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DON'T TAKE IT TO HEART Men who come into a shoe store are usually meek and apologetic, which may explain why Eliot Grundy had remained head salesman at Footfitter Shoes for over twenty-five years. A small, fussy man with glinting eyeglasses and white hair combed flatly and precisely over a growing bald spot, he had a surprisingly big, authoritative voice. When he announced bluntly that a customer ought to take a certain shoe, that shoe was as good as bought. Mr. Cahill liked to watch Grundy sell, and he especially liked to show Saturday extras how it was done. Mr. Cahill was the store manager, had been since two years before Grundy came there, but he knew he couldn't, as he put it, hold a candle to Grundy's masterful selling. "Now watch this," he said one day to a salesman named Barnes, who, as a matter of fact, never made the grade. "That gentleman wants a wingtip shoe in cordovan leather. Listen to Grundy handle him." "It bites in front," the customer complained, standing up and flexing the shoe several times. "Could you put in a bite pad?" "I could," Grundy said in his astonishing voice. "But I won't." "Huh?" asked the customer and Barnes, both |
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