In his room at the Kennard, Jeff slept late. The past four days had been
busy ones, and more than a little hectic, and he was tired.
Mr. Calworth himself had brought back three of the cheapest knives.
Admittedly they were worth five dollars each, but they were not
merchandise that Ryerson could sell to its more exacting customers. If
they were to pay premium prices, they demanded premium quality and
Ryerson had better knives in stock that they sold for four dollars and a
half. However, Mr. Calworth had softened their return by taking the
fringed hunting shirt, the four pairs of moccasins and the polished
hunting horn, and privately Jeff kicked himself for failing to offer
them in the first place. They had brought thirty-eight dollars and
Ryerson's would take all Jeff could supply if the quality remained as
good.
The pistol was also gone. Failing to sell it to anyone at the price he
wanted to get, Jeff had carelessly left it on his dresser. The maid who
tidied up the room had found it, decided that only a desperate outlaw
would use such a thing and taken to it the clerk. Unable to resolve a
situation so grave, and unwilling to take the responsibility, the clerk
had consulted the manager and the manager had come to see Jeff.
He apologized for his employees but thought that they had been well
intentioned. He also recognized the pistol and it just so happened that
his hobby was collecting antique fire arms. If Jeff cared to sell the
pistol--Jeff did, for fifteen dollars.
Jeff had tramped the streets, going from store to store and bartering.
It had taken time. But bit by bit he had rid himself of almost
everything he had brought to Ackerton and stocked his pack with items
the hill people favored. None of it had cost Jeff any money and, in
addition to all expenses, he had a clear profit of almost a hundred
dollars. Under ordinary circumstances that would have been excellent.
But these circumstances were not ordinary.
He had been unable to find a buyer for either the miniatures or Granny
Wilson's tapestries.
Though it revolted his peddler's instincts to do so, he was willing to
keep the miniatures if it took too much time to sell them. Not only did
he refuse to do so with Granny's tapestries, but he was determined to
settle for nothing less than the price he had assured Granny he could
get. However, at least for the moment, he had reached a stalemate.
Jeff had visited every store that seemed to have a wealthy trade. But
the most expensive tapestry he had been shown cost twelve dollars and
fifty cents and he hadn't even bothered to show Granny's.
Jeff turned over, opened his eyes, sat up, yawned and occupied his mind
with the problems of the day. The smile remained on his lips and his
eyes retained their sparkle. The fact that he had had no success with
the tapestries proved only that he had not yet offered them to the
right person. They were a challenge, and it was a challenge to which he
could rise. If he had permitted himself to be discouraged by every small
setback, he would have stopped peddling long ago.
He dressed, breakfasted and lingered over his plate to ponder the
problem of the tapestries. Naturally one did not walk up to any
stranger, ask him if he needed an expensive tapestry and proceed to sell
him one. But there had to be a way because there was always a way. What
way? Jeff tried his best to come up with an answer and couldn't do it.
He still had no intention of leaving Ackerton until the tapestries were
sold.
Jeff fell back on the idea that first things must be first and he still
had more to do in Ackerton. Maybe something would occur to him while he
was doing it.
He went to his room, referred to the directory, found the Jackson School
for Boys, noted its address on a slip of paper and tucked one of
Granny's tapestries, _The Last Supper_, under his arm before he left the
hotel. Far from doing so only once, Opportunity was always knocking, and
Jeff thought that many people missed her visit only because they were
unprepared when she was all but hammering the door from its hinges.
Jeff took a taxi across town. There were trolleys, but he hadn't
acquainted himself with their schedules and, besides, taxis were faster.
Now that time was a factor--he wanted to finish his business and return
to Smithville--he could not afford to loiter. Jeff looked interestedly
at the section of the city they were entering.
Downtown Ackerton was crowded, with land so precious that there was no
room for any space at all between buildings. Even the more modest
residential areas had houses close together and a bit of yard in front
and back. This must be where the wealthy element lived. The houses were
large and set back from the streets. By Ackerton standards, the lawns
were very spacious, though all of them together wouldn't have offered a
hill dweller as much room as he needed. They came to an area where there
were no residences at all but only a few business places, and Jeff had a
fleeting glimpse of one that interested him. The display windows were
clear, but drapes hung behind them and Jeff thought he saw a tapestry
displayed. He memorized the name; the Murchison Galleries.
The cabbie turned aside into a paved drive and halted his taxi beside a
large building that had a distinct air of gentility. The taxi stopped
and Jeff looked puzzled.
"I wanted the Jackson School."
"This is it."
Jeff paid the driver, got out and looked around. Obviously a converted
mansion, the Jackson School had none of the aloofness of the mansions
they had passed. Surrounded by green lawns and flower gardens, there was
the same strong sense of being welcome that was so evident on Granny
Wilson's hill. Jeff whistled. Johnny Blazer, who had lived in a cabin
behind Smithville, hadn't stinted himself when he chose a school for his
son. Jeff knew a little misgiving. It was his intention to see Dan back
here when the school term opened. But could he afford it?
"Might as well find out," he murmured to himself.
Inside the main entrance, a pleasant girl looked up from a desk upon
which was a typewriter, an inkwell with a tray of pens and a few papers.
She smiled at Jeff.
"Yes?"
"I'd like to see--" Jeff tried and could not think of the titles given
officials in private schools for boys. He grinned. "I'd like to discuss
a youngster who probably would be in the sixth grade."
"Is he a student here?"
"Yes."
"I'll call Mr. Nelson. Will you be seated, please?"
She talked into a speaking tube. Jeff seated himself on a comfortable
divan, and as soon as he saw him, he approved of the man who came in.
About fifty years old, he was short and inclined to stoutness. He wore a
gray suit that fitted well and had been chosen with care. His face was
flushed and his hair iron-gray. But the blue eyes that set his face off
were gentle, understanding and wise. Jeff rose to meet him.
"Mr. Nelson?"
"Yes sir." His voice was soft and pleasant.
"My name's Jeff Tarrant," Jeff introduced himself. "I've come to talk to
you about Dan Blazer."
Alert interest flooded the headmaster's face. "Oh, yes. Do you know
where he is?"
"Yes. Let me tell you."
Mr. Nelson listened attentively while Jeff spoke of finding Dan in
Johnny Blazer's cabin. Jeff told of Dan's fierce anger, and his
unshakable determination to seek out whoever had killed his father and
extract full vengeance. He spoke of his own part in it and of the
paper-loaded shotgun shells. Jeff did not try to conceal the fact that
he was a peddler, nor did he hide Dan's interest in peddling. He told of
his own hopes to find Johnny's murderer, let the law take its course,
and of the effect he thought that would have on Dan.
For a moment after he finished, Mr. Nelson did not speak. Then he asked,
"Where is the boy now?"
"I left him in very good hands. He will lack for nothing."
Mr. Nelson looked troubled. "What do you intend to do with him, Mr.
Tarrant?"
"If I can afford it, I want to bring him back here when the fall term
opens."
Mr. Nelson smiled gently. "Mr. Tarrant, when you looked up the Jackson
School for Boys, I'm sure you saw nothing about our being restricted to
wealthy boys only. We do have students, and I'll admit that they are of
exceptional ability, who pay whatever their parents or guardians can
afford."
"Where does Dan rate in that category?"
"Very highly. Very highly I assure you. An outstanding youngster, but
your revelations were not a complete surprise."
"You expected him to run away?"
"I took him to his father's funeral," Mr. Nelson said softly. "He said
little, but I knew what he was thinking. After he ran away, I wrote to
the authorities in Smithville, but I've had no reply."
"That's my fault," Jeff admitted. "I told them that Dan was under my
care and that I'd contact you personally."
"You did? By any chance did you have ideas about looking us over?"
"I had that idea. And I had no intention of letting him come back if you
did not measure up."
"Oh! We do meet your standards?"