tell a customer that he's getting a five-dollar shirt for two dollars. I can't get the car I want to put in here—they want too much money and their salesman spent most of his time here speaking in terms that none but a master mechanic on their own auto would understand. I'm a pretty good judge of character and you look good to me. Give me a price on fifty of your cars for immediate delivery and—well, let's hear your figures!" 

 Alex drops his hat on the floor, but when he picked it up, he was as cool as a dollar's worth of ice. 

 "Just a minute," he says, sittin' down and reachin' for a desk telephone. He gets the Gaflooey Company on the wire. 

 "Hello!" he says.  "Say—I want a lump price on fifty delivery wagons—what?—never mind who this is, if the price is right I'll come up."  He winks at Munson like he's lettin' him in on somethin'—and, by gravy, Munson winks back!  "Yes—fifty," says Alex on the wire. "Thirty-five thousand dollars?—thank you!"  He hangs up the phone and turns to Munson.  "They'll give you twenty-five hundred off, accordin' to that figure," he says. 

 Munson grabs up a pad and writes somethin' on it. 

 "There!" he says, givin' it to Alex.  "Tell 'em to get as many cars over here to-morrow as they can. Get your bill and I'll O.K. it. Now—" he pulls his chair over closer, "About those chicks and—oh, yes, I want your opinion on some figures I have here on my truck—" 

 An hour later, me and Alex walks into the salesroom of the Gaflooey Automobile Company. I was in a trance, and if he had of promised to lift the Singer Buildin' with one hand I would of laid the world eight to five he could do it! The whole place is in confusion—salesmen chasin' around, telephonin' and actin' like they just heard they was a bomb in the basement. Alex asks for the manager, and some guy chances over and asks what he wants. 

 "I have come for that ten thousand a year job you advertised this mornin'," says Alex. 

 "Job?" howls the manager, glarin' at him.  "You poor boob, can't you see how busy we are here now? We just got a tip on a real order—fifty cars, and we can't trace the thing!"  He rubs his hands together. "Fifty cars! That's how the Gaflooey sells—fifty at a time!"  He sneers at Alex.  "Your approach is terrible!" he says.  "You'll never land a job in this town like that, my boy. Go somewhere first and learn how to interest a busy man with the first thing 

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