If he appears at all in fiction or on the stage, he is irredeemably vulgar.

He is never heroic, never even a villain, rarely comic, always, poor man, objectionable.

This is a peculiar thing in the literature of a people like the English, who are not ashamed to glory in their commercial success, and are always ready to cheer a politician who professes to have the interests of trade at heart.

Amid the current eulogies of the working man and the apotheosis of the beings called 'Captains of Industry,' the bagman surely ought to find at least an apologist.
Without him it seems likely that many articles would fail to find a place in the windows of the provincial shopkeepers.

Without him large sections of the public would probably remain ignorant for years of new brands of cigarettes, and dyspeptic people might never come across the foods which Americans prepare for their use.
Also the individual bagman is often not without his charm.