should sell so many cars while his few stood in the warehouse. "You've got the right idea at least. I've a couple of young demonstrators now, and they just smell up the whole town with gasoline, while the warehouse stays full of cars." The door was open, and Mr. Morris pointed with his pencil to where six spick and span new cars stood awaiting a buyer. That was his idea of "full."
"What are you asking for those cars out there?" inquired George, feeling that he was making headway.
"One thousand dollars apiece—too much money for this man's town," frowned the manufacturer.
"Mr. Morris!" The tone of George's voice had been lowered almost to solemnity, and he advanced and leaned a hand impressively upon the big, littered desk. "I am about to make you a proposition that may sound fresh, but I don't mean it that way. I want you to give me two weeks to sell those six cars. If I sell them all in that time, give me fifty dollars apiece commission. If I don't sell them all, I've worked two weeks for you for nothing." George straightened and stepped back from the desk.
Milton Morris sat a moment rather breathless, taking in George again with his eye and his proposition with his mind—a proposition which in his experience, was unique.
