t me
to buy the damned thing without knowing whether it ticks or not?"

Anson tried desperately to remember the best rule for such an answer,
but failed. He plunged desperately into his own explanation.

"You see, our Roboids are matched to your family personality at the
time of purchase, and activated then. We cannot erase a personality
once it has been transferred to their sensitive minds." He saw the
disbelieving smirk on the man's mouth and felt that the sale was
indeed lost. But he plunged on, desperately.

"They're very economical. They don't require any upkeep, like food.
When they become tired they will sit or lie down near an electric
outlet and plug in a power cord, and in a few minutes they are as
rested and tireless as...."

"Bosh!" Red-tie retorted. "I've heard enough. Come, Millicent, we
still have time to try Bonn's new Helio-rotor. At least they'll give
us a demonstration."

Anson escorted them to the Magna-lift. He felt better as he recalled
the last rule in the Guide, the one that seemed to cover the situation
so well: _Rule 50: If they balk because of the no-demonstration rule,
let them go. They will be back when they have seen one of their
friends with a Plasti-Cast Roboid._

"Good-bye, Sir; Madam," Anson said wearily, as the Magna-lift doors
closed. "Come again soon."

He breathed a sigh of relief as the elevator cage dropped them from
sight. A salesman, who had been standing by, spoke to Anson.

"People are _such_ dears at times, aren't they?" he said. "However,
it's time for your rest period. I'll take over now."

"Thank you so much," Anson replied tiredly.

He walked to a tiny room at the far end of the great showroom and
closed the door. He stretched wearily out on a low, folding cot, the
only piece of furniture, and reached for a tiny black power cord
hanging nearby.

Deftly he plugged it into the socket under his armpit, and breathed
deeply, relaxedly.

"Yes," he chanted softly, drifting off to sleep, "people _are_ such
dears sometimes."

THE END

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