorway, each one of us holding out a tie rack, you the blue one, you the pink one, and me the white one. What you call mass appeal. And then I will say: “Madam, these are tie racks. They are a useful and ornamental object for every man’s room.’ “

“No good,” said Jimmie, “we would only frighten the woman.”

“I guess you gents had better let me get along,” said the tie rack man in a melancholy voice.

“No, sir, once we put our hand to the plow,” cried Jimmie.

“Look here,” I cut in, “why not employ the one appeal that has worked to-night? What got this man into your house and brought us out into a committee of the whole? Why, the heart appeal.”

“Tears,” cried Jimmie.

“The breakdown,” I said. “We will call at this next house and we will all three stand there, with tears in our eyes, and appeal to the lady to buy a tie rack, we haven’t sold one to-night!”

“And that would be true,” added the tie rack man.

“Don’t overdo it,” warned Jimmie.

We went up to the next house. We turned up our coat collars and stood in an abject huddle while we waited for the bell to be answered.

A bald-headed man in shirt sleeves came to the door.

“Mister,” I said, exhibiting the poor pink tie rack, “us three have been all over this neighborhood trying to dispose of these tie racks, we only ask fifty cents, they’re a lovely thing, handy as anything, and we made them ourselves (here I let a little quaver get into my voice) and painted them ourselves, our own idea, too, and we thought we could make an honest dollar or two out of them…”

The bald-headed man stood looking at us silently. The tie rack man was the picture of woe. Jim had his chin ducked down in his collar, his hat over his eyes, a look of desperation in his attitude.

“You haven’t sold one, eh?”

“No, sir,” I said, brokenly. Jim gave what sounded like a muffled sob. The tie rack man lifted his wan face into the light.

“By george,” said the bald-headed man, “step inside here a minute.”

Generous With Advice

He held the door wide, and we three trooped into the hall. Beyond, there was a table, through a haze of cigar smoke, at which sat three men playing poker.

“Just a minute, boys,” called the baldheaded man. “Step out here.”

The poker players got up and came into the hall.

“These three poor chaps,” said the baldheaded man, “have a very handy little article here, a tie rack. See? A handy little gadget. They made them themselves. They thought up the idea themselves. They painted then. They have been all over this district and haven’t sold one! Now, here’s a case where we ought to help, don’t you think?”

All four of them regarded us with deep sympathy.

We all sat down in the front room.

“You follows look like pretty respectable men,” said the baldhead.

“Yes, sir,” I said. “We’re all good honest mechanics, and we thought we could make a few honest dollars to help along. But it seems we can’t sell these things.”

One of the men opened the bundle of tie racks and they all passed them around, admiring them.

“A smart idea,” they said. “A first-rate article. A thing you would imagine would sell in any house.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “Any man would appreciate having a thing like that to keep his ties in order.”

“Sure,” said one of the poker players, “my ties are all hanging on a knob by the mirror on my dresser. All in a mess.”

“I tell you what,” said the-bald-headed man, “you fellows have got a good article here, but no matter how good your article you have got to have a selling talk to go with it. It isn’t enough just to show them at the door from house to house.”

“That’s true, sir,” I said. And Jimmie nodded brightly.

“Now, we four men,” said the baldheaded man, looking around at his three friends who were regarding us sympathetically and curiously, “are in the merchandising business. In fact, this gentleman is something of a wizard at selling. I think we could get together right now and give you a sales talk on these articles which would work magic. You could dispose of this lot in no time, the three of you.”

“You’re right, Bill,” said the others, nodding.

“Now, let’s see,” said the bald-headed man. “How about this: you walk up to the door and when the lady comes you are holding the tie rack up like this, see? And you say, right off: “Madame, the problem of keeping your husband’s ties in order is one of the banes … no, not one of the banes…”

“The problem of keeping your husband’s ties in order,” stated one of the other poker players, a tall, thin, thoughtful man, whose tie was all skew-gee, “is promptly solved by this simple, attractive and handsome little article, only fifty cents.”

“That’s better,” cried the bald-headed man. “Or how about this: “Madame, how often do you have to sort out your husband’s ties, all in a tangle in his bureau drawer? This handy little article, etcetera, etcetera…” Do you see?”

The New Message

Jimmie and the tie rack man and I all saw, but the tie rack man had a slight bulge in his eyes that I did not like.

“I tell you what we’ll do, boys!” cried the bald-headed man. “We’ll go with you! This is most interesting to us, as sales experts. We’re not in the mood for cards to-night anyway, are we, boys? No. So just wait a jiffy and we’ll step out with you and see those racks vanish with a little snappy sales approach.”

“Good idea,” agreed the others, rising.

“Won’t there be a lot of us calling from door to door, sir?” I asked respectfully.

“I was going to suggest,” said the tall, thoughtful man, “that we might each take two racks apiece and we will scatter along the block and make a game of it. See who disposes of his racks first. Eh, boys! And so select the best sales talk.”

His friends all snapped up the challenge.

“How about it?” asked the bald-headed one, genially. “Will you trust us?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” I assured him, nudging the tie rack man, who seemed to be on the point of saying something.

We trooped out the front door.

“You chaps work right along here,” said the bald-headed one, “but as we others are known around here we’ll walk a couple of blocks north and start. When you’re through wait here, will you? We’ll be back in no time!”

We divided up the package of tie racks, giving each of the four gentlemen two apiece. Pinks and blues.

They walked eagerly away and Jim and the tie rack man and I started down to the corner of the block for Jim’s car.

“Now for a getaway,” I exclaimed.

“Where do I get off in this?” demanded the tie rack man loudly.

“Ssssh!” said Jim. “We’ll pay you for the lot. Three bucks each, me and my little friend. Am I right?’

“Right,” I said, opening the car door and hastening my two companions into it.

“But where do you get off in this?” asked the poor tie rack fellow, bewildered.

“It’s worth three bucks each to us,” I explained as Jim drove quietly but smartly away from there, “for the lesson.”

“Lesson?” said the tie rack man.

“Sympathy and advice aren’t enough,” I said. “We are all learning that now. Those four guys right now are learning it, too! It’s the new message of good times returning.”

“Yes,” said Jim, “we’ll buy your stuff even if we don’t need it.”

“And even,” I added, “if we haven’t got it!”

“Well, sir,” said the tie rack man, “I do believe things are on the mend!”


Editor’s Note: This story appeared in Silver Linings (1978).