The Leather Duke

“All right, Elliott,” Towner said, “never mind.” He drew a deep breath. “All right, Fletcher, let’s have it. Why are you here?”

“Why, you asked me to come down and—”

“There you go with your words again,” Towner snapped. “You know very well that wasn’t what I meant. Why are you working here at this factory?”

“Because I’m broke. Actually, I’m a book salesman...”

“A salesman!”

“The world’s greatest and I’m not bragging when I say that, Mr. Towner.”

“No, I don’t think you are. You certainly sold me last night.” Towner picked up his cigar and puffed on it. “A salesman, eh?” He suddenly flicked a switch on an interoffice communication system and leaning over his desk, barked out: “Come in here, Edgar!” He shut off the intercom and looked thoughtfully at Johnny.

“I’ve always prided myself upon being a judge of character,” he said to Johnny. “I thought I had you sized up last night, but if I’ve made a mistake...”

He stopped as the door opened and a completely bald man came into the room.

“Mr. Bracken, our sales manager. Edgar, this is Mr. Fletcher, one of our counter sorters.”

At the beginning of Towner’s introduction, Mr. Bracken came forward, hand out, a smile on his face, but at the final announcement of Johnny’s status the smile disappeared from his face, the hand fell and Mr. Bracken came to a halt.

“Yes, Mr. Towner,” he said, puzzled.

“Mr. Fletcher,” Towner went on, “tells me he’s a salesman. I’m going to give him a tryout. I want you to give him some counter samples and an order blank. He’s going to call on the John B. Croft Shoe Company and get an order for some counters...”

“The John B. Croft Company!” exclaimed Mr. Bracken. “But, Mr. Towner, you know—”

“Yes, I know,” cut in Towner, “they buy lots of counters. They make a poor grade of shoes, but still they use counters in them and we sell counters. All grades and all prices. Well, Fletcher, do you think you can get an order of counters?”

“And if I sell them?”

Harry Towner shrugged. “You won’t be working upstairs.”

Johnny grimaced. “Has this company ever sold the John B. Croft Shoe Company any counters?”

“Oh, yes!”

“How long ago?”

“How long is it, Mr. Bracken?”

The sales manager gulped. “Uh, twelve years.”

“I see,” said Johnny. He drew a deep breath. “Give me the samples.”

Mr. Bracken looked at Harry Towner. The Leather Duke nodded grimly. “Give him the samples, Mr. Bracken. And the order blanks.”

“And a small expense account, Mr. Towner,” Johnny said. “I haven’t even got carfare.”

“Oh, you won’t need carfare, Fletcher. They’re only a few blocks from here. But you’re right, a little expense money is only fair. Bracken, give him ten dollars... You’re going to call on them now, Fletcher?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ll be waiting here to find out how you made out.”

Bracken started to leave the office and Johnny followed. As he passed Elliott he heard a distinct snicker.

Bracken led Johnny into a small office near Towner’s. When Johnny had entered the sales manager closed the door.

“I don’t know what this is all about, Fletcher,” he said, “but I feel that I should tell you that there is great enmity between the John B. Croft Company and this firm...”

“Oh, sure, I gathered that.”

“John B. Croft has a standing order in his place that anyone from the Towner Company should be thrown out the moment they set foot in their factory. You’d only be wasting time calling there. If you’re wise you’ll take the ten dollars in lieu of your salary here—”

“I’ll take the samples, too. And the order blanks.”

Bracken looked at Johnny a moment, then shaking his head, went to a long table and picked up a leather salesman’s kit. He handed it to Johnny.

“It’s your funeral.”

Johnny opened the kit, took out two leather counters and stuffed them into his pocket. He picked up an order pad and tore off two sheets, which he folded and put into his breast pocket. “Now if you’ll give me the expense money...”

Mr. Bracken took out his wallet and extracted a ten dollar bill. “Good-bye, Fletcher,” he said.

“See you in a little while,” Johnny said. He gave the sales manager a half salute and left the office.

He stopped at Nancy Miller’s desk.

“Fired?” she asked.

“Promoted. I’m now a salesman. I’m going over to get an order from the John B. Croft Company.”

She gasped. “Somebody’s ribbing you.”

“The Duke. He says if I get an order from Croft I can have any job in the place.” -

“But that’s it, Johnny,” Nancy said, tautly. “You can’t get an order from the Croft Company. Harry Towner and John B. Croft are deadly enemies.”

“I’m doing it because of you, Taffy,” Johnny said dramatically. “You said you wouldn’t go out with a laborer, so I’m trying to become a white collar man, a salesman, just so you—”

“You’re crazy, Johnny,” Nancy said softly. “Crazy, but I like you. Only—”

“I shall return,” said Johnny, and walked out of the office.