babble; we must say something. When we ring the bell and a woman opens the door, we must interest her before she can close it. Once her interest is caught the rest should be easy. 'Madam,' we say, 'I am here to save you money.' Money is a magic word. She'll listen, and then we'll tell her how it's done."
All morning they rehearsed imaginary front-door interviews. At noon Bert was sure that he would neither stammer nor falter. He hastened home, ate a hurried meal, and was off to storm the citadel.
The first doorbell he rang brought no immediate response. He rang again. The door opened.
"Madam—" he began.
A child, not a woman, stood within the hall. He was not prepared to be greeted by little girls and his set talk was utterly routed from his mind.
"Mother," the child piped, "says she has all the soaps, and mops, and peeling knives she needs." The door closed.
Bert went down the steps with flushed cheeks. He had been taken for a peddlar—he who had come with a soaring idea of selling a useful service. His pride suffered a fall from which it did not recover all the afternoon.
By five o'clock he found that women were beginning to prepare the evening meal and had no time to waste on salesmen. He came back to the
