. The Kodak Salesman. tain and I carried the standardalong with me. Just as I was goingout the door, some wooden frameson a counter caught my eye. Curi-osity impelled me to find out whatthey were, from the saleswomanwho stood near them. They wereChristmas tree holders and costfifty cents. Mv memory had notbeen at fault. It was these stand-ards that I had seen advertised. I looked back. The salesman wasbusy now with another customer,and still another was waiting histurn. After all, I had a good stand-ard, and while the wooden onemight answer e\er_\- puri)ose. metalconstruction certainlv had its
. The Kodak Salesman. tain and I carried the standardalong with me. Just as I was goingout the door, some wooden frameson a counter caught my eye. Curi-osity impelled me to find out whatthey were, from the saleswomanwho stood near them. They wereChristmas tree holders and costfifty cents. Mv memory had notbeen at fault. It was these stand-ards that I had seen advertised. I looked back. The salesman wasbusy now with another customer,and still another was waiting histurn. After all, I had a good stand-ard, and while the wooden onemight answer e\er_\- puri)ose. metalconstruction certainlv had its ad-vantages. And then. I was in ahurry. I left the store with the$ standard still under my arm. And yet— That salesman must have knownabout the wooden holders and I hadtold him that I wanted a cheap de-vice. Somehow, I felt I think I should have boughtthe metal standard in anv event. 11 Sr/ie KODAK SALESMAN V p«* — I s» c o O 0 ® ? ^ » 4- j^ =fe» V 3- •% p»i yr I MW S160 ai61 I esBilll. Some of the Parts That Go Into the ?>\ Kodak Machines That Never Make a Mistake Going back to our childhood, werecall a kind faced old blacksmithwhose warm shop provided a wel-come refuge from the icy blasts thatswept across the skating rink. Wecan see him now as he shaped eachiron shoe with loving care, as if hehated to finish the job. It took hima long time, we remember, to com-plete a task. Sometimes, when ahorse was waiting to be shod, theanimal wotild yawn from sheer im-patience. Weve seen them do it. Ancient historv is the workmanwho fondles each job, who wieldsthe hammer with loving taps, andapproaches his bench each day in areverential mood. Ancient history—or more terselv—old stuff. He wasnt necessary—he keptgetting in the way of business andclogging up the wheels. His son isnecessary though — the chap whowith skilled fingers fashions thetools that speed up production. Butthe old man has gone. Its quantity production to-day,and Canada has helped
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