Allen kept his word, and early the next morning, he delivered thirty-six brand new cans to Mr. Gable's grocery store using a borrowed handcart.
Mr. Gable looked at the neatly stacked cans, especially their unique, smooth mechanical seals, and nodded with satisfaction.
"Mr. Williams, your craftsmanship, like yourself, is trustworthy. Now, it's up to the customers."
"They will make a wise choice," Allen said, then left.
For the next three days, Allen did not bother Mr. Gable again.
Excessive urging and attention would only make him appear unconfident.
He used this time to purchase another batch of beef and ingredients with the remaining money, continuing to produce day and night in his basement workshop.
The aroma of stewed meat had almost become the permanent background scent of Mrs. Hudson's house.
Although the stern old landlady didn't say anything, there would always be an extra egg or a slice of bacon next to the black bread in the breakfast she brought down every day.
By the afternoon of the fourth day, Allen figured the time was about right and decided to go to the grocery store to check on the situation.
He had even prepared for the worst.
If not a single one had sold, he would take everything back and think of other solutions; after all, canned goods could last a long time.
However, when he pushed open the grocery store door again, the scene and conversation inside made him laugh.
Mr. Gable was standing behind the counter, his face showing a complex expression of both excitement and distress, while opposite him, a tall dockworker was shouting loudly.
"What do you mean, 'none left'? Mr. Gable, I just bought two cans of 'Williams' brand from you yesterday! You can't do this; my wife and children are waiting for me to bring this stuff home to improve our meals!"
"Frank, I swear to God, there's really not a single one left!"
Mr. Gable spread his hands, looking helpless, "The small cans sold out yesterday, and the last three large cans were bought by a captain going on a long voyage half an hour ago!"
"Damn it!"
The worker named Frank slapped his thigh in annoyance, "Then tell the person who makes the cans to make more! This stuff is so much tastier than those overly salty cured meats, and it gives you energy."
Just then, Mr. Gable saw Allen at the door, and his eyes instantly lit up, as if he had seen a savior.
"Frank, it seems your wish has come true. Look, Mr. Williams is here."
Frank immediately turned his head, staring at Allen with burning eyes.
"You are Mr. Williams? You are the one who made that stewed beef can?"
"That would be me," Allen nodded with a smile.
"Good lad, you're really something!"
Frank stepped forward and clapped Allen on the shoulder with a large, fan-like hand, almost making him stumble.
"The cans you make are truly a blessing for us manual laborers; they're not only convenient, delicious, and filling, but also perfectly sealed and long-lasting! When can you deliver more? I'll pre-order ten small cans!"
"I want to pre-order too!"
Another customer nearby also came over, "My son is going to the mines in the West, and he's worried about not having food on the road. Your cans are perfect for him!"
Allen was a bit caught off guard by this sudden enthusiasm.
He had imagined many possibilities, but never such a popular scene.
"Everyone, everyone, please calm down."
Mr. Gable came out to maintain order, "Mr. Williams's production is limited, but as soon as the next batch arrives, I promise to set some aside for all of you."
After appeasing the enthusiastic customers, Mr. Gable pulled Allen aside, lowering his voice, but the excitement on his face could not be hidden.
"Hey... Williams, you've created a miracle! I've sold groceries for twenty years, and I've never seen a new item sell so fast! Customers are practically fighting to buy them, and some even come from other districts just to try 'that can with the clean seal and amazing taste'!"
Allen's heart was equally turbulent, but he forced himself to remain calm.
Especially at times like these, it was crucial to keep one's composure.
"Sir, it seems my judgment was correct. What people need is never cheapness, but quality."
"Exactly, quality!" Mr. Gable waved his hand emphatically, "So, let's talk business. I'll settle up the payment for the last batch right now."
He took money from the cash box, counted it carefully, and handed it to Allen.
"Twenty-four small cans, at twenty-five cents each, is six dollars. Twelve large cans, at fifty cents each, is also six dollars. A total of twelve dollars. You count it."
Twelve dollars!
When the heavy coins and banknotes were in his hand, Allen felt his heart skip a beat. After deducting costs, he had made a net profit of over five dollars from this batch of goods!
This was a huge sum in an era when an ordinary worker had to work for a week to earn it.
Allen put the money away, not showing excessive excitement.
"Very good." Mr. Gable rubbed his hands and moved on to the next topic, "Regarding the next batch of goods, I'll buy them outright from you. I need five dozen small cans and three dozen large cans. Cash payment, as long as you can deliver the goods as soon as possible."
Five dozen small... sixty cans, three dozen large... thirty-six cans.
This order quantity was nearly three times larger than the first batch.
"Mr. Gable," Allen pondered for a moment, "As you can see, demand far exceeded my expectations. Currently, my workshop is very small, and I am the only worker. To fulfill such a large order, I need to acquire more tools and purchase more raw materials, and these all incur costs..."
Mr. Gable was a shrewd man and immediately understood the underlying meaning.
"You mean, you want to raise the price?"
"Not a price increase, sir," Allen corrected, "It's to ensure quality and stable supply. If you still want to pay the same price for the next batch of orders, I'm afraid I'll have to prioritize customers who are willing to pay a higher price. After all, you're not the only grocery store that sees the business opportunity in this."
This statement was half truth, half threat.
Allen believed that other shop owners must have inquired about the cans at Gable's place in the past few days.
Mr. Gable's expression changed.
He knew Allen was telling the truth; these cans were a golden goose, and he absolutely could not let it fly away.
"Alright, what price do you want?"
"Small cans, thirty cents. Large cans, sixty cents. This is my bottom line."
Allen quoted the new prices, increasing each can by five to ten cents, which would significantly increase his profit.
Mr. Gable frowned, quickly calculating in his mind.
Even with the price increase, his profit margin was still substantial, and with the advantage of exclusive supply, he could easily set an even higher price.
"Deal!"
He finally gritted his teeth and agreed, "But I have one condition: for one month, your cans in the Bowery District can only be supplied exclusively to me."
"Of course, Mr. Gable, that's no problem."
Allen readily agreed.
At this stage, he needed a reliable partner, rather than spreading himself too thin.
"Then, I wish us a pleasant cooperation, Mr. Williams."
"Pleasant cooperation."
Walking out of the grocery store, Allen felt as if he were walking on clouds.
The heavy twelve dollars in his pocket and a lucrative large order made him see a future.
He did not go directly back to the basement, but instead took a detour to the East River docks.
Looking at the ships setting sail, about to head to various parts of the world, and the sailors and workers bustling for a living, an unprecedented sense of ambition surged within him.
He believed that Gable's grocery store was just the beginning.
His goal was the cargo holds of these ships, the backpacks of soldiers heading to the front lines, and the dinner tables of people across this nation and the entire world.
"Canned goods are just the beginning," he whispered to himself.