Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 210, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 September 1915 — THE COUNTRY MERCHANT. [ARTICLE]

THE COUNTRY MERCHANT.

Only a More keeper—that's all. Down street—yes, in your own town. Plain sort of a fellow, him—not modi of a merchant, no. A decent chap though, and honest. When you drop into hie store, it's like Mm, plain. ; iHe calls you “Bill** and you call him “Jim,” home folks, you know. He asks you flow the children are, and wife, he knows them, too. He Mraws you what you want to buy, he tells you if it's good or bad and names the price. “Just charge it, Jim," you say, “I am a little short right now.” “All right, Bill," he says, and wraps it up. He pays his taxes here, he chips in all he can to help along the schools and churches. He sits in lodge with you; he calls around when you are sick. He hires home folks to clerk and keep his books; he buys his groceries, meat and clothes, the little furniture, at home, of neighbor merchants. ’Tisn't much, but what it is, your town gels all the benefit. Your bills comes due and still you are short of ready fladh. “I’ll have to stand you off a while,” you say. “All right, Bill,” he says, “I know you'll pay me when you can.” And he never growl# nor grumbles. Pretty decent sort of chap, isn't he? You know it. But what about the catalogue you keep at home and study night and Sunday'S ? Yea, and when you have the coin, maybe, you make an order for some stuff you think you’ve got to have, and with the order you send the dough; you buy it sight unseen. In time the shipment comes—you’d hate to have Jim know. Of course, it's ntme of his business, but then, he might feel hurt because you have not paid him what you owe. Somehow the, plunder that you get don't seem so wonderful as the story of it read; in fact, it is not what you thought it was. And if you’re sung, as others often are, you don't put up a holler and adk you money back. Nary! You read the line of talk again and find the lhap who wrote it was a dam sight smoother than you thought, he worded his description with such clever skill, that you, yourself, filled in his artful gaps and now you’re Stung, you’d a leetle rather no one’d find it out. ißut Jim, that’s another matter. If accidentally you happen to forget to warm the axe you bought of him, before you chop, and bust a clean-cut semi-circle from its edge; or if the stove Mandy bought <of Jim don't suit her notion "bout the way it bakes or draws; or if the barrel chum he sold you slacks because the girl forgot to keep a Httle water in it. Why igo right back to Jim and if he doesn't hustle and smile and hand you another axe, no charge, or send a man to see the stove and clean your soot-clogged chimney out or tighten your chum — by thunder, you cut loose and rip him up the back and down agate—-that’s different. Yep! Poor old Jim! Only a store-keeper—that’s alh He can’t compete with mail order folks you say; he don't know how to buy; he hasn't the -outlet; his prices are too high. (Listen! If he can't compete, the fault is yours as much as his. You measure by a double standard. You finger over his Stock, you blow you breath on his razor blade, you get his guarantee, and then you stand him off and let him sweat until you're good and ready to pay—while to the strangers, who neither know you, nor care a tinker's cuss about you, you must pay before you see or get the goods. You make Jim earn the Mender profit that he makes on' you; you make him be your hanker when you are short of funds; yon squeeze poor Jim and Jew him down and strain the truth, to beat the band; yon strew his path with thorns and rocks. And if your neighbors do like you and send their ready cash away to swell the sales of those who never help your town or you, seme day, not very far away, poor Jim will reach the point where he can't longer hold the bag and when he closes up or moves away there's one more vacant business room -in town. / And real estate is on the bum — your town grows backwards; Somehow taxes keep a climbing up, but stores are fewer, business worse and worse each year. The schools are getting punk, you’ve got to send your children to the city for a decent education—and for that you must pay cash. ■ Why? Think it over.