In his wandering life he made
acquaintance with many tramps and saw how he might make even the
lowest useful. After a few years he scraped up enough capital to start
a small store in New York, far downtown, where rents were cheap.
Like his peddler's pack, the store was stocked with odds and ends.
But again they were just the right odds and ends, the odds and ends
that every one in that neighbourhood wanted and had never been able to
obtain under one roof. No article cost less than five cents, none more
than a dollar, and it was marvellous what Peter Rolls could afford to
sell for a dollar.
"I Can Furnish Your Flat for Ten Dollars. Why? Because I Work with My
Own Hands," was Peter Rolls's first advertisement. And the Hands had
never lost their cunning since.
He could undersell any other shopkeeper in New York because he got his
salesmen for next to nothing. They were a judicious selection from
among his friends, the tramps. Any man who could recall enough of his
schooling to do a little sum in addition was eligible. He was fed,
clothed, tobaccoed, judiciously beered, watched all day while at work,
and shut up at night in a fireproof, drink-proof cubicle.
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