"The Kennard," Jeff repeated, "and since I know the shortest way, you
might as well follow it."
The cabbie shrugged; if this ill-dressed traveler wanted to go to the
Kennard, and was able to pay for the trip, that was his affair. Jeff
relaxed in the back seat and gave himself over to enjoying a city's
sights, sounds, and bustle. Maybe, if he were a very wealthy merchant,
instead of a peddler, he would enjoy such a place himself. A moment
later he decided that he wouldn't. Half his fun lay in personal contact
with customers, and there was little that was personal about city
business. The cab halted at the curb and the driver opened the door.
"Just a second," Jeff directed.
He glanced swiftly at the Kennard and was satisfied. It was in one of
the better sections, and the well-dressed men and women going in and out
were proof enough that it was, if not the best, at least one of the best
hotels. Thus Jeff had the base of operations that he wanted. He paid the
cabbie and entered the hotel.
The lobby was plush, with thick carpeting, marble pillars, and the usual
quota of those who were waiting or simply loafing in upholstered chairs.
Heads rose, and Jeff winked slyly at an obviously affluent man who
peered at him over the top of a paper. Embarrassed, the man ducked back
beneath his paper. Jeff made his way to the desk.
"First floor room with bath," he directed loftily. "I wish to be away
from street noises and," he looked critically around the lobby, "I
prefer the better furnishings."
The blasé clerk, who had registered all sorts of guests but few like
this, took Jeff's measure with his eye.
"Those rooms are five dollars a day."
"My good man! I asked for a room, not advice!"
"Ye--" the clerk was still suspicious but he was also there to rent
rooms. "Yes, sir. Overnight only?"
"My stay is indefinite."
Jeff signed the register with a flourishing "Jeffrey S. Tarrant,"
accepted the key and gave his pack over to a solemn-faced bellboy who
led him down a corridor. He examined the room as he entered, displayed a
dollar bill, flipped a quarter and said to the bellboy,
"Bring me a city directory, will you?"
"Yes, sir."
The bellboy left, knocked discreetly a few minutes later, handed Jeff a
bulky directory, and Jeff tipped him a dollar. He washed and, careless
of the glances he attracted, enjoyed a good dinner in the Kennard's
dining room. Then he returned to his room, belly-flopped on the bed,
opened the directory, laid a pencil and sheet of paper on it and began
to run his finger down the columns. He came to "Barnerson, Joseph D.,
dlr. antqes. 413 Grand Ave.," and wrote the information on his sheet of
paper. Jeff noted five more dealers in antiques, six sporting goods
stores and six shops chosen at random which, from their listings, seemed
to cater to exclusive trade. That done, he referred to a city map in the
same book and drew a line through whatever did not seem to be in one of
Ackerton's better districts.
The first phase of his campaign was outlined. Jeff rang for the evening
papers and read until he was too sleepy to read any more.
From force of habit he awoke at dawn, but turned over and went back to
sleep. The hill people began their day with the first light, but he was
in a city now. Jeff awoke again at eight o'clock, breakfasted and made
his way to the street. He wandered down it and entered the first
clothing store he found.
"I want a business suit," he told the clerk who accosted him.
"This way, sir."
The clerk tried to read Jeff, thought he'd succeeded, and brought out a
suit that had been in style fifteen years ago and probably in storage
since.