The woman looked directly at him. Her eyes were bright. He revised his estimate of her age drastically downward. She couldn't be as old as he. Nothing outward had happened, but she no longer seemed dowdy. Not that he was interested. Still, it might pay him to be friendly to the first counselor.
"We're a philanthropic agency," said Murra Foray. "Your case is special, though—"
"I understand," he said gruffly. "You accept contributions."
She nodded. "If the donor is able to give. We don't ask so much that you'll have to compromise your standard of living." But she named a sum that would force him to do just that if getting to Tunney 21 took any appreciable time.
He stared at her unhappily. "I suppose it's worth it. I can always work, if I have to."
"As a salesman?" she asked. "I'm afraid you'll find it difficult to do business with Godolphians."
Irony wasn't called for at a time like this, he thought reproachfully.
"Not just another salesman," he answered definitely. "I have special knowledge of customer reactions. I can tell exactly—"
He stopped abruptly. Was she baiting him? For what reason? The instrument he called Dimanche was not known to the Galaxy at large. From the business angle, it would be poor policy to hand out that information at random. Aside from that, he needed every advantage he could get. Dimanche was his special advantage.
"Anyway," he finished lamely, "I'm a first class engineer. I can always find something in that line."