"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 you say and--" "Listen!" butts in Alex. "Gimme that job, will you, or I'll have to go somewhere else." The manager laughs, as a couple of salesmen come along and join him. They all sneer at Alex and the manager nudges his minions and winks. "So you think you're a ten thousand dollar auto salesman, eh?" he says. "Ah--who can you refer to?" He makes a bluff at takin' down notes. "Mister Munson, of the Mastadon Department Store," says Alex. "Ha, ha, ha!" roars the manager. "Department store, eh--that's rich! You quit the shirtwaist department to sell autos, eh? Ha, ha, ha! What does a department store manager know of your ability to sell autos?" he snarls. "Well,--I just sold him fifty of _yours_!" remarks Alex. "So I thought--" "What?" shrieks the manager, grabbin' his arm. Alex hands over the order Munson give him. "Now before I go to work here," he says, "it might be a good idea to let me look over one of your cars, because, to tell you the truth, I ain't never seen one of 'em in my life!" Well, they had Munson on the phone in a minute and in another one the manager hangs up the receiver and comes back. "Do I get the job?" asks Alex.