the store personnel with her. Since opening herfather's safe, she had evidently dropped all pretense of Illiteracy;there was a mass of papers spread on the big desk, and she wasreferring from one to another of them with the deft skill of a regularFraternities Literate, while the others watched in fascinated horror.
"Wait a moment, Mr. Hutschnecker," she told the white-haired man inthe blue and orange business suit with whom she had been talking, andlaid the printed price-schedule down, advancing to meet him.
"Ralph!" she greeted him. "Frank Cardon told me you were coming. I--"
For a moment, he thought of the afternoon, over two years ago, whenshe had entered his office at the school, and he had recognized her asthe older sister of young Ray Pelton.
"Professor Prestonby," she had begun, accusingly, "you have beenteaching my brother, Raymond Pelton, to read!"
He had been prepared for that; had known that sooner or later therewould be some minor leak in the security screen around the classroomson the top floor.
"My dear Miss Pelton," he had protested pleasantly. "I think you'vebecome overwrought over nothing. This pretense to Literacy is a phasemost boys of Ray's age pass through; they do it just as they playair-pirates or hi-jackers a few years earlier. The usual trick is tomemorize something heard from a record disk, and then pretend to readit from print."
"Don't try to kid me, professor. I know that Ray can read. I can proveit."
"And supposing he has learned a few words," he had parried. "Can yoube sure I taught him? And if so, what had you thought of doing aboutit? Are you going to expose me as a corrupter of youth?"
"Not unless I have to," she had replied coolly. "I'm going toblackmail you, professor. I want you to teach me to read, too."
Now, with this gang of her father's Illiterate store officialspresent, a quick handclasp and a glance were all they could exchange.
"How is he, Claire?" he asked.
"Out of danger, for the present. There was a medic here, who left justbefore you arrived. He brought nitrocaine bulbs, and gave fathersomething to make him sleep. He's lying down, back in his rest room."She led him to a door at the rear of the office and motioned him toenter, following him. "He's going to sleep for a couple of hours,yet."
The room was a sort of bedroom and dressing room, with a minisculetoilet and shower beyond. Pelton was lying on his back, sleeping; hisface was pale, but he was breathing easily and regularly. Two of thestore policemen, a sergeant and a patrolman, were playing cards on thelittle table, and the patrolman had a burp gun within reach.
"All right, sergeant," Claire said. "You and Gorman go out to theoffice. Call me if anything comes up that needs my attention, in thenext few minutes."
The sergeant started to protest. Claire cut him off.
"There's no danger here. This Literate can be trusted; he's a friendof Mr. Cardon's. Works at the brewery. It's all right."
The two rose and went out, leaving the door barely ajar. Prestonby andClaire, like a pair of marionettes on the same set of strings, cast aquick glance at the door and then were in each other's arms. ChesterPelton slept placidly as they kissed and whispered endearments.
It was Claire who terminated the embrace, looking apprehensively ather slumbering father.
"Ralph, what's it all about?" she asked. "I didn't even know that youand Frank Cardon knew each other, let alone that he had any idea aboutus."
Prestonby thought furiously, trying to find a safe path through thetangle of Claire Pelton's conflicting loyalties, trying to find a pathbetween his own loyalties and his love for her, wondering how much itwould be safe to tell her.
"And Cardon's gone completely cloak-and-dagger-happy," she continued."He's talking about plots against my father's life, and against me,and--"
"A lot of things are going on under cloaks, around here," he told her."And under Literate smocks, and under other kinds of costume. And alot of daggers are out, too. You didn't know Frank Cardon was aLiterate, did you?"
Her eyes widened. "I thought I was Literate enough to spot Literacy inanybody else," she said. "No, I never even suspected--"
Somebody rapped on the door. "Miss Pelton," the sergeant's voicecalled. "Visiphone call from Literates' Hall."
Prestonby smiled. "I'll take it, if you don't mind," he said. "I'macting-chief-Literate here, now, I suppose."
She followed him as he went out into Pelton's office. When he snappedon the screen, a young man in a white smock, with the FraternitiesExecutive Section badge, looked out of it. He gave a slight start whenhe saw Prestonby.
"Literate First Class Ralph N. Prestonby, acting voluntarily forPelton's Purchasers' Paradise during emergency," he said.
"Literate First Class Armandez, Executive Section," the man in thescreen replied. "This call is in connection with the recent attack ofChester Pelton upon Literate First Class Bayne."
"Continue, understanding that we admit nothing," Prestonby told him.
"An extemporary session of the Council has found Pelton guilty ofassaulting Literate Bayne, and has fined him ten million dollars,"Armandez announced.
"We enter protest," Prestonby replied automatically.
"Wait a moment, Literate. The Council has also awarded Pelton'sPurchasers' Paradise damages to the extent of ten million dollars, forlosses incurred by suspension of Literate service, and voted censureagainst Literate Bayne for ordering said suspension without consent ofthe Council. Furthermore, a new crew of Literates, with their novices,guards, et cetera, is being sent at once to your store. Obviously,neither the Fraternities, nor Pelton's, nor the public, would bebenefitted by returning Literate Bayne or any of his crew; he has beengiven another assignment."
"Thank you. And when can we expect this new crew of Literates?"Prestonby asked.
The man in the screen consulted his watch. "Probably inside of anhour. We've had to do some re-shuffling; you know how these things arehandled. And if you'll pardon me, Literate; just what are you doing atPelton's? I understood that you were principal of Mineola HighSchool."
"That's a good question." Prestonby hastily assessed the circumstancesand their implications. "I'd suggest that you ask it of my superior,Literate Lancedale, however."
The Literate in the screen blinked; that was the equivalent, for him,of anybody else's jaw dropping to his midriff.
"Well! A pleasure, Literate. Good day."
* * * * *
"Miss Pelton!" The man in the blue-and-orange suit was still trying tocatch her attention. "Where are we going to put that stuff? RussLatterman's out in the store, somewhere, and I can't get in touch withhim."
"What did you say it was?" she replied.
"Fireworks, for the Peace Day trade. We want to get it on sale aboutthe middle of the month."
"This was a fine time to deliver them. Peace Day isn't till the Tenthof December. Put them down in the fireproof vault."
"That place is full of photographic film, and sporting ammunition, andother merchandise; stuff we'll have to draw out to replace stock onthe shelves during the sale," the Illiterate objected.
"The weather forecast for the next couple of days is fair," Prestonbyreminded her. "Why not just pile the stuff on the top stage, beyondthe control tower, and put up warning signs?"
The man--Hutschnecker, Prestonby remembered hearing Claire callhim--nodded.
"That might be all right. We could cover the cases with tarpaulins."
A buzzer drew one of the Illiterates to a handphone. He listened for amoment, and turned.
"Hey, there's a Mrs. H. Armytage Zydanowycz down in Furs; she wants tobuy one of those mutated-mink coats, and she's only got half a millionbucks with her. How's her credit?"
Claire handed Prestonby a black-bound book. "Confidentialcredit-rating guide; look her up for us," she said.
Another buzzer rasped, before Prestonby could find the entry onZydanowycz, H. Armytage; the Illiterate office worker, laying down onephone, grabbed up another.
"They're all outta small money in N
otions; every son and his brother'sbeen in there in the last hour to buy a pair of dollar shoestringswith a grand-note."
"I'll take care of that," Hutschnecker said. "Wait till I call controltower, and tell them about the fireworks."
"How much does Mrs. H. Armytage Zydanowycz want credit for?" Prestonbyasked. "The book says her husband's good for up to fifteen million, orfifty million in thirty days."
"Those coats are only five
Null-ABC Page 10
