But on Helen they looked like Saks’ Fifth Avenue.
Herman Gwynn proved to be a plump, friendly man nearing seventy. He was obviously impressed by both Helen and me, in that order.
“Glad to meet both of you, Mr. and Mrs. Howard,” he said, pumping my hand and grinning with open admiration at Helen. “Your husband warned me he might bring along a new bride, and now I’ve met you, I can see why he wasn’t sure. Must have had to pry you away from a dozen other suitors.”
Helen blushed prettily at the compliment, but she didn’t look as totally at a loss as she would have a few days before. Already she was beginning to get used to being beautiful.
“I had to get her drunk and marry her before she sobered up,” I told the old man.
Gwynn chuckled. “I hope you’ll both be as happy as my wife and I have been for near on to fifty years of married life. If we arrange a deal, maybe you’ll be happy in the same place.”
He took us around the store then. It wasn’t a large place, having about a thirty-foot front and a fifty-foot depth. It was arranged much like the average hardware store, except that a good many of the items offered for sale were heavier equipment than would ordinarily be found in a hardware store. In the case of large items such as cream separators, there was only one of each in stock. Gwynn explained that he kept them as display models only, and ordered each time a sale was made.
The sales clerk was a brisk young man in his early twenties named Harold Manning. Gwynn explained that he was relatively new and was looking around for some job with more future, so that his possible layoff wouldn’t be much of a handicap to him. The female bookkeeper presented more of a problem, however, he said. She was a middle-aged spinster named Ida Kroll, and had been an employee of the store for fifteen years.
When I told him I planned to replace her with Helen in the event we took over the store, he said, “Well, she ought to be able to get another job easy enough. I’d give her a top reference. Don’t let her influence your figuring.”
After we finished our initial inspection of the place, I asked, “How big a hurry are you in to dispose of this business, Mr. Gwynn?”
He rubbed his plump chin. “Well, I dunno. Sooner I get rid of it, the sooner I can move my wife to a warmer climate. She’s got neuritis so bad, she’s had to spend most of the winter on her back the last couple of years. Just what you mean?”
“We’re both pretty enthusiastic about the setup,” I explained. “Even more so, now that we’ve seen the place and got a glimpse of the town. But we’re utter strangers in these parts, and we want a chance to see how we like the town itself before we jump into a business which is going to tie us here permanently. What I had in mind was to rent a house here and take our time looking over the business and the town before we made the final move.”
“How long a time?” he asked dubiously.
“Say six weeks. Meantime I’d make all arrangements with the bank, so that as soon as papers are signed you could get your full purchase price. Matter of fact, I was going to ask you to step over to the bank with me now and settle that part.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t object to your taking that long,” Gwynn said, brightening. “With the Christmas holidays coming up, we wouldn’t move that soon anyway. Sure, I’ll be glad to introduce you at the bank.”
At the Westfield branch of the Chautauqua National Bank and Trust Company of Jamestown, things went as smoothly as I expected. When we went in to talk to the manager, I let my exhibits do most of my talking for me.
The branch manager was a quiet-spoken man of middle age named Bradford Crane. First I handed him my bank draft for seven thousand dollars and Helen’s for eight thousand, explaining that we wanted to open a joint savings account for ten thousand and a joint checking account for the balance. Then I showed him my copy of my letter to the Westfield Chamber of Commerce and the Chamber’s reply. And finally I placed on his desk the neatly forged character and credit references vouching for my honesty and my varied experience in retail merchandising.
I wasn’t worried about any of the references being checked. When a man starts talking business by opening accounts totaling fifteen thousand dollars, even a conservative banker isn’t likely to be suspicious of him. Particularly when the loan he asks for is on a local business with which he can’t possibly abscond, and the bank would be fully protected by the mortgage even if the borrower defaulted.
Bradford Crane didn’t even hesitate. When he had finished studying my array of documents, he said, “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about backing if you decide to take over the store, Mr. Howard. This bank will be glad to do business with you.”
That completed the first phase of my plan by establishing in Herman Gwynn’s mind that I not only meant business, but was financially capable of swinging the deal. And it hadn’t cost me a thing.
It never would, of course. After the funeral everybody concerned would as usual be too sympathetic to show more than mild disappointment when I backed out of everything and left town to escape sorrowful memories.
The rest of that day Helen, Dewey, Mavis and I all spent house hunting. Herman Gwynn got on the phone, and through his contacts with the Westfield Businessmen’s Club, of which he was a member, managed to locate two houses for us to look at. As nearly as he could discover, they were the only two in town for rent.
The first one was one side of a duplex, and when we learned that it wasn’t going to be vacant until after the first of the year, we went away without even looking at it The second was a two-story furnished place on Portage Street, within easy walking distance of the store, and available immediately. It was only available until March, however, as the owners were wintering in Florida and wanted it vacated for their own use when they returned to town.
The downstairs consisted of four rooms: living room, dining room, kitchen and a bedroom. Upstairs there were two bedrooms plus a wide hall. An open stairway led upstairs from the front room, and at its top only a balustrade guarded the front side of the upper hall. I examined the twelve-foot drop from the balustrade to the front-room floor thoughtfully as we went up the stairs.
Catching me studying it, Mavis gave me a sardonic smile.
Then Dewey did something helpful for a change. Resting his hand on the railing as he reached the top of the stairs, he said, “Hey, this thing’s kind of loose.”
He shook it in demonstration, and sure enough it moved back and forth shakily.
“I better have that fixed,” the agent said.
I walked over to where the railing joined the wall, noting that the nails in the end posts had begun to work loose.
“Don’t bother,” I said. “I can fix that myself easily.”
I wouldn’t, of course. And I was reasonably certain Dewey would never think of it again, unless he happened to fall through it and spoil it for subsequent use. But it was convenient to have planted in the real estate agent’s mind that the thing was in a dangerous condition.
We all agreed that the place was ideal for our purposes, and I paid the agent a month’s rent in advance. We moved from the hotel to the house that evening. Helen and I took one of the upstairs bedrooms, Mavis took the other, and we relegated Dewey to the one on the first floor.
The next day was Thanksgiving, and we spent it at home except for a noon meal in a restaurant. We had to eat out because the women hadn’t had time to shop and the stores weren’t open on Thanksgiving Day.