What was wrong with him anyway? He wasn't a recluse. He _wanted_ to indulge and enjoy the polished luxury of his world. He _wanted_ to be conventional. He was young and handsome and tall and dark. He had a good job. He had a pleasant and comfortable legal arrangement with a girl in the next block. But truly, what he had was all he wanted. He glanced at the card on the table. He could always say _no_. It wouldn't be easy, but he could say _no_. Perry thumbed through the Pulitzer prize winning work for 2087 which had been delivered yesterday as part of his book club subscription. He had seen it already, of course, in a dozen magazines and a hundred copies of his facsimile newspaper. It was the advertising copy for Cor-T-Zan foundation garments. But he didn't need a corset and the spartan simplicity of the fragile, lovely words bored him. He switched on television. A phrenetic band was hammering out the new top jingle on the Hit Parade: _Tootsie gum, tootsie gum Ooh yum-yum, it's touched with rum; Love that girl with eyes so hot, TOOTSIE GUM hits the spot._ Perry switched off the set. He was alone. He could be honest with himself. The whole damned business irritated him. If he was out of step with the times, to hell with the times. Mr. Master Salesman didn't even say _when_ he would call. You were expected to sit on the edge of your chair, waiting for the great man to appear. Finally Perry decided what he'd do. He'd simply not open the door when the MS came knocking. Upon that decision, he slept well. * * * * * Sometime later he dreamed of frying bacon over an open fire in the woods, although he hadn't been out to the park in three years. When he opened his eyes, the sun was up. He still smelled bacon frying. Perry crawled out of bed, fumbled into his robe and followed his nose to the kitchen-bar. There, in his favorite chair, sat a handsomely-dressed, distinguished man with florid complexion, iron gray hair and a fashionable paunch. Strips of bacon were frying on the bright, spotless steel of the cooking shield. "How did you get in here?" Perry asked crossly. "Serve-All does all," his visitor said cryptically and smiled the smile that's known around the world. Perry would have no opportunity to shut out the Master Salesman. He was in. "You are Mr. Mansfield?" "Yes sir," Perry said, uncertain of decorum. "My name is Marlboro," the MS said in melodius tones. "Master is the proper term used in addressing us. Please sit down." "Yes, Master," Perry said. He felt like a fool and sat down. "Breakfast will be served in a few moments," Marlboro said. "I hope you don't mind, I examined your excellent library before you came in." He pulled a volume off the shelf. "This is a beautiful old first edition. Wherever did you find it?" It was Perry's copy of "Basic Sales Techniques" with Burton footnotes on vacuum cleaner sales charts for the last half of the 20th century.