"This baby'll jolt it out of you. Big, heavy-duty thrust bearings!
Oversize heat absorbers! Completely insulated! Sensitivity range of over--"
"I'll take it," Caswell said. "Right now. I'll pay cash."
"Fine! I'll just telephone Storage and--"
"This one'll do," Caswell said, pulling out his billfold. "I'm in a
hurry to use it. I want to kill my friend Magnessen, you know."
The clerk clucked sympathetically. "You wouldn't want to do that ... Plus
five percent sales tax. Thank you, sir. Full instructions are inside."
Caswell thanked him, lifted the Regenerator in both arms and hurried
out.
After figuring his commission, the clerk smiled to himself and lighted
a cigarette. His enjoyment was spoiled when the manager, a large man
impressively equipped with pince-nez, marched out of his office.
"Haskins," the manager said, "I thought I asked you to rid yourself of
that filthy habit."
"Yes, Mr. Follansby, sorry, sir," Haskins apologized, snubbing out the
cigarette. "I'll use the display Denicotinizer at once. Made rather a
good sale, Mr. Follansby. One of the big Rex Regenerators."
"Really?" said the manager, impressed. "It isn't often we--wait a minute!
You didn't sell the floor model, did you?"
"Why--why, I'm afraid I did, Mr.
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