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, [p 33] 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