“Car number two”, the father went on, “cost me one hundred and eighteen pounds and sold for seven hundred and sixty. Got it?”
“Yes, dad,” the son said. “I've got that.”
“Car number three cost one hundred and eleven pounds and sold for nine hundred and ninety-nine pounds and fifty pence.”
“Say that again,” the son said. “How much did it sell for?”
“Nine hundred and ninety-nine pounds and fifty pence,” the father said.
“And that, by the way, is another of my nifty little tricks to diddle the customer. Never ask for a big round figure.”
Always go just below it. Never say one thousand pounds. Always say nine hundred and ninety-nine fifty.
It sounds much less but it isn't. Clever, isn't it?” “Very,” the son said. “You're brilliant, dad.”
Car number four cost eighty-six pounds — a real wreck that was — and sold for six hundred and ninety-nine pounds fifty.
“Not too fast,” the son said, writing the numbers down. “Right. I've got it.”
Car number five cost six hundred and thirty-seven pounds and sold for sixteen hundred and forty-nine fifty.
“You got all those figures written down, son?” “Yes, daddy,” the boy said, crouching over his pad and carefully writing.
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