Sales Talk

Bennett, the salesman, gave a lot of thought to a world that was going to the dogs. But he gave more thought to the Cosmic salesman who could make it a reality.
There are two things to know about a salesman, the first being that his present job is just to tide him over until the position he is really fitted for comes along.
Big Bill Bennett was no exception to this first rule.
Nor was he an exception to the second, of which more later.
Just back from the Moon on a block selling assignment, he lounged into his branch office an hour late and told his boss that, though it hurt his unmarred conscience to quit when the whole corporation would feel the loss, this was it.
His boss, who knew that Bill was as indispensable to Always-Stitch Sewing Machines as a bent needle, pretended great sorrow and wanted to know what Bill was going to do.
Well, said Bill, throwing it at him, I'm going into the future. I've inherited a time-machine.
An alarm clock, no doubt?
Don't be funny, said Bill, emptying his pockets and dropping half-used spools of thread, zipper feet, needles, tension disks and stray parts of machinery on the desk. You know that uncle of mine, the one that died a few weeks ago—
Oh. Yeah. He hated your guts.
Oh, no, he didn't. That was just a front. Deep down, he must have admired my intelligence, even when I argued with him about his screwball ideas.
Bill smiled modestly.