Black Mask (Vol. 22, No. 2 — Mary 1939)

Dear Jim:

Thanks for getting Priscilla and her husband to come down here to Laguna. They brought the justice of the peace with them and old Crab-face too.

After the way he explained things to Mary, I guess I was wrong about him. He took all the blame and said that he was an old fool for meddling in affairs of the heart. He’s going to stick to banking and told me if we ever need a loan to let him know.

Mary is happy now, but she told me that if I ever lied to her again it would be Reno for her. She can’t get over the idea of those two kids having a nudist wedding. Mary laughed after they’d gone and cracked, “It’s like peeking at your Christmas presents before Christmas morning,”

Love from us both,

Mary and Les.

P. S. I’m writing a letter of apology to Daisy Brittlenet at the nudist camp. I had to call her a liar at the time and I’m sorry that I hoped she’d fall into a bunch of cactus, but I still think you were a sucker to give her up.

Dear Mary and Les:

I’m glad Mary got down to the bare facts and that everything is O.K. now. Happy honeymoon.

Best,

Jim.

P. S. As soon as I get finished with the Jenson case, I’m going to drop down to the Happy Valley Nudist Club and see Daisy. I always was the sort of a guy who couldn’t wait to open his presents on Christmas morning.

Death for Sale by Emile C. Tepperman

An energetic young man demonstrates how not to sell vacuum cleaners.

* * *

Toward evening Paul Tyler was pretty weary. But there was ten minutes to go before five o’clock, and he thought he might as well finish canvassing the house. He lugged the heavy cleaner down the hall, peered at the name plate alongside the door. It said: Michael Groh.

Paul put his finger on the bell, rang it once, and waited. From force of habit he straightened his tie as he had done two hundred times or more today. He put on his mechanical smile and, when the door opened, he said to the woman in the doorway, “How do you do, Mrs. Groh? Nice day, isn’t it?”

Then, with his eyes studying the reactions of the stoutish Mrs. Groh, he swung smoothly into the patter that the sales manager had taught him.

“Isn’t it a shame, Mrs. Groh, that cultured, delicate women like yourself should be compelled to wear themselves out performing their household tasks with antiquated implements? Now I represent the Easy-Way Vacuum Cleaner Company. I should like to demonstrate to you how efficiently the New Improved Easy-Way 1939 Streamlined Efficiency Cleaner will do your work with only half the effort, and help you to preserve your radiant youthfulness.”

Pursuant to Paragraph Three of the Easy-Way Company’s “Manual for House to House Canvassers,” Paul started to enter Mrs. Groh’s apartment, carrying the vacuum cleaner in his right hand, removing his hat with the left, and retaining the fixed smile on his lips, while at the same time keeping his eyes fixed directly upon the eyes of the prospect.

Mrs. Groh was beetle-browed, portly, with folds of fat showing along the creases of her house dress. Her double chin wagged to the right and to the left in vigorous and intolerant negative.

“I don’t want no vacuum cleaners,” she said.

Paul, still smiling, took another step across the threshold. Grudgingly, Mrs. Groh made way for him, though she continued to wag her chins.

Paul’s stomach was doing curious contortions because he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but his voice was pleasant.

“All I want is a chance to demonstrate, Mrs. Groh. Have you a rug that I can clean for you? If you could only see this new 1939 Easy-Way drag up the dust!”