The clerk wrapped them up. "Any razor blades or shaving cream? And we got a new order of fountain pens. Guaranteed to last a lifetime without re-filling."
Manning stuffed the package of cigars into his pocket. "No thanks. I don't care much for ball-point pens anyway."
The clerk looked a little disappointed. "Pens are kind of hard to move during summer; guess most people think of them as Christmas presents. That's what I tried to tell the man who sold them to me. They're not real ball-points, though."
Guaranteed to last a lifetime, Manning thought suddenly. A lifetime. Not just for a year or for a solid mile of writing—but a lifetime.
"Let me see one."
It looked like an ordinary pen, the style obviously patterned after a Parker. There was some engraving on the clip. Manning held it up to the light and read it. A Forsythe pen.
"How much?"
"Two forty-nine. Good looking pen for that price."
And what did you get, Manning thought, outside of a stainless steel clip and a fancy plastic barrel? Ten to one it leaked all over you the first time you clipped it in your pocket.
"Did you try them out before you bought them, Jeff?"