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diff --git a/31038.txt b/31038.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..625fe15 --- /dev/null +++ b/31038.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1117 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Real Hard Sell, by William W Stuart + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Real Hard Sell + +Author: William W Stuart + +Illustrator: Anonymous + +Release Date: January 21, 2010 [EBook #31038] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE REAL HARD SELL *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti, David Wilson and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + ++--------------------------------------------------------------+ +| | +| Transcriber's note: | +| | +| This story was published in _If: Worlds of Science Fiction_, | +| July 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence | +| that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. | +| | ++--------------------------------------------------------------+ + + + + +Naturally human work was more creative, more inspiring, more important +than robot drudgery. Naturally it was the most important task in all the +world ... or was it? + + + + +THE REAL HARD SELL + +By William W. Stuart + + +Ben Tilman sat down in the easiest of all easy chairs. He picked up a +magazine, flipped pages; stood up, snapped fingers; walked to the view +wall, walked back; sat down, picked up the magazine. + +He was waiting, near the end of the day, after hours, in the lush, plush +waiting room--"The customer's ease is the Sales Manager's please"--to +see the Old Man. He was fidgety, but not about something. About nothing. +He was irritated at nobody, at the world; at himself. + +He was irritated at himself because there was no clear reason for him to +be irritated at anything. + +There he sat, Ben Tilman, normally a cheerful, pleasant young man. He +was a salesman like any modern man and a far better salesman than most. +He had a sweet little wife, blonde and pretty. He had a fine, husky +two-year-old boy, smart, a real future National Sales Manager. He loved +them both. He had every reason to be contented with his highly +desirable, comfortable lot. + +And yet he had been getting more sour and edgy ever since about six +months after the baby came home from the Center and the novelty of +responsibility for wife and child had worn off. He had now quit three +jobs, good enough sales jobs where he was doing well, in a year. For no +reason? For petty, pointless reasons. + +With Ancestral Insurance, "Generations of Protection," he'd made the +Billion Dollar Club--and immediately begun to feel dissatisfied with +it--just before cute, sexy, blonde Betty had suddenly come from nowhere +into his life and he had married her. That had helped, sure. But as soon +after that as he had started paying serious attention to his job again, +he was fed up with it. "Too much paper work. All those forms. It's work +for a robot, not a man," he'd told Betty when he quit. A lie. The paper +work was, as he looked back on it, not bad at all; pleasant even, in a +way. It was just--nothing. Anything. + +Indoor-Outdoor Climatizers--sniffles, he said, kept killing his sales +presentation even though his record was good enough. Ultra-sonic +toothbrushes, then, were a fine product. Only the vibration, with his +gold inlay, seemed to give him headaches after every demonstration. He +didn't _have_ a gold inlay. But the headaches were real enough. So he +quit. + +So now he had a great new job with a great organization, Amalgamated +Production for Living--ALPRODLIV. He was about to take on his first big +assignment. + +For that he had felt a spark of the old enthusiasm and it had carried +him into working out a bright new sales approach for the deal tonight. +The Old Man himself had taken a personal interest, which was a terrific +break. And still Ben Tilman felt that uneasy dissatisfaction. Damn. + +"Mr. Robb will see you now, Mr. Tilman," said the cool robot voice from +the Elec-Sec Desk. It was after customer hours and the charming human +receptionist had gone. The robot secretary, like most working robots, +was functional in form--circuits and wires, mike, speaker, extension +arms to type and to reach any file in the room, wheels for intra-office +mobility. + +"Thanks, hon," said Ben. Nevertheless, robot secretaries were all +programmed and rated female--and it was wise to be polite to them. After +all, they could think and had feelings. There were a lot of important +things they could do for a salesman--or, sometimes, not do. This one, +being helpful, stretched out a long metal arm to open the door to the +inner office for Ben. He smiled his appreciation and went in. + + * * * * * + +The Old Man, Amalgamated's grand old salesman, was billiard bald, aging, +a little stout and a little slower now. But he was still a fine sales +manager. He sat at his huge, old fashioned oak desk as Ben walked across +the office. + +"Evening, sir." No response. Louder, "Good evening, Mr. Robb. Mr. Robb, +it's Ben, sir. Ben Tilman. You memo'd me to come--" Still no sign. The +eyes, under the great, beetling brows, seemed closed. + +Ben grinned and reached out across the wide desk toward the small, +plastic box hanging on the Old Man's chest. The Old Man glanced up as +Ben tapped the plastic lightly with his fingernail. + +"Oh, Ben. It's you." The Old Man raised his hand to adjust the ancient +style hearing aid he affected as Ben sank into a chair. "Sorry Ben. I +just had old Brannic Z-IX in here. A fine old robot, yes, but like most +of that model, long-winded. So--" He gestured at the hearing aid. + +Ben smiled. Everyone knew the Old Man used that crude old rig so he +could pointedly tune out conversations he didn't care to hear. Any time +you were talking to him and that distant look came into his half closed +eyes, you could be sure that you were cut off. + +"Sorry, Ben. Well now. I simply wanted to check with you, boy. +Everything all set for tonight?" + +"Well, yes, sir. Everything is set and programmed. Betty and I will play +it all evening for the suspense, let them wonder, build it up--and then, +instead of the big pitch they'll be looking for, we'll let it go easy." + +"A new twist on the old change-up. Ben, boy, it's going to go. I feel +it. It's in the air, things are just ripe for a new, super-soft-sell +pitch. Selling you've got to do by feel, eh Ben? By sales genius and the +old seat of the pants. Good. After tonight I'm going all out, a +hemisphere-wide, thirty day campaign. I'll put the top sales artist of +every regional office on it. They can train on your test pattern tapes. +I believe we can turn over billions before everybody picks up the signal +and it senilesces. You give an old man a new faith in sales, Ben! You're +a _salesman_." + +"Well, sir--" But the Old Man's knack with the youthful-enthusiasm +approach was contagious. For the moment Ben caught it and he felt pretty +good about the coming night's work. He and Betty together would put the +deal over. That would be something. + +Sure it would... + +"How do you and your wife like the place, Ben?" It was some place, for +sure, the brand new house that Amalgamated had installed Ben, Betty and +Bennie in the day after he had signed up. + +"It's--uh--just fine, sir. Betty likes it very much, really. We both +do." He hoped his tone was right. + +"Good, Ben. Well, be sure to stop by in the morning. I'll have the +tapes, of course, but I'll want your analysis. Might be a little +vacation bonus in it for you, too." + +"Sir, I don't know how to thank you." + +The Old Man waved a hand. "Nothing you won't have earned, my boy. Robots +can't sell." That was the set dismissal. + +"Yes, sir. Robots can't manage sales, or--" He winked. The Old Man +chuckled. An old joke was never too old for the Old Man. The same old +bromides every time; and the same hearty chuckle. Ben left on the end of +it. + + * * * * * + +Dialing home on his new, Company-owned, convertible soar-kart, he felt +not too bad. Some of the old lift in spirits came as the kart-pilot +circuits digested the directions, selected a route and zipped up into a +north-north-west traffic pattern. The Old Man was a wonderful sales +manager and boss. The new house-warming pitch that he and Betty would +try tonight was smart. He could feel he had done something. + +Exercising his sales ability with fair success, he fed himself this +pitch all along the two hundred mile, twenty-minute hop home from the +city. The time and distance didn't bother him. "Gives me time to think," +he had told Betty. Whether or not this seemed to her an advantage, she +didn't say. At least she liked the place, "Amalgamated's Country +Gentleman Estate--Spacious, Yet fully Automated." + +"We are," the Old Man told Ben when he was given the Company-assigned +quarters, "starting a new trend. With the terrific decline in birth rate +during the past 90 to 100 years, you'll be astonished at how much room +there is out there. No reason for everyone to live in the suburban +centers any more. With millions of empty apartments in them, high time +we built something else, eh? Trouble with people today, no initiative in +obsolescing. But we'll move them." + +Home, Ben left the kart out and conveyed up the walk. The front door +opened. Betty had been watching for him. He walked to the family +vueroom, as usual declining to convey in the house. The hell with the +conveyor's feelings, if so simple a robot really had any. He _liked_ to +walk. + +"Color pattern," Betty ordered the vuescreen as he came in, "robot audio +out." With people talking in the house it was still necessary to put the +machines under master automatic and manual control. Some of the less +sophisticated robots might pick up some chance phrase of conversation +and interpret it as an order if left on audio. + +"Ben," said Betty, getting up to meet him, "you're late." + +Ben was too good a salesman to argue that. Instead, he took her in his +arms and kissed her. It was a very good sixty seconds later that she +pushed him away with a severeness destroyed by a blush and a giggle to +say, "Late but making up for lost time, huh? And sober, too. You must be +feeling good for a change." + +"Sure--and you feel even better, sugar." He reached for her again. She +slipped away from him, laughing, but his wrist tel-timer caught on the +locket she always wore, her only memento from her parents, dead in the +old moon-orb crash disaster. She stood still, slightly annoyed, as he +unhooked and his mood was, not broken, but set back a little. "What's +got into you tonight anyway, Ben?" + +"Oh, I don't know. Did I tell you, the O.M. may give us a vacation? +Remember some of those nights up at that new 'Do It Yourself' Camp last +summer?" + +"Ben!" She blushed, smiled. "We won't get any vacation if we blow our +house-warming pitch tonight, you know. And we have three couples due +here in less than a half hour. Besides, I have to talk to you about +Nana." + + * * * * * + +"That damned new CD-IX model. Now what?" + +"She's very upset about Bennie. I'm not sure I blame her. This afternoon +he simply refused his indoctrination. All the time he should have been +playing store with Playmate he insisted on _drawing_ things--himself, +mind you, not Playmate. On the walls, with an old pencil of yours he +found someplace in your things. Nana couldn't do a thing with him. She +says you've got to give him a spanking." + +"Why me? Why not you?" + +"Now Ben, we've been over that and over it. Discipline is the father's +job." + +"Well, I won't do it. Bennie's just a baby. Let him do a few things +himself. Won't hurt him." + +"Ben!" + +"That Nana is an officious busybody, trying to run our lives." + +"Oh, Ben! You know Nana loves little Bennie. She only wants to help +him." + +"But to what?" + +"She'd never dream of lifting a finger against Bennie no matter what he +did. And she lives in terror that he'll cut her switch in some temper +tantrum." + +"Hmph! Well, I'm going up right now and tell her if I hear another word +from her about spanking Bennie, I'll cut her switch myself. Then she can +go back to Central for reprogramming and see how she likes it." + +"Ben! You wouldn't." + +"Why not? Maybe she needs a new personality?" + +"You won't say a thing to her. You're too soft-hearted." + +"This time I won't be." + +This time he wasn't. He met Nana CD-IX in the hallway outside Bennie's +room. Like all nurse, teaching, and children's personal service robots, +she was human in form, except for her control dial safely out of baby's +reach, top, center. + +The human form was reassuring to children, kept them from feeling +strange with parents back. Nana was big, gray-haired, stout, buxom, +motherly, to reassure parents. + +"Now, Mr. Tilman," she said with weary impatience, "you are too late. +Surely you don't intend to burst in and disturb your son now." + +"Surely I do." + +"But he is having his supper. You will upset him. Can't you understand +that you should arrange to be here between 5:30 and 6 if you wish to +interview the child?" + +"Did he miss me? Sorry, I couldn't make it earlier. But now I am going +to see him a minute." + +"Mr. Tilman!" + +"Nana! And what's this about your wanting Bennie spanked because he drew +a few pictures?" + +"Surely you realize these are the child's formative years, Mr. Tilman. +He should be learning to think in terms of selling now--not _doing_ +things. That's robot work, Mr. Tilman. Robots can't sell, you know, and +what will people, let alone robots think if you let your boy grow up--" + + * * * * * + +"He's growing up fine; and I am going in to see him." + +"Mr. Tilman!" + +"_And_ for two credits, Nana, I'd cut your switch. You hear me?" + +"Mr. Tilman--no! No, please. I'm sorry. Let the boy scrawl a bit; +perhaps it won't hurt him. Go in and see him if you must, but do try not +to upset him or-- All right, all right. But please Mr. Tilman, my +switch--" + +"Very well Nana. I'll leave it. This time." + +"Thank you, Mr. Tilman." + +"So we understand each other, Nana. Though, matter of fact, I'm hanged +if I ever did quite see why you senior-level robots get so worked up +about your identities." + +"Wouldn't you, Mr. Tilman?" + +"Of course. But--well, yes, I suppose I do see, in a way. Let's go see +Bennie-boy." + +So Ben Tilman went into the nursery and enjoyed every second of a fast +fifteen-minute roughhouse with his round-faced, laughing, chubby son and +heir. No doubt it was very bad, just after supper. But Nana, with a +rather humanly anxious restraint, confined herself to an unobtrusive +look of disapproval. + +He left Bennie giggling and doubtless upset, at least to a point of +uneagerness for Nana's bedtime story about Billie the oldtime newsboy, +who sold the Brooklyn Bridge. + +So then he was run through a fast ten-minute shower, shave and change by +Valet. He floated downstairs just as Betty came out of the cocktail +lounge to say, "Code 462112 on the approach indicator. Must be the +Stoddards. They always get every place first, in time for an extra +drink." + +"Fred and Alice, yes. But damn their taste for gin, don't let Barboy +keep the cork in the vermouth all evening. I like a touch of vermouth. I +wonder if maybe I shouldn't--" + +"No, you shouldn't mix the cocktails yourself and scandalize everybody. +You know perfectly well Barboy really does do better anyway." + +"Well, maybe. Everything all set, hon? Sorry I was late." + +"No trouble here. I just fed Robutler the base program this morning and +spent the rest of the day planning my side of our Sell. How to tantalize +the girls, pique the curiosity without giving it away. But you know--" +she laughed a little ruefully--"I sort of miss not having even the +shopping to do. Sometimes it hardly seems as though you need a wife at +all." + +Ben slid an arm around her waist. "Selling isn't the only thing robots +can't do, sugar." He pulled her close. + +"Ben! They're at the door." + +They were, and then in the door, oh-ing and ah-ing over this and that. +And complimenting Barboy on the martinis. Then the Wilsons came and the +Bartletts and that was it. + +"Three couples will be right," Ben had analyzed it. "Enough so we can +let them get together and build up each others' curiosity but not too +many for easy control. People that don't know us so well they might be +likely to guess the gimmick. We'll let them stew all evening while they +enjoy the Country Gentleman House-Warming hospitality. Then, very +casually, we toss it out and let it lie there in front of them. They +will be sniffing, ready to nibble. The clincher will drive them right +in. I'd stake my sales reputation on it." If it matters a damn, he +added. But silently. + +They entertained three couples at their house-warming party. It was a +delightful party, a credit to Ben, Betty and the finest built-in house +robots the mind of Amalgamated could devise. + +By ten o'clock they had dropped a dozen or more random hints, but never +a sales pitch. Suspense was building nicely when Betty put down an empty +glass and unobtrusively pushed the button to cue Nana. Perfect timing. +They apologized to the guests, "We're ashamed to be so old-fashioned but +we feel better if we look in on the boy when he wakes in the night. It +keeps him from forgetting us." + +Then they floated off upstairs together, ostensibly to see Nana and +little Bennie. + +Fred Stoddard: "Some place they have here, eh? Off-beat. A little too +advanced for my taste, this single dwelling idea, but maybe--Ben sure +must have landed something juicy with Amalgamated to afford this. What +the devil is he pushing, anyway?" + +Scoville Wilson (shrug): "Beats me. You know, before dinner I cornered +him at the bar to see if I could slip in a word or two of sell. Damned +if he didn't sign an order for my Cyclo-sell Junior Tape Library without +even a C level resistance. Then he talked a bit about the drinks and I +thought sure he was pushing that new model Barboy. I was all set to come +back with a sincere 'think it over'--and then he took a bottle from the +Barboy, added a dash of vermouth to his drink and walked off without a +word of sell. He always was an odd one." + +Lucy Wilson (turns from woman talk with the other two wives): "Oh no! I +knew it wasn't the Barboy set. They wouldn't have him set so slow. +Besides didn't you hear the way she carried on about the nursery and +that lovely Nana? That must have been a build-up, but Ben goofed his +cue to move in on Sco and me for a close. Doesn't Amalgamated handle +those nurseries?" + +Tom Bartlett: "Amalgamated makes almost anything. That's the puzzle. I +dunno--but it must be something big. He has to hit us with something, +doesn't he?" + +Belle Bartlett: "Who ever heard of a party without a sell?" + +Nancy Stoddard: "Who ever heard of a party going past ten without at +least a warm-up pitch? And Betty promised Fred to send both Ben and +Bennie to the Clinic for their Medchecks. You know we have the newest, +finest diagnosticians--" + +Fred Stoddard: "Nancy!" + +Nancy Stoddard: "Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be selling you folks at +_their_ party, should I? Come to think, you're all signed with Fred +anyway, aren't you? Well, about Ben, _I_ think--" + +Lucy Wilson: "Sh-h-h! Here they come." + + * * * * * + +Smiling, charming--and still not an order form in sight--Ben and Betty +got back to their guests. Another half hour. Barboy was passing around +with nightcaps. Lucy Wilson nervously put a reducegar to her +sophisticated, peppermint-striped lips. + +Quickly Ben Tilman was on his feet. He pulled a small, metal cylinder +from his pocket with a flourish and held it out on his open palm toward +Lucy. A tiny robot Statue of Liberty climbed from the cylinder, walked +across Ben's hand, smiled, curtsied and reached out to light the +reducegar with her torch, piping in a high, thin voice, "Amalgamated +reducegars are cooler, lighter, finer." + +"Ben! How simply darling!" + +"Do you like it? It's a new thing from Amalgamated NovelDiv. You can +program it for up to a hundred selective sell phrases, audio or visio +key. Every salesman should have one. Makes a marvelous gift, and +surprisingly reasonable." + +"So that's it, Ben. I just love it!" + +"Good! It's yours, compliments of Amalgamated." + +"But--then you're not selling them? Well, what on earth--?" + +"Damn it, Ben," Fred Stoddard broke in, "come on, man, out with it. What +in hell _are_ you selling? You've given us the shakes. What is it? The +Barboy set? It's great. If I can scrape up the down payment, I'll--" + +"_After_ we furnish a nursery with a decent Nana, Fred Stoddard," Nancy +snapped, "and get a second soar-kart. Ben isn't selling Barboys anyway, +are you. Ben? It _is_ that sweet, sweet Nana, isn't it? And I do want +one, the whole nursery, Playmate and all, girl-programmed of course, +for our Polly." + +"_Is_ it the nursery, Betty?" Lucy pitched in her credit's worth. "Make +him tell us, darling. We have enjoyed everything so much, the dinner, +the Tri-deo, this whole lovely, lovely place of yours. Certainly the +house warming has been perfectly charming." + +"And that's it," said Ben smiling, a sheaf of paper forms suddenly in +his hand. + +"What? Not--?" + +"The house, yes. Amalgamated's Country Gentleman Estate, complete, +everything in it except Bennie, Betty and me. Your equity in your Center +co-op can serve as down payment, easy three-generation terms, issue +insurance. Actually, I can show you how, counting in your entertainment, +vacation, incidental, and living expenses, the Country Gentleman will +honestly cost you less." + +"Ben!" + +"How simply too clever!" + +Ben let it rest there. It was enough. Fred Stoddard, after a short +scuffle with Scoville Wilson for the pen, signed the contract with a +flourish. Sco followed. + +"There!" + +"There now, Ben," said Betty, holding Bennie a little awkwardly in her +arms in the soar-kart. They had moved out so the Stoddards could move +right in. Now they were on their way in to their reserved suite at +Amalgamated's Guest-ville. "You were absolutely marvellous. Imagine +selling all three of them!" + +"There wasn't anything to it, actually." + +"Ben, how can you say that? Nobody else could have done it. It was a +sales masterpiece. And just think. Now salesmen all over the hemisphere +are going to follow your sales plan. Doesn't it make you proud? Happy? +Ben, you aren't going to be like _that_ again?" + +No, of course he wasn't. He was pleased and proud. Anyway, the Old Man +would be, and that, certainly, was something. A man had to feel good +about winning the approval of Amalgamated's grand Old Man. And it did +seem to make Betty happy. + +But the actual selling of the fool house and even the two other, +identical houses on the other side of the hill--he just couldn't seem to +get much of a glow over it. He had done it; and what had he done? It was +the insurance and the toothbrushes all over again, and the old nervous, +sour feeling inside. + +"At least we do have a vacation trip coming out of it, hon. The O.M. +practically promised it yesterday, if our sell sold. We could--" + +"--go back to that queer new 'Do It Yourself' camp up on the lake you +insisted on dragging me to the last week of our vacation last summer. +Ben, really!" He _was_ going to be like that. She knew it. + +"Well, even you admitted it was some fun." + +"Oh, sort of, I suppose. For a little while. Once you got used to the +whole place without one single machine that could think or do even the +simplest little thing by itself. So, well, almost like being savages. Do +you think it would be safe for Bennie? We can't watch him all the time, +you know." + +"People used to manage in the old days. And remember those people, the +Burleys, who were staying up there?" + +"That queer, crazy bunch who went there for a vacation when the Camp was +first opened and then just stayed? Honestly, Ben! Surely you're not +thinking of--" + +"Oh, nothing like that. Just a vacation. Only--" + +Only those queer, peculiar people, the Burleys had seemed so relaxed and +cheerful. Grandma and Ma Burley cleaning, washing, cooking on the +ancient electric stove; little Donnie, being a nuisance, poking at the +keys on his father's crude, manual typewriter, a museum piece; Donnie +and his brothers wasting away childhood digging and piling sand on the +beach, paddling a boat and actually building a play house. It was mad. +People playing robots. And yet, they seemed to have a wonderful time +while they were doing it. + +"But how do you keep staying here?" he had asked Buck Burley, "Why don't +they put you out?" + +"Who?" asked Buck. "How? Nobody can sell me on leaving. We like it here. +No robot can force us out. Here we are. Here we stay." + + * * * * * + +They pulled into the Guest-ville ramp. Bennie was fussy; the nursery +Nana was strange to him. On impulse, Betty took him in to sleep in their +room, ignoring the disapproving stares of both the Nana and the Roboy +with their things. + +They were tired, let down. They went to bed quietly. + +In the morning Betty was already up when Ben stumbled out of bed. "Hi," +she said, nervously cheerful. "The house Nanas all had overload this +morning and I won't stand for any of those utility components with +Bennie. So I'm taking care of him myself." + +Bennie chortled and drooled vita-meal at his high-chair, unreprimanded. +Ben mustered a faint smile and turned to go dial a shave, cool shower +and dress at Robather. + +That done, he had a bite of breakfast. He felt less than top-sale, but +better. Last night _had_ gone well. The Old Man would give them a +pre-paid vacation clearance to any resort in the world or out. Why +gloom? + +He rubbed Bennie's unruly hair, kissed Betty and conveyed over from +Guest-ville to office. + +Message-sec, in tone respect-admiration A, told him the Old Man was +waiting for him. Susan, the human receptionist in the outer office, +favored him with a dazzling smile. There was a girl who could sell; and +had a product of her own, too. + +The Old Man was at his big, oak desk but, a signal honor, he got up and +came half across the room to grab Ben's hand and shake it. "Got the full +report, son. Checked the tapes already. That's selling, boy! I'm proud +of you. Tell you what, Ben. Instead of waiting for a sales slack, I'm +going to move you and that sweet little wife of yours right into a +spanking new, special Country Gentleman unit I had in mind for myself. +And a nice, fat boost in your credit rating has already gone down to +accounting. Good? Good. Now, Ben, I have a real, artistic sales +challenge that is crying for your talent." + +"Sir? Thank you. But, sir, there is the matter of the vacation--" + +[Illustration] + +"Vacation? Sure, Ben. Take a vacation anytime. But right now it seems to +the Old Man you're on a hot selling streak. I don't want to see you get +off the track, son; your interests are mine. And wait till you get +your teeth into this one. Books, Ben boy. Books! People are spending all +their time sitting in on Tri-deo, not reading. People should read more, +Ben. Gives them that healthy tired feeling. Now we have the product. We +have senior Robo-writers with more circuits than ever before. All +possible information, every conceivable plot. Maybe a saturation guilt +type campaign to start--but it's up to you, Ben. I don't care how you do +it, but move books." + +"Books, eh? Well, now." Ben was interested. "Funny thing, sir, but that +ties in with something I was thinking about just last night." + +"You have an angle? Good boy!" + +"Yes, sir. Well, it is a wild thought maybe, but last summer when I was +on vacation I met a man up at that new camp and--well, I know it sounds +silly, but he was writing a book." + +"Nonsense!" + +"Just what I thought, sir. But I read some of it and, I don't know, it +had a sort of a feel about it. Something new, sir, it might catch on." + +"All right, all right. That's enough. You're a salesman. You've sold +me." + +"On the book?" Ben was surprised. + +"Quit pulling an old man's leg, Ben. I'm sold on your needing a +vacation. I'll fill out your vacation pass right now." The Old Man, +still a vigorous, vital figure, turned and walked back to his Desk-sec. +"Yes sir," said the secretarial voice, "got it. Vacation clearance for +Tilman, Ben, any resort." + +"And family," said Ben. + +"And family. Very good, sir." + +The Old Man made his sign on the pass and said heavily, "All right then, +Ben. That's it. Maybe if you go back up to that place for a few days and +see that psycho who was writing a book again, perhaps you'll realize how +impractical it is." + +"But sir! I'm serious about that book. It really did have--" he broke +off. + +The Old Man was sitting there, face blank, withdrawn. Ben could feel he +wasn't even listening. That damned hearing aid of his. The Old Man had +cut it off. Suddenly, unreasoningly, Ben was furious. He stood by the +huge desk and he reached across toward the hearing aid on the Old Man's +chest to turn up the volume. The Old Man looked up and saw Ben's hand +stretching out. + +A sudden look of fear came into his china blue, clear eyes but he made +no move. He sat frozen in his chair. + +Ben hesitated a second. "What--?" But he didn't have to ask. He knew. + +And he also knew what he was going to do. + +"No!" said the Old Man. "No, Ben. I've only been trying to help; trying +to serve your best interests the best way I know. Ben, you mustn't--" + +But Ben moved forward. + + * * * * * + +He took the plastic box on the Old Man's chest and firmly cut the +switch. + +The Old Man, the Robot Old Man, went lifeless and slumped back in his +chair as Ben stretched to cut off the Desk-sec. Then he picked up his +vacation clearance. + +"Robots can't sell, eh?" he said to the dead machine behind the desk. +"Well, you couldn't sell me that time, could you, Old Man?" + +Clumsily, rustily, Ben whistled a cheerful little off-key tune to +himself. Hell, they could do anything at all--except sell. + +"You can't fool some of the people all of the time," he remarked over +his shoulder to the still, silent figure of the Old Man as he left the +office, "it was a man said that." He closed the door softly behind him. + +Betty would be waiting. + +Betty was waiting. Her head ached as she bounced Bennie, the child of +Ben, of herself and of an unknown egg cell from an anonymous ovary, on +her knees. Betty 3-RC-VIII, secret, wife-style model, the highest +development of the art of Robotics had known instantly when Ben cut the +Old Man's switch. She had half expected it. But it made her headache +worse. + +"But damn my programming!" She spoke abruptly, aloud, nervously +fingering the locket around her neck. "Damn it and shift circuit. He's +right! He is my husband and he is right and I'm glad. I'm glad we're +going to the camp and I'm going to help him stay." + +After all, why shouldn't a man want to do things just as much as a +robot? He had energy, circuits, feelings too. She knew he did. + +For herself, she loved her Ben and Bennie. But still just that wasn't +enough occupation. She was glad they were going to the new isolation +compound for non-psychotic but unstable, hyper-active, socially +dangerous individual humans. At the camp there would be things to do. + +At the camp they would be happy. + +All at once the headache that had been bothering her so these past +months was gone. She felt fine and she smiled at little Bennie. +"Bennie-boy," she said, kissing his smooth, untroubled baby forehead. +"Daddy's coming." Bennie laughed and started to reach for the locket +around Mommy's neck. But just then the door opened and he jumped down to +run and meet his daddy. + + + END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Real Hard Sell, by William W Stuart + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE REAL HARD SELL *** + +***** This file should be named 31038.txt or 31038.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/0/3/31038/ + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti, David Wilson and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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