The Unrelenting Doorbell: A Victorian Guide to Handling Salesmen

A woman recently decided to treat all callers with courtesy, even the peddlers. Her first attempt to make a living, however, was soon discouraged by the rude rebuffs of her own in presenting their wares. She began the trial at 8:45 a.m.; a little girl ran to the door and asked for a gentleman in a gentle voice. 'No, thank you,' the woman said. At 9:10 a.m., she was confronted by a soap-peddling lady. 'No, thank you,' she said again. By 9:40 a.m., just as she had the baby to sleep, there was a knock at the door that made the little one jump and utter a scream. The mother reddened but went resolutely to the door, where a weary-looking old man demanded if she needed salve, knife polish, toilet soap, corn cure, or stove blacking. She answered with, 'No, thank you, sir.' At 10:18 a.m., when the young man with chrome in frames came round, she said, 'No, nothing to-day,' and shut the door with some vehemence. By 11:20 a.m., she did not hear the firm who was canvassing for 'New Century of American Progress' in fifty-two parts; she was more than half through the panegyric on the Centennial work before she said, 'No,' and withdrew. By 12:22 p.m., she had got to the stage of answering her pursuers before they had spoken to her. At 1:18 p.m., she did it daily, and punctuated her remarks with the slam of the door. At 1:50 p.m., she told a boy with paint to 'get out of that and never come here again.' At 2:27 p.m., she pushed a lame life-insurance agent down the steps before he could utter a syllable, and at 3:20 p.m., when the minister made a pastoral call, she, ere he could smile and say 'Well, Sister Jenkins, how are you,' hit him on the head with the broom handle, and he ran down the steps, out of the front gate, across the sidewalk and clean into a trash box on the other side of the road.