More Deadly Than The Male

George shuffled his feet. "I assure you, Mr Eccles," he stammered, "I—I have no intention of selling anything, no intention at all. It's just that I hoped for your co-operation. Unless teachers are prepared to assist us, we are unable to let parents know how invaluable the CSE—and who would deny it?—would be in the home."

Mr Eccles rose to his feet. To George, he seemed to grow n stature, and broaden like a rubber doll that is being inflated. "You're canvassing," Mr Eccles said in an awful voice, "I thought as much. What is the name of your firm?"

George had visions of a complaint being lodged by the LCC. Although the World-Wide Publishing Company was fully aware of the methods used by their salesmen, officially these methods were not recognized. They were all right, so long as there were no complaints. If there were complaints, then the salesmen were sacked.

George stood staring stupidly at Mr Eccles, his face red, his mouth dry and his eyes protruding. He visualized the arrival of the police and being marched through the streets to the police station.

"Well?" Mr Eccles shouted at him, seeing his confusion and enjoying it. "Who's your firm? I'll get to the bottom of this! Pm going to stop you touts bothering me and my staff. Every day someone calls. If it isn't vacuum cleaners, it's silk stockings. If it isn't silk stockings, it's expensive hooks that no one can afford to buy. Pm going to put a stop to it!"

From somewhere in the rear, where he had been standing, Brant suddenly appeared in front of George. He walked straight up to Mr Eccles and fixed him with his cold, expressionless eyes.

"There is no need to shout," he said, in his soft, clipped voice. "We've been received at all the other schools in this district with courtesy, Mr Eccles. Surely, we are entitled to your courtesy too."

Mr Eccles glared at Brant, then quite suddenly moved back a step.

"We are men trying to do a job of work," Brant went on, his eyes never moving from Eccles' face. "Just as you are trying to do a job of work. As representatives of the World-Wide Publishing Company we are entitled to a hearing. The World-Wide Publishing Company has been dealing with the teaching profession for two hundred years. Its reputation for integrity and good work is known and commented upon by the London County Council. The Child's Self-Educator is known all over the world."

Mr Eccles sat down slowly. It was as if he had suddenly lost the strength in his legs. "World-Wide Publishing Company," he muttered and wrote on his blotting paper. "All right, I'll remember that."

"I want you to remember it," Brant said. "I'm surprised that a man of your experience does not know who published the Child's Self-Educator. Have you a set yourself'?"

Mr Eccles looked up. "Who—me? No, I haven't. Now, look here, young man—"

"Then you will be glad to hear that you are going to be presented with a set. That's why we've come to see you."

"Presented with a set?" Mr Eccles repeated, his little eyes opening. "You mean given a set?"

"Certainly," Brant said, his hands on the desk. "We're anxious that every teacher should have a set of the CSE, but, for obvious reasons, it is not possible to give so many sets away. It has been decided, however, that the headmaster of the best school of each London borough is to be presented with our deluxe, half-calf edition, free, gratis and for nothing."

If Mr Eccles was surprised by this news, George was utterly flabbergasted.

"Well, 'pon my soul," Mr Eccles exclaimed, a sly smile lighting up his face. "Why didn't you say so before? Sit down, young man. I'm sorry I was so abrupt just now, but if you only knew how I'm pestered all day long, you'd appreciate I've got to do something to protect myself."

Brant drew up a chair and sat down. George, standing by the door, was forgotten.

"I understand, Mr Eccles," Brant went on, after a moment's pause, "that your children's handwriting is of an exceptionally high standard. Mr Pickthorn of Trinity School also boasts of a high standard. We are organizing a harmless competition between schools, and I suggest you might like to co-operate. All we need is a specimen of each of your pupils' handwriting, which will be sent to our head office, and the pupil with the best handwriting will be given a beautifully inscribed certificate and ten shillings. Mr Pickthorn has been happy to help us in this scheme, and we would like your pupils to compete against his. Whatever you decide, of course, will not influence my Company's decision to send you the CSE, which should reach you early next month."

"Pickthorn?" Mr Eccles snorted. "That old muddler! None of his brats can write. He's got no method. Why, in a competition, it'd be a walk over." He frowned down at his blotting pad. "I'd like to do it. 'Pon my word, I would. I'd like to wipe old Pickthorn's eye, but it'll disorganize my day. A thing like that'd need a bit of arranging."