“All right,” sighed the printer. He went to a type case, set type rapidly for a moment or two, then carried the stick to the block. He made it ready in a small chase, took it to a tiny press and inside of three minutes came back with a neatly printed business card. He handed it to Johnny.
“Careful of the ink.”
“Swell,” said Johnny. “Shows the kind of work you can do. I’ll run right over to the office now and get the okay. I may telephone you, but if not I’ll be back this way inside of an hour or two.”
“Thank you, sir,” said the printer gratefully.
Outside, Sam said bitterly, “I didn’t say a word — not a word.”
“I know, Sam.”
“...Even when you used my name.”
Johnny chuckled. “I’m saving mine.”
They were heading back toward the hotel — and the California Credit Clothiers. “Feel like a suit yourself, Sam?”
“No!” cried Sam. “I don’t like this old bag I’m wearing, but I like it a lot better’n I’d like stripes.”
“Okay, then,” grinned Johnny. “But I want you to look at a couple of neckties, or shirts or something. Just to hold the salesman a minute or so, when I get through with him...”
“What for?” Sam asked suspiciously. “I don’t know what you’re planning to pull...” Then he added hastily, “And I don’t want to know.”
“All right, it’s just as well.”
Johnny drew a deep breath and turned into the store of the California Credit Clothiers. It was a nice place, really a double-store, with a balcony for the overcoat department. But the suits were right on the first floor, and they had a good selection.
A man pounced on Johnny and Sam before the door had even swung shut. “Yes, gentlemen, a nice suit or topcoat, maybe?”
“A suit,” said Johnny. “Something in a double-breasted — not too loud.”
“We got some of the new worsted-tex here,” said the salesman enthusiastically. “The latest patterns, right from New York. Look...” He did something to the rack that swung it out. “Here’s a checked pattern...”
“I’m a salesman,” said Johnny. “The kind of people I call on, I wouldn’t want them to think I was a race track tout.”
“No, sure, of course not. How about this blue pin-stripe? It’s a honey.”
“Not bad,” said Johnny.
“Let’s try it on for size.”
Johnny was willing and the coat fitted quite well. It needed just a bit more room through the shoulders, which the salesman assured Johnny could be altered in a jiffy. So Johnny went into a dressing room to put on the trousers, while the salesman gave Sam the business. But when Johnny came out, wearing the trousers and coat, Sam was still shaking his head.
“Say!” exclaimed the salesman to Johnny. “That’s a suit for you. Looks like a seventy-five dollar model. You wouldn’t think it was only fifty-nine fifty, would you... Oh, Elmer!”
Elmer had a tape-measure about his neck and was obviously the fitter. He came over, pulled a little here and there, made a soap-chalk mark or two and nodded. “A very nice fit. You’ll like it, Mister.”
“How soon can I have it?”
“Tomorrow.”
Johnny shook his head. “No. This afternoon.”
“Couldn’t possibly make it.”
“Wait a minute,” said Johnny. He went to the dressing room, got his pinned-up trousers. The tailor and the salesman both exclaimed.
“I’m just coming in from Denver, see,” said Johnny. “There’s a mixup over my luggage at the airport and then, wham, zowie, the steward catches a bag on my pants.” He grinned. “See now why I got to have this suit today?”
“You could wear one of your other suits,” the fitter suggested.
“That’s it!” Johnny exclaimed. “The steward gave my luggage to a fellow named Simpson. He fives out in the Valley and weighs three hundred pounds. I’ve got his luggage and he’s got mine — and we can’t exchange until tomorrow... You’ve got to have this suit altered this afternoon, or else it’s no deal...”
“Elmer,” said the salesman. “You got to do it.”
“All right,” growled the fitter. “We got eighteen suits ahead, but in an emergency like this...”
“Thanks!” said Johnny. “I sure appreciate it.”
He went back into the dressing room, put on his old suit and brought out the other. The salesman was filling out a sales blank.
“Your name, sir?”
“John Fletcher.”
“You wish to take advantage of our generous credit terms...?”
Johnny made a wry face. “A little poker game with a couple of buyers in Denver...”
The salesman chuckled. “It happens to all of us. Let’s see... how about a twenty dollar deposit?”
“Mister,” said Johnny, “I had just enough left to tip the taxicab driver. I’ve already put in my expense account, but the cashier won’t give me the check for a day or two. How about paying the twenty the day after tomorrow...”
The salesman frowned mightily. “Couldn’t you, ah, get an advance?”
Johnny winced. “And let the boss know I got took in a poker game? I’d rather patch these pants.” He shook his head. “No, sir. Old Cragg would give me holy hell.”
The salesman looked dubious. “Well, I don’t know... You say you’re a traveling salesman...”
“Not exactly. I do a lot of traveling for the firm — and I sell, naturally, when I can. But actually, I’m the assistant manager of the western division...” He grinned. “Look — why don’t you call up Mr. Cragg? You can tell him I’m making a purchase. I’m sure he’ll tell you I’m okay... But don’t let on about the deposit. He might get suspicious about that. Just ask him about me in general...”
The salesman became happy once more. “All right, sir, if you don’t mind...”
Johnny reached into his pocket. “Here’s my card...”
The salesman took it. “Thank you, sir.”
“Then if everything’s okay, I can stop in for the suit... about five o’clock?”
“Better make it five-thirty.”
“Swell.”
Johnny started for the door. Sam began to follow, then obeying his instructions, dawdled a moment at the sport coat section. The salesman stepped after him. Johnny, however, continued out of the store.
He walked leisurely until he was through the door, then sprinted across the street. He slackened speed in the hotel lobby, but headed immediately for the telephone booths.
There he got a shock. A woman was inside the one booth — the one that had the phone number of Hill-crest 1251. Johnny sweated for two long moments before the woman finally hung up and came out. Johnny promptly stepped into the booth and just as promptly, the phone rang.
“Transcontinental Terra Cotta Tile Corporation,” Johnny said smoothly.
“Like to speak to Mr. Cragg,” said a girl’s voice.
“Who’s calling?”
“The California Credit Clothiers... Mr. Bailey.”
“Just a moment,” said Johnny. He cleared his throat silently, then lowered his voice a couple of octaves. “Yes,” he said into the mouthpiece, “Cragg talking.”
“One moment please,” said the girl’s voice. Then a man’s voice came on. “Mr. Cragg? This is the California Credit Clothiers. We’d like to ask you about one of your employees, who’s making a purchase here...”
“Yes, who is it?”
“A Mr. John Fletcher. Is he in your employ?”
“Oh yes,” said Johnny. “One of our executives. Hmmph. Credit clothiers, you say? Funny, he’d be buying on credit... Is the amount very much?”
“In the neighborhood of sixty dollars. Ah, how long has Mr. Fletcher been in your employ.”
“Oh, quite a long while,” said Johnny. “Could be ten-eleven years. Don’t remember exactly. Matter of fact, he was here, before I came out from Chicago to take charge of the Coast Office. Our best salesman; I made him assistant sales manager two years ago.”