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?"