As they clink glasses—“Prosit! Cheers!”—a stooped fellow, the representative of the sales director, appears. “A glass for you too, Colonel?” asks Carlotta.

The person addressed declines with a morose “Thank you, no.”

“Herr Kunzelmann is a retired colonel,” Witte explains. “Spent three years in a Russian POW camp.”

The man thus apostrophized shows no reaction.

“Well, dear Kunzelmann, have a seat, won’t you? You’re Schröder’s representative?”

“Yes sir, Herr Witte,” rumbles the retired soldier, ignoring the offer of a chair.

“All right then. Here’s an order straight from the general staff. Our guest here, Herr von Subicz from Romania, is interested in our products. The two of us have decided it’s necessary to present their advantages to the customer in a concrete way—”

“That’s the business of the advertising department,” rasps the retired colonel.

“I’m quite aware of that,” Witte replies sharply. “But I said ‘in a concrete way,’ and I meant it literally: demonstrated to the housewife in a genuine act of laundering—”

“That may be necessary in Romania,” rasps the retired colonel again. “But the German housewife is already amply familiar with the use of contemporary laundry products.”

“You say that, dear Kunzelmann, and I understand: thinking otherwise would offend your patriotism. ‘Reit or rong, mei Köntri,’ as the Tommies say. But just ask Schröder—you’re in telephone contact with him, right?—Okay then, just ask your superior if he’d reject my idea out of hand. You see? Even with a glorious past you’ve got to be open to new things. You really do. Are we able to give Herr von Subicz here—a descendant of the former royal family, by the way—can we give him a concrete demonstration of the fact that Wittewash washes whiter than white?”

“What, now? Here?” The retired colonel lapses into a nervous shaking of the head.

“Of course. When and where else? We must have a dose of Wittewash somewhere in the building.”

“Probably. In fact, yes, certainly.”

“You see? And probably a bucket too.”

“You’d have to ask building services about that.”

“So get in touch with the super. Or, wait a sec! Hang on!” Witte presses the button to the outer office and says to A., “I’ve got to do everything myself!” Then into the receiver: “Bussekins, call building services, would you? It’s urgent. I need a bucket and some washable rag, as dirty as possible, right away, okay?—What? Nobody’s there in building services? Well what about the cleaning staff? What’s that? The ladies only work from seven to nine?! What ladies are we talking about? That’s what it’s come to, that the dames who do the cleaning call themselves ladies! So at nine o’clock on the dot, their ladyships take all the buckets and mops home with them? Well it seems impossible to me too. So please see to this matter yourself, Frau Busse.” Hangs up with a heavy sigh: “This outfit needs a thorough reorganization from the ground up.”

Carlotta to the retired colonel: “Won’t you take a little glass to loosen up your coronary arteries?” “No thanks! Already turned it down,” hisses the burned-out military man venomously. To Witte: “Might I ask to be represented at the pending demonstration by someone less busy at the moment? Personally, I’m awaiting a visit from Admiral Neuner—”