He also cabled his financial references which would have started a bank.

He, too, was doomed to disappointment. After a fortnight came the usual
letter from America containing the now familiar phrase: "See Blank
Blank, our Paris representative. He may be able to take care of you."

Manfully he went to see Monsieur Blank Blank, who not only had no
curling irons but refused to display the slightest interest in them.

Still another American took an order for some kid skins, intended for
the manufacture of fine shoe uppers. By the terms of the agreement they
were to be three feet in width. The money for them amounting to $30,000
was deposited in a New York bank before shipment.

When the skins reached Paris they were found to be heavy, coarse leather
and measuring five feet in width. They were absolutely useless for the
desired purpose. The average French buyer, however, is not a welcher. He
accepted the undesirable stuff, but with a comment in French that,
translated into the frankest American, means, "Never again!"

All this oversight is aided and abetted by a twin evil, a lack of
knowledge of the French language. Here you touch one of the chief
obstacles in the way of our foreign business expansion everywhere. It
has put the American salesman at the mercy of the interpreter, and since
most interpreters are crooks, you can readily see the handicap under
which the helpless commercial scout labours. A concrete episode will
show what it costs:

A certain American firm, desirous of establishing a more or less
permanent connection in France, sent over one of its principal officers.