The Leather Duke

John B. Croft cleared his throat, coughed and cleared his throat a second time. “I, ah, I’m afraid I can’t place you, Mr. ah, Fletcher, isn’t it?”

“Fletcher,” said Johnny.

Mr. Croft concentrated hard and his face showed a little more perspiration. “What is, ah, the nature — I mean, what did you want to see me about?”

Johnny waited about thirty seconds, then said quietly: “You’ve got a very nice business here, Mr. Croft.”

Mr. Croft wiped his forehead with the back of a pudgy hand. “Shall we, ah, uh, come to the point, Mr. Fletcher? I don’t imagine you came here to talk about the shoe business.”

Johnny pursed up his lips into a great pout and held it a moment. Then he carefully picked up the parcel from his lap and broke the string. He folded the string and put it in his pocket. Mr. Croft’s eyes were glued upon the package.

Johnny opened the paper cautiously, picked up one of the ancient battered shoes, then the other. He rose from his chair, stepped to Mr. Croft’s desk and placed the shoes carefully upon it. The shoe manufacturer stared at the shoes a long moment, looked at Johnny, then back at the shoes and finally again at Johnny. There was an inquiry in his eyes.

“Shoes,” said Johnny.

Croft ran the tip of his tongue about his lips. “I... I don’t understand.”

“Look at them.”

Croft reached out a hand, hesitated, then touched one of the shoes gingerly. Since it didn’t explode in his face, he picked up the shoe and stared at it. He shot a look at Johnny, then looked back at the shoe. He touched the sole that was pulled away from the uppers and then suddenly switched the shoe around and looked at the inside of the heel.

“A Croft,” he said tentatively.

“A Croft shoe,” agreed Johnny.

A drop of perspiration fell from Mr. Croft’s face to the back of his hand, causing him to twitch.

“Feel the counters,” suggested Johnny.

Mr. Croft felt them. “Broken down.”

“Pretty badly,” agreed Johnny.

“I... I don’t get the point,” said Croft, nervously.

Johnny reached into his side pocket and bringing out his two sample counters, placed them carefully beside the battered wrecks of Croft shoes.

“Counters,” he said.

Mr. Croft put down the shoe, picked up the counters. He felt them, looked questioningly at Johnny. Johnny pursed up his lips again.

“You never heard my name, Mr. Croft?” he asked, quietly.

“N-no, no, I don’t think so. At least I can’t remember. I... I have a bad memory for names and faces.”

“I guess you have, Mr. Croft.” Johnny took the order blanks from his pocket, unfolded them and carefully removed the creases. Then he spread the blanks out on Mr. Croft’s desk. Mr. Croft took one startled look at them and returned his gaze to Johnny’s face.

Johnny nodded slowly. “I’d like to sell you some counters, Mr. Croft.”

“Harry Towner,” Croft whispered.

“I beg your pardon?”

“How many?” exclaimed Croft, flicking sweat from his face, with a shaking hand.

“Oh, about ten barrels of 2 MOXO and...” Johnny hesitated, “say, ten barrels of 2 MOXOO... Could I use your pen?”

“S-sure...”

Johnny got up, took Mr. Croft’s ball pen from the desk set and wrote out the order. He handed the pen to Croft. “Now, if you’ll just sign.”

Croft signed his name eagerly and handed the pen back to Johnny. Johnny returned it to the pen stand. He folded up the order blank.

“Thank you, Mr. Croft.”

“Uh, th-thank you, Mr. Fletcher.” Then, as Johnny started for the door. “What about these shoes?”

Johnny looked back and smiled faintly. “Oh, that’s all right, Mr. Croft. There won’t be any trouble... now...” He smiled again and opened the door.

In the outer office, he nodded gravely to Miss Williams and walked through.

When he reached the sidewalk it was Johnny’s turn to perspire.

Chapter Eleven

It was five minutes to twelve when Johnny re-entered the offices of the Towner Leather Company. Nancy Miller gasped when she saw him.

“You came back!”

“Of course. I said I’d return, didn’t I?”

“But it’s all around the office — Mr.Towner sent you out on an impossible mission...”

“Impossible?” asked Johnny. “I don’t know the meaning of the word.”

“But you were going to call at the John B. Croft.”

“I went,” said Johnny. “I saw Croft. I got an order.”

“No!”

“Yes! Now, stick around, Taffy, and when I come out of The Duke’s office, I’ll have some good news for you — about our date.” Johnny winked at Nancy and strode to Edgar Bracken’s office. He stuck in his head.

“Edgar!”

Bracken looked up from his work, his eyes widening in shock. Johnny crooked a finger at him. “Come, Ed!”

He strode to Harry Towner’s office and without knocking, pushed open the door. Towner was just hanging up his telephone receiver.

“Fletcher!” he exclaimed, unbelievingly. “What in the devil...?”

Bracken padded into the room behind Johnny, came to a halt, just within the door, ready for instant flight. Johnny strode across the room, drawing out the Croft order.

“Salesman Fletcher reporting, Mr. Towner!” He unfolded the order blank and held it so that Towner could look at it.