A “Tough” Customer
Dan and Brad were sorely troubled over the problem of establishing the
rightful owner of the money box.
After the Cub meeting broke up they went directly to the Holloway home.
Midge, a freckled-faced boy with an easy grin, was in the back yard,
helping his father stack wood for the fireplace.
“I’m sure sorry I couldn’t get over to Mr. Hatfield’s house in time for
the meeting,” he said regretfully. “I promised Dad a week ago I’d help
with this job. What came up anyway?”
“Two claimants have appeared for the money box,” Brad disclosed. “We
suspect both claims may be fakes.”
“The worrisome part is that the news is all over Webster City,” Dan added
earnestly. “Midge, you didn’t tell anyone?”
“Not even my father, Dan. You may ask him!”
Mr. Holloway, a Den “Dad,” had listened closely to the conversation.
“Frankly, I’m confused,” he said. “What’s all this talk about a money
box?”
Now that the secret was out, Mr. Hatfield had released the Cubs from
their promise not to discuss the matter. He had requested, however, that
they provide no information as to the amount of cash found or the type of
box.
Accordingly, Dan and Brad disclosed all but a few of the vital facts. “We
can’t figure out how the story got around so fast,” the Den Chief ended.
“Some of the fellows are blaming Babe, but he swears he didn’t tell.”
“Babe hasn’t been in the organization long,” Mr. Holloway replied
thoughtfully. “He’s a dependable kid though. I’d take his word any day.”
“If the Cubs didn’t tell, it simmers down to this—” Dan remarked. “It
must have been that man we saw peeking in at the window.”
He and Brad stood around a few minutes watching Midge stack wood. Then,
aware that it was getting on toward noon, they decided to make a call or
two on church building fund prospects.
“Where do we go first?” Dan asked, consulting a list of names Mr.
Hatfield had given him.
Brad studied the prospects. “How about hitting Atwood Merrimac?” he
proposed.
“Who’s he, Brad?”
“President of the Merrimac Bakery and one of the richest members of our
church. He usually makes fairly large donations, but has the reputation
of being a little close.”
“We’ll go to work on him. What’s he down on the list for, Brad?”
“Five hundred dollars. We’ll be lucky if we get that much. But he should
come across with two or three hundred if we put up a good argument.”
“That old wreck of a heating plant ought to be argument enough,” Dan
returned, pocketing the list. “Well, let’s get moving. We ought to make
at least one call before lunch time.”
The Merrimac residence was six blocks farther on, overlooking a ravine.
Massively built of stone and brick, the dwelling was impressive both in
structure and size.
Brad and Dan carefully wiped mud from their shoes before ringing the
doorbell.
“If a butler comes, don’t let him give you that ‘Mr. Merrimac is not at
home’ line,” Dan warned. “Just let him know we’re here for business and
have to see the big boss.”
“Even the butler doesn’t seem to be on tap,” Brad declared, pushing the
doorbell button again.
The boys waited. After ringing repeatedly, they were about to give up in
disgust.
“Try just once more,” Dan advised, as Brad started away. “I thought I
heard footsteps.”
This time Brad not only rang the bell, but kept his finger for a long
while on the button.
“That ought to raise the dead,” he grinned.
“Maybe it did,” Dan chuckled. “At any rate, someone is coming.”
Through the door glass, he made out a shadowy figure in the front
hallway.
The man, bent and old, approached the door and then seemed to hesitate.
“What’s the matter with him anyhow?” Dan muttered impatiently. “He acts
as if he’s scared.”
Apparently reassured to see that the two at the door were boys, the
elderly man opened it a few inches.
“Good morning, Mr. Merrimac,” greeted Brad, doffing his cap.
The old man relaxed somewhat. Though appearing none too pleased to see
visitors, he grudgingly opened the door a little wider.
“I guess you didn’t hear the bell at first,” Dan said pleasantly. “Or
maybe it’s out of order.”
“The bell’s in good order,” Mr. Merrimac muttered. “So are my ears. I’d
have come sooner only—one never knows who’s at the door. Since my butler
left a week ago, I’ve had an unpleasant time of it. Only the other
night—but never mind. You wanted to see me?”
“We’re here in behalf of the church building fund,” Brad explained. “Your
name is on our list of prospects.”
“Seems as if my name is on every list of prospects,” the old man
retorted. “Seems like every time I turn around it’s, ‘Mr. Merrimac, will
you contribute five dollars for this? Mr. Merrimac, will you donate ten
dollars for that?’”
Brad and Dan exchanged an uneasy glance. Obviously, their prospect was
not in the best of moods. It might take super salesmanship to gain his
pledge.
“May we come in for a few minutes to talk about it?” Brad requested.
“I’m busy this morning. With my butler gone, I have to prepare my own
lunch, and I’m no hand at it.”
“We won’t take much of your time, Mr. Merrimac,” Dan urged.
“Oh, all right, come in,” the old man consented. “I warn you though, you
must come directly to the point. I haven’t felt well lately, and it makes
me nervous to hear a lot of chatter.”
Brad and Dan followed their unwilling host into the living room.
The evidence was overpowering that Mr. Merrimac lived alone. Although the
room was well furnished, everything was covered with dust.
Newspapers had been dropped where read. Cigar ashes littered the rugs.
Blinds which were three-quarters lowered, gave the entire room a gloomy
atmosphere.
“I had a bad scare the other night,” Mr. Merrimac said, picking up a book
so that Dan could seat himself on the sofa. “Someone tried to break in.”
“You live here by yourself?” Brad inquired.
“I do since Hayes left me. He was my butler. Said he could make more than
I was paying. So the ungrateful scoundrel quit on three days notice. I’ve
been unable to find anyone to take his place.”
“You have had your troubles,” Brad said. “Maybe you’d rather we came back
some other day.”
“No, we may as well get this over with,” the old man sighed. “If my name
is on the list, I’ll be pestered until I give ’em something. How much am
I down for? Ten dollars?”
Brad let him have it straight.
“Five hundred, Mr. Merrimac.”
“Five hundred!” The elderly man’s voice rose to an indignant screech.
“What do they think I am? A wealthy man?”
“I believe you contributed that much last year to the Community Chest,”
Brad said, consulting a memorandum on the back side of the pledge card.
“The church really needs your help.”
“It certainly does,” added Dan. “The heating plant is shot and a good
stiff wind might blow the building over!”
Mr. Merrimac permitted himself a tight, half-amused smile. “It’s hardly
that bad, Dan,” he said. “I’ll admit though, that we need a new church.
The cause is a worthy one.”
“Then how much may we put you down for?” Brad asked, taking out a
fountain pen.
“I’m not prepared to make any pledge at this time.”
“But Mr. Merrimac, you’re our best prospect—”
“I hate to disappoint you, Brad,” Mr. Merrimac said soberly. “I honestly
do. The truth is, I’ve had rather distressing business losses recently. I
can’t afford to make a pledge at this time.”
Brad and Dan were at a loss for an argument. Mr. Hatfield had warned them
that Mr. Merrimac might be inclined to whittle down the five hundred
dollar pledge. But even the Cub leader had not expected such stiff
resistance as this.
“How much have you lost?” Dan inquired. After speaking, he realized that
the question was a very personal one.
“Several thousand,” Mr. Merrimac answered shortly. “It was stolen from my
library. I kept the money in a metal box locked in a desk.”
“A metal box!” Dan exclaimed. “Oh, can you beat that!”
“I’m sure I don’t understand,” said Mr. Merrimac in perplexity.
“You must have heard about the Cubs finding a money box at the church,”
Brad replied quietly. He was watching the elderly man very closely,
wondering whether or not he might be acting a part.
“The Cubs found a money box? My box?”
“We don’t know whose box it is,” Brad said. “That’s for the police to
decide.”
Mr. Merrimac had grown rather excited. “If you found a box at the church
it must have been the one that was stolen from me!”
“If you can prove your claim, you’re welcome to it,” Brad returned,
arising to leave. “It’s only fair to warn you though, that two other
persons already have said it belongs to them.”
Mr. Merrimac pursued the boys to the door. Eagerly he plied them for more
information. Dan and Brad, however, were in no mood to be pumped.
“You’ll have to see Mr. Hatfield or the police about it,” Brad told him
firmly. “It’s none of our affair. We merely came here in the interests of
the building fund campaign.”
“Oh, yes, the building fund,” the old man recalled. “Boys, if you’ll help
me recover my money, I’ll make it right with you. I’ll pledge the five
hundred dollars. I might even give more.”
Brad and Dan had reached the end of their patience.
“Thanks, Mr. Merrimac,” Dan said dryly. “We’ll remember.”
Scarcely bidding the old man goodbye, the two Cubs hurriedly left the
house.
Once beyond hearing, they gave vent to their feelings.
“Three claimants now!” Dan exclaimed. “This positively is the last
straw!”
“We come here to get a pledge from old Money Bags, and what does he do?”
Brad added. “Why, he turns around and tries to file claim to the money
box. I give up!”