Recently I read a book by the Founder of Hilton hotels, Conrad Hilton titled “Be My Guest”. The book is autobiographical which is a worth read for any aspiring entrepreneur. Specially in India because the reader will get many insights into the manner how an enterprise is successfully built — including the art of bargaining.

Conrad Hilton recalls the advice given to him by one Christian Father Derasches to overcome problems in business — say your prayers with “Hail Mary” and then “St. Joseph, Pray for Us” (or me) three times daily. And he obeyed the Father and seemed to have benefitted.

And as he worked in his father's general stores selling wool and hides as well, he was confronted with a rich old Spanish widow who wanted to buy a pair of shoes from his shop. And she was a known “bargainer” in the town despite being rich. Conrad Hilton's father Gus Hilton allowed his son to deal with and tackle this tough customer to gain experience, of course, with needed tips. Here is how the customer and the shopkeeper young Conrad confronted each other over a pair of shoes:

Now bargaining was — and is — a very personal thing with a great deal of tradition behind it. You have to know the rules. But if you do, and have a zest for it, a good bargaining bout between well-matched opponents can be as exciting as a major league ball game.

The trick is to know the value of an article, to learn to regard a price tag so that it is flexible — not, of course, on staples like salt or coffee, but on such items as feathered hats or coffins. The buyer is entitled to a bargain. The seller is entitled to a profit. So there is a fine margin in between where the "price is right." I have found this to be true to this day whether dealing in paper hats, winter underwear or hotels.

The Senora and I commenced our skirmish with a careful inspection of the pair of shoes she required. The merchandise was without blemish. The game could begin. In Spanish she asked the price. I quoted the price tag. She sailed into action.

"Ladron!" (Unvarnished thief!) she shrieked and clutched her black lace shawl tightly as though to prevent my making off with it. Then followed a voluble stream of invective which I sidestepped and let run its course. As she paused for breath I said, as calmly as I could, "They're worth every penny of it." The Senora pointed a trembling brown finger against my chest. I was, she said, "Sin verguenza" (without shame) to try to cheat her thus. At that point I came down ten cents.

"You need the shoes," I pointed out reasonably, "and you won't get another pair this side of Socorro." The tencent reduction had softened, not satisfied her. She wept. We were coming to the closing minutes of the game. How could I do this to her, she whimpered, a poor widow with no one to protect her interests? Keeping my mind's eye firmly on her sleek fat sheep and her sleek lazy son, I shook my own head sorrowfully and continued to regard the price tag. In that instant she reached the grand climax. "Malhayas tu!" (Damn you!) she screamed, exactly as she often screamed at my father.

It was a fine compliment. I was satisfied. I reduced the price twenty - five cents. She smiled. I smiled. It was a deal. The Senora had her shoes — and a bargain. I had a profit — and a raise. For as she left, my father came out from behind the baling wire grinning broadly, his fat gold watch in his hand. "Done like a gentleman and a businessman," he said, "and in good time, too."

I have played variations on that scene throughout my whole life, often with bigger chips, often over longer periods of time. But the rules are always the same and I have never lost the thrill of the game."

So this was a win - win situation. Habitual bargainers may benefit from this experience of Hilton. Good luck.