9. MIGHTY MISSION
In his room at the Kennard, Jeff slept late. The past four days had beenbusy 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 notmerchandise that Ryerson could sell to its more exacting customers. Ifthey were to pay premium prices, they demanded premium quality andRyerson had better knives in stock that they sold for four dollars and ahalf. However, Mr. Calworth had softened their return by taking thefringed hunting shirt, the four pairs of moccasins and the polishedhunting horn, and privately Jeff kicked himself for failing to offerthem in the first place. They had brought thirty-eight dollars andRyerson's would take all Jeff could supply if the quality remained asgood.
The pistol was also gone. Failing to sell it to anyone at the price hewanted to get, Jeff had carelessly left it on his dresser. The maid whotidied up the room had found it, decided that only a desperate outlawwould use such a thing and taken to it the clerk. Unable to resolve asituation so grave, and unwilling to take the responsibility, the clerkhad consulted the manager and the manager had come to see Jeff.
He apologized for his employees but thought that they had been wellintentioned. He also recognized the pistol and it just so happened thathis hobby was collecting antique fire arms. If Jeff cared to sell thepistol--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 almosteverything he had brought to Ackerton and stocked his pack with itemsthe hill people favored. None of it had cost Jeff any money and, inaddition to all expenses, he had a clear profit of almost a hundreddollars. 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 GrannyWilson's tapestries.
Though it revolted his peddler's instincts to do so, he was willing tokeep the miniatures if it took too much time to sell them. Not only didhe refuse to do so with Granny's tapestries, but he was determined tosettle for nothing less than the price he had assured Granny he couldget. However, at least for the moment, he had reached a stalemate.
Jeff had visited every store that seemed to have a wealthy trade. Butthe most expensive tapestry he had been shown cost twelve dollars andfifty cents and he hadn't even bothered to show Granny's.
Jeff turned over, opened his eyes, sat up, yawned and occupied his mindwith the problems of the day. The smile remained on his lips and hiseyes retained their sparkle. The fact that he had had no success withthe tapestries proved only that he had not yet offered them to theright person. They were a challenge, and it was a challenge to which hecould rise. If he had permitted himself to be discouraged by every smallsetback, he would have stopped peddling long ago.
He dressed, breakfasted and lingered over his plate to ponder theproblem of the tapestries. Naturally one did not walk up to anystranger, ask him if he needed an expensive tapestry and proceed to sellhim one. But there had to be a way because there was always a way. Whatway? 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 weresold.
Jeff fell back on the idea that first things must be first and he stillhad more to do in Ackerton. Maybe something would occur to him while hewas doing it.
He went to his room, referred to the directory, found the Jackson Schoolfor Boys, noted its address on a slip of paper and tucked one ofGranny's tapestries, _The Last Supper_, under his arm before he left thehotel. Far from doing so only once, Opportunity was always knocking, andJeff thought that many people missed her visit only because they wereunprepared when she was all but hammering the door from its hinges.
Jeff took a taxi across town. There were trolleys, but he hadn'tacquainted himself with their schedules and, besides, taxis were faster.Now that time was a factor--he wanted to finish his business and returnto Smithville--he could not afford to loiter. Jeff looked interestedlyat the section of the city they were entering.
Downtown Ackerton was crowded, with land so precious that there was noroom for any space at all between buildings. Even the more modestresidential areas had houses close together and a bit of yard in frontand back. This must be where the wealthy element lived. The houses werelarge and set back from the streets. By Ackerton standards, the lawnswere very spacious, though all of them together wouldn't have offered ahill dweller as much room as he needed. They came to an area where therewere no residences at all but only a few business places, and Jeff had afleeting glimpse of one that interested him. The display windows wereclear, but drapes hung behind them and Jeff thought he saw a tapestrydisplayed. He memorized the name; the Murchison Galleries.
The cabbie turned aside into a paved drive and halted his taxi beside alarge building that had a distinct air of gentility. The taxi stoppedand Jeff looked puzzled.
"I wanted the Jackson School."
"This is it."
Jeff paid the driver, got out and looked around. Obviously a convertedmansion, the Jackson School had none of the aloofness of the mansionsthey had passed. Surrounded by green lawns and flower gardens, there wasthe same strong sense of being welcome that was so evident on GrannyWilson's hill. Jeff whistled. Johnny Blazer, who had lived in a cabinbehind Smithville, hadn't stinted himself when he chose a school for hisson. Jeff knew a little misgiving. It was his intention to see Dan backhere 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 uponwhich 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 givenofficials in private schools for boys. He grinned. "I'd like to discussa 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 comfortabledivan, 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 agray suit that fitted well and had been chosen with care. His face wasflushed and his hair iron-gray. But the blue eyes that set his face offwere 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 toyou about Dan Blazer."
Alert interest flooded the headmaster's face. "Oh, yes. Do you knowwhere he is?"
"Yes. Let me tell you."
Mr. Nelson listened attentively while Jeff spoke of finding Dan inJohnny Blazer's cabin. Jeff told of Dan's fierce anger, and hisunshakable determination to seek out whoever had killed his father andextract full vengeance. He spoke of his own part in it and of thepaper-loaded shotgun shells. Jeff did not try to conceal the fact thathe was a peddler, nor did he hide Dan's interest in peddling. He told ofhis 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 termopens."
Mr. Nelson smiled gently. "Mr. Tarrant, when you looked up the JacksonSchool for Boys, I'm sure you saw nothing about our being restricted towealthy boys only. We do have students, and I'll admit that they are ofexceptional ability, who pay whatever their parents or guardians canafford."
"Where does Dan rate in that category?"
"Very highly. Very highly I assure you.
An outstanding youngster, butyour 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 saidlittle, but I knew what he was thinking. After he ran away, I wrote tothe authorities in Smithville, but I've had no reply."
"That's my fault," Jeff admitted. "I told them that Dan was under mycare 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 youdid not measure up."
"Oh! We do meet your standards?"
Jeff smiled. "You're good enough."
"You might have brought Dan with you."
"I might also have put him in a cage," Jeff said wryly. "And if I kepthim there for one, three, or ten years, he'd get out some time. When hedid, he'd still go back and hunt whoever shot his father."
"How old are you, Mr. Tarrant?"
"Going on nineteen."
"Would it be impertinent to ask your background?"
Jeff said quietly, "I lived in an orphanage until I was a little pastfourteen. Then I ran away and worked at various jobs. Since quitting thelast one, I've been a peddler."
"I see. And what do you hope to gain by sending this youngster back tous?"
Jeff still spoke quietly. "Sleep, easy sleep at night because I did notleave him alone when he had no one else to whom he could turn."
"What does Dan think about it?"
"I haven't told him," Jeff grinned, "but I have a pact with him. Dan hasagreed to do anything I say."
"Why?"
"He likes peddling, and he has an idea that he's going to throw in withme. I told him he couldn't unless he minded me."
"What are your plans for the future?"
"I haven't decided," Jeff said seriously. "But I like Smithville, and ifthings continue to get as well as they've started out, in the next threeor four years I'll be able to build up a good business right inSmithville."
"I see. Do you have any ideas about Dan's 'throwing in' with you?"
"Yes I do," Jeff confessed. "I like him and I'd like to have him;Tarrant and Blazer would be a mighty good team. But first he must havean education."
"Why?"
"So he'll know what I have never learned. I read as much as I can, butthat's not as good as solid groundwork in school."
"If you pay for his education, would you insist on his later services?"
"No, he can choose his own way."
"You're willing to be responsible for him on such a basis?"
"Yes, sir. Wh--what is your tuition fee?"
"Mr. Blazer paid--" Mr. Nelson named half the sum Jeff had expected."What do you wish to have me do?"
"I want only your written confirmation that Dan is in my care."
"May I also say that you are to return him to us by Septemberfourteenth?"
"Certainly."
"All right. Miss Jackson, may I borrow your desk?"
The confirming letter in an inside pocket, Jeff strode happily out ofthe school. It had all been much simpler than he had thought possible,but Mr. Nelson was an understanding person. Jeff knew that he himselfhad undergone one of the most severe examinations of his life--and hadpassed it. Relieved about Dan, he could now give his whole attention tothe business at hand.
It was a long way to the Kennard, but Jeff did not want to hail or phonefor a taxi as yet because the neighborhood, and the stores he had seen,interested him. He walked back the way he had come, saw the storesahead, and halted in front of the Murchison Galleries.
He wanted to assure himself that he had seen what he thought he hadseen, and it was there. In the window, somehow accentuated by the verysimplicity of its surroundings, was a tapestry that depicted a bowl ofcrocuses in bloom. Though he did not know a great deal about tapestries,Jeff realized that this was a very fine one. But mentally he compared itto Granny's, and decided that hers was better. Jeff entered thegalleries.
Though only fair-sized, the arrangement of the interior loaned anillusion of spaciousness and its air was one of quiet refinement. Therewere paintings on the walls and others on easels, and without examiningthem too closely, Jeff knew that the way they were placed added much totheir effectiveness. He turned to meet the man coming toward him and wasgreeted with a pleasant, "Good morning."
He said it as though he were welcoming a guest into his house, and Jeffresponded in kind. "Good morning. I think you may save my life!"
"Indeed?" The man arched his brows. "You hardly seem on the verge ofexpiring."
"I really am, though. You do know something about tapestries?"
"A bit." The man smiled indulgently. "What do you wish?"
Jeff unrolled Granny's _The Last Supper_ and held it up for inspection."I _must_ find the exact duplicate of this."
"May I see it?"
The man took the tapestry, felt its texture, turned it over and examinedit at arm's length. His eyes hardened ever so slightly. Lowering thetapestry, he wrinkled his brow in thought.
"Perhaps we may help you, Mr.--"
"Tarrant," Jeff supplied. "Jeffrey Tarrant."
"I'm Raold Murchison. You wish us to find a duplicate of this?"
"If you can," Jeff wanted twenty-five dollars but decided he might aswell try for more. "It's worth a hundred dollars."
"How soon must you have it, Mr. Tarrant?"
"Tomorrow noon's the deadline," Jeff said ruefully. "Just think! I'vebeen in Ackerton almost a week before I found you."
"Where are you staying?"
"The Kennard. Room sixteen."
"May we retain this until tomorrow at noon?"
"Of course, naturally you will--"
"Naturally. I would not ask you to leave it without a receipt. Will yoube at the Kennard at noon?"
"I'll make it a point to be there."
"I shall phone you then, Mr. Tarrant, and advise you concerning oursuccess or failure."
He gave Jeff a receipt and noted his name and room number. Jeff left thegalleries, knowing that he had taken a gamble. But who hoped to win hadto take chances. With nothing else to do, he gave the rest of the dayand most of the next morning to wandering about Ackerton. He returned tohis room at twenty to twelve, and exactly twenty minutes later his phonerang.
"Mr. Tarrant," it was the desk clerk, "there's a Mr. Murchison here tosee you."
"Send him in."
Jeff opened the door for Raold Murchison, and no matter where he stood,he would still be master of the Murchison Galleries.
"I came in person, Mr. Tarrant, because that seemed best."
"Indeed?"
"Yes, we succeeded in locating the exact duplicate of your tapestry."
Jeff gave thanks for his ability to wear a poker face when such was inorder. If the Murchison Galleries had located the twin of Granny's _TheLast Supper_, Granny had made it. And Raold Murchison wouldn't even knowhow to talk to her.
Murchison smiled tentatively. "In the process of finding the duplicate,we also found a customer who is enamoured of the pair."
"Those things happen."
"I assume that you have a customer who will pay you at least two hundreddollars?"
Jeff made no comment. It was Murchison's privilege to assume anything hewished. The art dealer continued, "I am prepared to offer you a hundredand twenty-five dollars for yours."
Jeff's heart leaped but his face revealed nothing. Obviously, somewhereamong his wealthy neighbors, Raold Murchison, just as Jeff had hoped,had known the exact person who would appreciate such a tapestry.Naturally, he would sell it for more than the price offered Jeff, but hewas entitled to a profit, too. Hiding his elation, Jeff frowned.
"It isn't the price I thought I'd get."
"But you cannot sell yours without a duplicate?"
Jeff looked away without answering. Murchison waited expectantly.Finally Jeff looked back. "Well, all right," he agreed.
"How about taking another tapestry
?" Jeff asked.
"Oh, you have another?"
Jeff showed him _The Fall of Satan_. Raold Murchison examined it andturned to Jeff.
"A fair enough piece and I'll speculate. Shall we say fifty dollars?"
"Let's say seventy-five?"
"I'm taking a chance but--Will you accept my personal check?"
"Certainly."
Raold Murchison wrote a check and waved it in the air until it dried."If you should be in Ackerton again, Mr. Tarrant, the MurchisonGalleries are ever ready to be of service."
He left and Jeff leaped high to click his heels in the air. He had hopedto get fifty dollars for both tapestries. He had two hundred and astrong hint that more tapestries would be welcome. He fairly danced downto the desk.
"When is the next train for Delview?" he asked.
The clerk consulted a time table. "Five-three."
"Thanks."
Jeff ran out on the street and hailed a taxi.
"The nearest place where I can buy a kitten," he directed, "and staywith me. I want you all afternoon."
"Sure, Bub."
Half past four, and five pet shops later, Jeff found what he wanted. Ofthree white Angora kittens in the window, one was almost the twin ofGranny's departed pet. It watched Jeff shyly, and arched its backagainst his hand. Then it promptly proceeded to bite his finger. Plainlyit was a kitten with character.
"I want it!" Jeff told the astonished proprietor. "Put it in a cage orsomething because it's going on the train!"
Lifted into a second-hand bird cage, the kitten spat its indignation andfell to swiping at shadows with a silky paw. Jeff laid five dollars, therequested price, on the counter and thrust his hand into the pocketwhere the miniatures lay.
"Present for you," he said, scattering them across the counter. Herushed to the cab. "Hotel Kennard and don't spare the gasoline. I haveto be at the station by five-two!"
He made it with a whole minute to spare.