“It's the best on the market,” said G. Selden, “out and out, the best.”
“I understand you are only junior salesman?”
“Yes, sir. Ten per and five dollars on every machine I sell. If I had a territory, I should get ten.”
“Then,” reflectively, “the first thing is to get a territory.”
“Perhaps I shall get one in time, if I keep at it,” said Selden courageously.
“It is a good machine. I like it,” said Mr. Vanderpoel. “I can see a good many places where it could be used. Perhaps, if you make it known at your office that when you are given a good territory, I shall give preference to the Delkoff over other typewriting machines, it might—eh?”
A light broke out upon G. Selden's countenance—a light radiant and magnificent. He caught his breath. A desire to shout—to yell—to whoop, as when in the society of “the boys,” was barely conquered in time.
“Mr. Vanderpoel,” he said, standing up, “I—Mr. Vanderpoel—sir—I feel as if I was having a pipe dream. I'm not, am I?”
“No,” answered Mr. Vanderpoel, “you are not. I like you, Mr. Selden. My daughter liked you. I do not mean to lose sight of you. We will begin, however, with the territory, and the Delkoff. I don't think there will be any difficulty about it.”
. . . . .