"C M Kornbluth - The Goodly Creatures" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kornbluth C M)

has a more responsible job open. It was good of you to give us a try, Schneider ..." A warm clap on the
shoulder got him out.



Next time, Farwell thought, feeling his 45 years, it would be better to mention the starting salary in the ad
and short-stop the youngsters with inflated ideas. He was pretty sure he hadn't acted like that beefy
hotshot when he was a kidтАФor had he? тАФcomfort and safety on the space-ways sinceтАФ



He turned on the intercom and said: "Get me Stubby Worple at the Herald." Worple was in.
 "Jim Farwell, Stub. I was looking at the column this morning and I made myself a promise to buzz you
and tell you what a damn fine job it is. The lead graf was sensational." Modest protests.



"No, I mean it. Say, why don't we get together? You got anything on for lunch?"



He did, but how about dinner? Hadn't been to the Mars Room for a coon's age.



"Oh, Mars Room. Sure e*nough all right with me. Meet you in the bar at7:30?" He would.



Well, he'd left himself wide open for that one. He'd be lucky to get off with a $30 tab. But it was a sure
tear-sheet for the Chicago Chair people.



Farwell said to the intercom: "Get me a reservation for 8 tonight at the Mars Room, Grace. Dinner for
two. Tell Mario it's got to be a good table."



He ripped the Kumfyseets first ad out of the typewriter and dropped it into the waste basket. Fifty a
week from Chicago Chair less 30 for entertainment. Mr. Brady wasn't going to like it; Mr. Brady might
call him fromNew Yorkabout it to say gently: "Anybody can buy space, Jim. You should know by now
that we're not in the business of buying space. Sometimes I think you haven't got a grasp of the big
picture the way a branch manager should. Greenhough asked about you the other day and I really didn't
know what to tell him." And Farwell would sweat and try to explain how it was a special situation and
maybe try to hint that the sales force was some-tunes guilty of overselling a client, making promises that
Ops couldn't possibly live up to. And Mr. Brady would close on a note of gentle melancholy with a
stinging remark or two "for your own good, Jim."