Democratic Sentinel, Volume 7, Number 48, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 December 1883 — “Pumps.” [ARTICLE]

“Pumps.”

“Do you think you can sell dressgoods and ribbons?” inquired Mr. Nathan Watrous, senior member of the retail firm of Watrous & McGill. The party addressed was a florid young man, ■with a florid nose, florid mustache, and florid hair. He was, in short, quite a Florida youth, and his name was Theopolis Duggan. “I reckon so, ” he replied. “ Can von. be sauve ?” “Which?” “Can you support a becoming address in the presence of ladies—politeness, sauvity, you know?” “O, yes,” answered Duggan, “in the last place I worked the boys all said I was the sauviest man in the troupe, and a rustler among the customers.” “"What business was it?” “Pumps—wooden and iron pumps, and hydraulic rams.” “Quite a different line from dress"goods and ribbons.” “Well, yes, but I ain’t afeared to tackle ’em. Mr. Watrous gave him a trial. The boys in the store labeled, him “Pumps” from the first moment of his initiation into the dress-goods and ribbons department, The second day a petite brunette inquired for some “chicken down” nun’s veiling. Pumps commenced to sweat. “What color is it!” he blurted out. The girl only rewarded him with a stony stare. Pumps rushed off after a new stock of information, and inquired: “Is this a provision store or a butcher shop?” “Why?” answered a one-hundred-and-fifteen-pound salesman. “Because, there’s a gal up there by the show-case who wants some chicken down.” The 115 pounds of pure and unadulterated sauvity waited on her. “Show me some elephant’s breath cashmere,” said an elderly lady in goldbowed spectacles. Pumps dropped a roll of paper cambric and again started down the road after some more intelligence. “What’s elephant’s breath ?” he gasped. “Hanged if I ain’t thinkin’ I’ve struck a menagerie.” “It’s a shade of woolen goods,” murmured another salesman, moving up toward the elderly lady, and selling her a large bill. “Bet your boots I’ll catch on,” said Pumps, swaggering before the glass where the ladies tried on bonnets and hats. Another young lady interviewed Pumps in the afternoon and said: “You know steel sSutache on gray velvet is considered very chic.” “It’s just the chiekiest thing agoin’,” observed Pumps. The young lady looked grieved. “Show me some giraffe-colored cashmere,” she said, quietly. “Another animal wanted,” muttered Pumps, breathlessly, as he reached the other end of the store. He, of course, lost the sale. “Show nje some crinolettes,” demanded a spare woman with a cast in one eye. Pumps was nonplused. “If I was you I wouldn’t get a crinolette,” he ventured. “Yoii wouldn’t!” sneered the lady. ”No, not at this season of the year. I’d get a pair of striped stockings and a poke bonnet.” The lady walked out. “What did she want?” inquired Mr. Watrous, who had kept his eagle eye on the proceeding. ■‘Slio was hankerin’ after a crinolette,” said Pumps, “and I don’t think we have ’em in stock.” “These are crinolettes,” said Mr Wat ? rous, sternly, and pointing to a pile of the garments. “Them! Why, I took them for base ball masks,” said Pumps. “You will have to do better than this,” remarked Mr. Watrous, impressively. “There is a woman up at the front end who wants .some Apollinaria. Hadn’t I better go out and get her a glass of seizor ?” Some mor6 condensed suavity waited on the lady, and sold her polonaise, a moliere waistcoat, an oatrich feather fan, and ten yards of plum-colored velveteen. Pumps was paralyzed. “You fellows have got the thing down pretty middlin’fine,” he.said, pulling his vermilion mustache before the mirror. , “Evidently you have considerable to learn in. this business,” observed th© head salesman to Pumps. “All I ask is a fair show for my money,” returned Pumps, dejectedly. “What would you do if a lady should inquire for an imported jersey ?*” “What are you giving us ?” whined Pumps, “this is no stock yard or dairy ”That', my friend,” said the head salesman, “is a short jacket, introduced into this country by Mrs. Langtry. What if she should inquire for a tournure?” “Me—oh, I’d-—” “That will do!” shouted Mr. Watrous, bobbing up from behind a bale of sheeting, “you can tournuije back on this establishment and hunt work in a lumber yard.”— Texas Siftings.