“Yes, dad,” the children chimed in, “let’s ’ave ’em. Coo, dad, look at all them pictures…”
“You shut up,” Mr Thomas growled. He scratched his head and fingered the specimen thoughtfully. “I’m not saying they ain’t all right, but this sort of thing costs money…”
“Now let me explain about that,” George said, with an expansive smile. “The Child’s Self-Educator is in four handsome volumes. Although we’re making every effort to put this work in all homes at cost price, it still needs a little effort on your part to secure it. Good things don’t just fall from Heaven. I wish they did, but they don’t. You have to make a small sacrifice for them.” He shook his head solemnly Then, lowering his voice, he said impressively, “It’s going to cost you tuppence a day.”
“Tuppence a day?” Mr Thomas repeated blankly. “Wot yer mean?”
“Just that,” George replied, knowing that he had reached the crucial part of the sale and moving with caution. “Consider what tuppence a day means. A shilling odd a week for your children’s future success. Surely that isn’t asking too much? We don’t collect the money daily or weekly, of course, but monthly: five shillings a month.
“The whole work costs seven pounds, ten shillings. We’re not asking you for that amount, we’re asking for five shillings a month. The way to look at it is that you’re going to pay tuppence a day to help your children and yourselves.”
“Seven palms ten!” Mr Thomas gasped. “Not bloody likely! Not for me, chum. No, I can’t afford that.” He picked up the specimen and handed it to George. “Thank yer for calling, mister, but it ain’t no good.”
The two children immediately began an uproar, and Mrs Thomas had to drive them from the room. The small house echoed with their disappointed yells, and George became slightly flustered.
“Now, one moment, Mr Thomas,” he began hurriedly, realizing that he had struck the worst kind of prospect—the man who can’t afford it. “You’ve agreed the books are good and…
“The hooks’re orl right, but the price ain’t,” Mr Thomas said, a stubborn light in his eyes. “It’s no use arguing. I can’t afford it, so that’s that.”
George stared at him helplessly, aware that Brant was watching him with a sneering grin.
“Of course you can afford it,” George said warmly. “You mean you can’t afford to be without it. Tuppence a day! Why, anyone can afford that.”
“Well, I can’t, and I don’t want a lot of talk,” Mr Thomas said irritably. “I’ve got to get back to my garden.”
“Just a moment,” Brant said quietly. “I can prove you can afford to pay tuppence a day for these hooks.”
Both Mr Thomas and George turned and stared at him He was eyeing them with a hard, calculating expression in his eyes. Before they could speak he went on, “You’re a sporting man, Mr Thomas. I bet you half a dollar you can afford to pay tuppence a day. If I prove to your satisfaction that you wouldn’t miss this small sum, will you buy the books?”
“You can’t prove it,” Mr Thomas said, beginning to grin.
“In that case, you’ll get the half dollar,” Brant said, putting a half a crown on the table. “Fair enough, isn’t it?”
Mr Thomas hesitated, then nodded his head. “Okay, cocky, prove it.”
Brant produced a soiled ten-shilling note. “I’ll have another bet with you,” he said, his lips curling into a smile, but his eyes like granite. “I bet you don’t know how much money you have in your trousers’ pocket.”
Mr Thomas blinked at him “Wot’s that got ter do with it?”
“If you can tell me to the exact penny how much you have in your pocket, I’ll give you this ten bob.”
“I can do that orl right,” Mr Thomas returned, automatically moving his hands to his pockets.
“No… don’t do that. Tell me, without looking, exactly how much you have.”
Mr Thomas scratched his head, suddenly embarrassed.
“Well,” he said slowly, “I reckon I’ve got four bob.”
Brant leaned forward. “To the exact penny, Mr Thomas. What is it? Four and three or three and ten? Tell me the exact amount and the ten bob’s yours.”
Mr Thomas scowled. “I dunno,” he admitted. “Not to the exact penny. Rut wot’s all this got to do with it?”
“All right,” Brant said briskly, putting his ten-shilling note away. “You don’t know how much you have in your pocket, do you? So if I put tuppence into your pocket without you knowing it, you wouldn’t know you were tuppence to the good? In the same way, if I took tuppence out of your pocket, you wouldn’t miss it. It therefore follows that you can afford to pay tuppence a day for these very valuable books.”
Mr Thomas gaped for a moment, and then a wide grin spread over his face. “That’s smart,” he said, admiringly. “I never thought of it that way. Orl right, give us the order form. I’ll sign it.”
George watched the signing of the order form with mixed feelings. He was angry that Brant had interfered with his sale. He was humiliated that Brant should have come to his rescue so successfully when he should have been the one to have shown Brant the dodges. Again it crept into his mind that Brant’s success had been a cheap trick. Of course it was a cheap trick. A confidence trick!
But Brant seemed oblivious to George. He took the order form from Mr Thomas, examined it carefully, smiled and folded it. Without looking at George, he put the form casually into his pocket.
There was an awkward pause. George felt blood rising to his face, but this was no time to protest. They both shook hands with Mr Thomas, had a word to say to Mrs Thomas and then walked down the path in silence.
Once out in the road, away from the house, George said, “Look here, old boy, that’s my order, you know. I did all the selling, and besides, it was one of my addresses.”
Brant smiled. “Don’t be a fool,” he said, bored and cold, his hard eyes on George’s face. “You’d never’ve landed it: not in a hundred years. What do you think I am—a sucker?” He glanced up and down the road. “Well, I can manage now. I see how it’s done. If you ask me, it’s a mug’s game. All that talking for thirty bob.” He shrugged indifferently. “I’m not going to waste my time on this job for long.”
George shifted his feet; a tiny spark of anger flared up and then went out. “I think we might split it, old boy,” he said a little feebly.
“I thought you didn’t go in for small-time stuff,” Brant returned, jeering at him. “I got you twenty-two quid last night, and now you’re haggling over fifteen bob.” He began to move away. “I’ll be seeing you. While we’re on the ground, we may as well do some work. So long, George.”
“But wait a minute…” George began.
Brant shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “So long,” he repeated, and slouched away, his head down, the long straw-colour lock of hair falling forward, hiding his scar.
6
It was Saturday afternoon, and George was alone in his room, alone also in the big, dingy house. The other boarders had gone away for the weekend. George had watched them go from his window. They looked, he thought, a little odd and somehow theatrical out of their drab city clothes: the plus fours, the flannel suits, the summer frocks gave them a festive air, not in keeping with George’s depressed mood. Ella also had gone off immediately after lunch. It was her half day, and George, peering round the curtain, had watched her hurry to the bus stop. A half an hour or so later Mr and Mrs Rhodes had strolled towards the local cinema. He was now alone in the house, which seemed still and oppressive to him
Saturday afternoon depressed George: he had nothing to do, nowhere to go, and he usually sat in his armchair by the window with a book and Leo for company.