Bennett, the salesman, gave a lot of
thought to a world that was going to the
dogs. But he gave more thought to the Cosmic
salesman who could make it a reality.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories July 1953.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
There are two things to know about a salesman, the first being that hispresent job is just to tide him over until the position he is reallyfitted for comes along.
Big Bill Bennett was no exception to this first rule.
Nor was he an exception to the second, of which more later.
Just back from the Moon on a block selling assignment, he lounged intohis branch office an hour late and told his boss that, though it hurthis unmarred conscience to quit when the whole corporation would feelthe loss, this was it.
His boss, who knew that Bill was as indispensable to Always-StitchSewing Machines as a bent needle, pretended great sorrow and wanted toknow what Bill was going to do.
"Well," said Bill, throwing it at him, "I'm going into the future. I'veinherited a time-machine."
"An alarm clock, no doubt?"
"Don't be funny," said Bill, emptying his pockets and droppinghalf-used spools of thread, zipper feet, needles, tension disks andstray parts of machinery on the desk. "You know that uncle of mine, theone that died a few weeks ago—"
"Oh. Yeah. He hated your guts."
"Oh, no, he didn't. That was just a front. Deep down, he must haveadmired my intelligence, even when I argued with him about hisscrewball ideas."
Bill smiled modestly.
"He left everybody else nothing but money. Me he left the time-machine.Molly and I and the foxes are going into the future about two millionyears—and we aren't coming back."
That'll show him what I think of him and his stupid sewing machines.
The boss didn't believe the story about the time-machine. Still, noharm in kidding the dope along.
"Aw, come on, Bill. The world isn't that much of a mess."
"Not yet," said Bill, with all the ominous portent he could muster."The planets are arsenals. Spaceships loaded with weapons and men.Earth is liable to be blown off the map anytime. We're getting out, me,Molly and the foxes."
The boss had never seen Bill so worked up, even after he'd muffed asale. "So the world is going to the dogs," he mused. Then he grinned."I bet you wish it would go to the dogs."
"Not a bad idea," said Bill morosely. "They'd do a heck of a lot betterthan man ever did."
The boss said cautiously, "What does Molly think about this?"
"The wife?" Bill's eyes glazed. "Oh. She does anything I want her to."
The boss went through the amenities. He shook hands warmly. "I don'tknow how we'll ever get a man to replace you—"
"Yeah, I realize that—"
"—I'd like to sell you on the idea of coming back—"
"Nobody's enough of a salesman for that."
"—but maybe it'll all turn out for the best!"
"You're darn right. I'll never look at another sewing machine the restof my life."
Bill paled when Molly packed her featherweight sewing machine withtheir belongings.
"Aw, honey!" he expostulated, cradling her beautiful blonde fluffy headwith one arm while his other gripped the yelping bundle of activitythat was his wire-haired fox-terrier, Is. "We won't need a sewingmachine where we're going. Somewhere in the next ten thousand yearswe'll find a civilization where nobody does any work, where the wholeworld is one great big lawn—"
"You're always so certain of yourself, Bill," sai