Isaac Bell drew his notebook from his pocket and opened his Waterman fountain pen. “No. Fritz looks more like this.” He tried to draw a man’s face with a prominent brow. “Sort of like this. I’m not much of a hand at drawing.”

The cereal salesman took out his order book and his pen. “No, more like this.”

“Neither of you can draw worth a darn,” laughed the Gillette man. He opened his order book and moved his pen over it, laboriously. “He looks like this.”

The cereal salesman disagreed vehemently, and Bell said, “Not one bit like that. How about you, Jake?”

Jake, the Locomobile man from Bridgeport, took out his book. Isaac Bell watched, holding his breath. Jake was his last chance to get a sketch that resembled Fritz Wunderlich. Surely one of the men at the table could draw. Jake, it turned out, possessed a modicum of artistic talent.

“Like this,” said Jake. He drew in a few quick lines a simian face with long cheeks and deep-set eyes. Then he turned his pencil on the side and shaded in a heavy brow.

The others stared. “You got him just about right, Jake,” one marveled. “That’s Fritz. Darned near.”

“I think you’re right,” Bell ventured, looking to the cereal salesman for confirmation.

“He sure does.”

“Well, I’ll be, Jake’s an artist.”

Jake beamed.

“Could I see that?” asked Bell, picking it up and studying it by the light of the window. “Yes, I believe that’s what he looks like. You’re a real artist, Jake.”

Jake flushed with embarrassment. “Naw, not really. I just started out in the design shop, before I started selling. You really think it’s good?”

“Sure do. Mind if I keep it?”

“You ought to pay for it,” laughed the man from Chicago. “It’s a piece of artwork.”

“You’re right,” said Isaac Bell, reaching for his wallet. “How much?”

“No, no, no.” said Jake. “Go on, you take it.”

“O.K. But when I need a new auto, I’ll know who to come to.”

“Just don’t show it to Fritz,” the cereal man laughed.

“It don’t matter he looks like that,” said Jake. “Fritz’s got that smile, and folks just buy anything he sells.”

“I don’t know about that,” said the man from Gillette.

“What do you mean?” asked Bell.

“Eh, you’re always going on about that,” the cereal sales rep protested. “Fritz is a valuable man.”

“About what?” asked Bell.

“Those shops his firm supplies. I just don’t see them selling that many pianos or sheets of music, for that matter. It’s not a well-run business. From what I’ve seen.”

“They’ve got a fancy-looking shop in Los Angeles,” said Bell.

“Well, you just try buying a piano, you’ll find a waiting list as long as your arm.”

“Or Fritz’s arm,” Jake said, and the table roared.