Trading Jeff and his Dog Part 17

For a few seconds Pete lingered over his food. Then it was as though he had thought out a decision which had been hard to make. He speared half an egg, curled a whole strip of bacon on the end of his fork, shoved everything into his mouth and began to chew noisily.

"Nao," he said. "I wouldn't knaow who done fer John."

"Dan's upset," Jeff explained. "He didn't realize what he was saying."

An explosive, "I did, too" lingered on Dan's lips and died there when he caught Jeff's eyes. As the latter turned to lift his own breakfast out of the skillet, Pete nodded vigorously.

"Likely. Likely. Young'uns do get upsot. What be ye doin' here?"

Jeff said smoothly, "We represent Tarrant Enterprises, Ltd., and came because we thought we could do some business around Smithville."

Pete's s.h.i.+fty eyes found Jeff's pack. "Peddler, huh?"

"Some people call it that."

"Whar'd ye find the dog?"

"Over beyond Cressman. He made himself at home with us."

Jeff put his own plate on the table and began to eat. Pete mopped up the last of his breakfast with a crust of bread, plopped it into his mouth, and licked his fingers. That done, he picked up the conversation where it had been dropped.

"Take care he ain't kil't."

"Take care who isn't killed?"

"The dog. He turned right snarly after Blazer was kil't. Bill Ellis'd a shot him if he hadn't took a mind to run away."

"Did he hurt anybody?"

"Nao. But he had a mind to."

Pete leaned back, looking at the ceiling and cleaning his teeth with his tongue. He asked suddenly, "Whar'd ye get the young'un?"

For a moment Jeff fumbled. But Tarrant Enterprises, Ltd., had taught him that it was not a good idea to be at a loss long enough to let anyone else think too far ahead of him. He said glibly, "Dan was farmed out to me."

Jeff referred to the common practice of placing with accredited people who would support them, youngsters who had no other place to turn. Dan glared. Jeff did not look at him.

Pete Whitney said, "You git a smart lot of work out'en a farmed-out young'un if you whomp him to it."

Jeff's next words erased Dan's glare. "Dan doesn't need 'whomping.'

We're full partners."

"Aoh."

There was another silence. Finally Pete Whitney asked, "What ye peddlin?"

"What do you need?"

"I ast you."

"Cash or swap?"

"Swap." Pete looked surprised that anyone should think he had cash.

"What can you swap?"

Pete reached inside his s.h.i.+rt and drew out a knife. It was much cruder than the works of art Jeff had had from Bart Whitney. But it was st.u.r.dy, and the blade, Jeff thought wryly, was certainly keen enough to penetrate anything that Pete might have reason to stab. Since there was a buyer for everything, it stood to reason that there would be a buyer for Pete's knife. Jeff went to his pack, took out a cheap jackknife, a compa.s.s and a wrapped parcel. He extended the knife.

"I'll swap even for this."

Pete accepted the knife, opened it, tried the blade on the back of his h.o.r.n.y hand, and pa.s.sed it back.

"Nao. That piddlin' thin'd bend on rabbit fur."

Enjoying himself, as he always did when bartering, Jeff handed the compa.s.s over. Pete looked at it. Puzzled, he glanced back at Jeff.

"Do it tell the hour?"

Dan laughed. Jeff explained. "It's called a compa.s.s. See? The needle always points north. Anyone who carries this can tell any direction at all."

Pete was honestly astounded. "You mean they's some what cain't?"

"There are some, but I thought you wouldn't be one of them!"

He spoke admiringly, stressing the "you." Sales resistance faded to nothing if the seller, while convincing the buyer that he was much to be admired, could at the same time build up the buyer's opinion of himself.

Like a good showman, Jeff had saved his masterpiece for last. He unwrapped the parcel to reveal a cheap box whose exterior was stamped with gaudy green dragons. Pete regarded it with narrowed eyes.

"This," Jeff said smoothly, "I offer to very few customers. Now if you'll just keep your eye on the box--"

Pete obliged, bending so closely that his face was no more than six inches from the box. Jeff pressed a b.u.t.ton. The lid flew open and a green bellows surmounted by a grinning clown's head sprang up to hit Pete on the nose. He leaped backward, flung himself from the table and crouched. Again Jeff thought of an animal. But this time it was a beast of prey. And it was ready to strike.

The jack that had leaped out of the box quivered on the table, swaying this way and that. Completely astounded, Pete regarded it for a moment.

Then sheer delight flooded his eyes.

"I swan!"

Jeff said proudly, "Ever see anything like that?"

"Put it back!"

Jeff pressed the jack into place. Uncertainly, still a little fearful of such magic, Pete came near. He extended a hand and immediately withdrew it.

"Do it ag'in!"

Jeff pressed the b.u.t.ton and the performance was repeated. Sure now that there was nothing to fear, Pete picked the toy up and looked at it closely. He pushed the jack down, latched the cover, and pressed the b.u.t.ton. When the clown's head flew up, he t.i.ttered nervously.

"I swan!"