away, Meg ran to the telephone and hurriedly dialled a number. She listened to the ringing tone for a long time, but there was no answer.
The following night was warm and mild with a brilliant moon. As things turned out this was lucky for Anson.
Meg had warned him Barlowe would be difficult but he hadn't imagined he was going to be as difficult as he was. Like most weak-willed people, Barlowe was not only obstinate he was also rude.
Anson had no difficulty in getting in to the big sitting-room because Meg let him in, but when Barlowe jumped up from the armchair before the fire, an evening newspaper in his hand, Anson immediately felt the impact of hostility that came from the small ill-tempered looking man.
In spite of the hostility, Anson went smoothly into his usual sales talk, but he had scarcely begun, before Barlowe curtly cut him short.
"I'm not interested in insurance. I never have been and I never will be," he said. "You're wasting your time and mine. I'll be glad if you'll go."
Anson had smiled his friendly professional smile.
"I've come all the way from Brent, Mr. Barlowe, to see you. I would take it as a favour if you would listen to what I have to say. I..."
"I don't intend to listen!" Barlowe turned angrily to Meg who was standing in the doorway. "Why did you let him in?
You know I never talk to salesmen!"
He sat down and opening his paper, he hid himself behind it.
Anson and Meg exchanged glances. She lifted her shoulders as if to say "Well, I told you, didn't I?"
To Anson this was a challenge. He was one of the top salesmen of the National Fidelity's group of salesmen. Over the years, he had often met with the complete brush-off and had survived to make a sale.
He said to the newspaper, hiding Barlowe, "Of course if I am annoying you I'll go, but I was under the impression you were interested in taking out a life policy. In fact, I was told to call on you."
Barlowe lowered the newspaper and stared suspiciously at Anson.
"Told? What do you mean? Who told you?"
Anson made an apologetic gesture.
"Mr. Hammerstein," he said naming the general manager of Framley's store. He felt safe in using Hammerstein's name.
In his lowly position as salesman, Barlowe wasn't likely to have contact with a man in Hammerstein's position. "I sold him a life policy and he said it would be a good idea if I called on some members of his staff. He gave me your name."
Barlowe flushed red.
"Mr. Hammerstein gave you my name?"
"That's right," Anson said and smiled. "He seems to think a lot of you."
There was a pause, then Barlowe said in a milder tone, "I'm not interested. Anyway, thanks for calling."
"That's all right," Anson said. "I'm glad to have met you. I won't disturb you any longer."
Barlowe got hastily to his feet. He was now looking embarrassed.
"I didn't mean to seem rude," he said. "I wouldn't like you to think ... I mean ... well, one does get so pestered ..."
Anson's smile widened. This ill-tempered little man was now obviously scared word might get back to his boss that he had given Anson the brush-off.
"I know ... I know," he said. "Believe it or not some optimist the other day actually tried to sell me an insurance policy,"
and he laughed.
Barlowe laughed too. He was now losing his hostility and he moved forward as if to show Anson to the front door.
"I'll bet he didn't sell you anything," he said.
"And you wouldn't lose," Anson returned and laughed again.
Barlowe was now in the hall. With a quick wink at Meg, Anson joined him.
"I was admiring your garden," he said. "I would very much like to see it in daylight. As I drove up, my headlights showed me some of the finest roses I have ever seen."
Barlowe was about to open the front door; now he paused.
"Are you interested in gardening?"
"I'm crazy about it, but unfortunately I live in an apartment. My father had a cottage in Carmel. He grew roses, but they weren't in the same class as yours."
"Is that a fact?" Barlowe was now completely
The following night was warm and mild with a brilliant moon. As things turned out this was lucky for Anson.
Meg had warned him Barlowe would be difficult but he hadn't imagined he was going to be as difficult as he was. Like most weak-willed people, Barlowe was not only obstinate he was also rude.
Anson had no difficulty in getting in to the big sitting-room because Meg let him in, but when Barlowe jumped up from the armchair before the fire, an evening newspaper in his hand, Anson immediately felt the impact of hostility that came from the small ill-tempered looking man.
In spite of the hostility, Anson went smoothly into his usual sales talk, but he had scarcely begun, before Barlowe curtly cut him short.
"I'm not interested in insurance. I never have been and I never will be," he said. "You're wasting your time and mine. I'll be glad if you'll go."
Anson had smiled his friendly professional smile.
"I've come all the way from Brent, Mr. Barlowe, to see you. I would take it as a favour if you would listen to what I have to say. I..."
"I don't intend to listen!" Barlowe turned angrily to Meg who was standing in the doorway. "Why did you let him in?
You know I never talk to salesmen!"
He sat down and opening his paper, he hid himself behind it.
Anson and Meg exchanged glances. She lifted her shoulders as if to say "Well, I told you, didn't I?"
To Anson this was a challenge. He was one of the top salesmen of the National Fidelity's group of salesmen. Over the years, he had often met with the complete brush-off and had survived to make a sale.
He said to the newspaper, hiding Barlowe, "Of course if I am annoying you I'll go, but I was under the impression you were interested in taking out a life policy. In fact, I was told to call on you."
Barlowe lowered the newspaper and stared suspiciously at Anson.
"Told? What do you mean? Who told you?"
Anson made an apologetic gesture.
"Mr. Hammerstein," he said naming the general manager of Framley's store. He felt safe in using Hammerstein's name.
In his lowly position as salesman, Barlowe wasn't likely to have contact with a man in Hammerstein's position. "I sold him a life policy and he said it would be a good idea if I called on some members of his staff. He gave me your name."
Barlowe flushed red.
"Mr. Hammerstein gave you my name?"
"That's right," Anson said and smiled. "He seems to think a lot of you."
There was a pause, then Barlowe said in a milder tone, "I'm not interested. Anyway, thanks for calling."
"That's all right," Anson said. "I'm glad to have met you. I won't disturb you any longer."
Barlowe got hastily to his feet. He was now looking embarrassed.
"I didn't mean to seem rude," he said. "I wouldn't like you to think ... I mean ... well, one does get so pestered ..."
Anson's smile widened. This ill-tempered little man was now obviously scared word might get back to his boss that he had given Anson the brush-off.
"I know ... I know," he said. "Believe it or not some optimist the other day actually tried to sell me an insurance policy,"
and he laughed.
Barlowe laughed too. He was now losing his hostility and he moved forward as if to show Anson to the front door.
"I'll bet he didn't sell you anything," he said.
"And you wouldn't lose," Anson returned and laughed again.
Barlowe was now in the hall. With a quick wink at Meg, Anson joined him.
"I was admiring your garden," he said. "I would very much like to see it in daylight. As I drove up, my headlights showed me some of the finest roses I have ever seen."
Barlowe was about to open the front door; now he paused.
"Are you interested in gardening?"
"I'm crazy about it, but unfortunately I live in an apartment. My father had a cottage in Carmel. He grew roses, but they weren't in the same class as yours."
"Is that a fact?" Barlowe was now completely
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