by Helen Wells
“But didn’t it occur to you,” Cherry asked, “that there might be something odd in gaining so much wealth so fast? I know I’d stop and think twice about a get-rich-quick plan.” She could not say right out that Peggy was being greedy, impatient, and naïve. Or childlike.
Her patient laughed. “What’s odd? What’s so impossible about financial acumen?”
Cherry briefly repeated what both her father and the bank officer had said: that anyone attempting to get more than reasonable returns was simply gambling. “Fair warning,” said Cherry.
“Oh, you’re foolish and old-fashioned.” Peggy laughed again. “You ought to invest with Pell, yourself.”
“You accepted the salesman’s story without question? You believe all the things these brochures say?”
Peggy Wilmot became indignant. “Mr. Foye gave me all sorts of facts and figures. So do these reports and letters. Just look at the names of people and companies, all over the country, who are investing in the Pell Plan!”
It was true that the pile of publications was impressive. Cherry decided to say no more, at least for now, since her skepticism only pushed Peggy into still greater, stubborn enthusiasm for Pell.
Peggy was saying the salesman had actually suggested that by investing more, she could earn even more. The evaluation reports seemed to urge her on. What was left of the insurance money was burning a hole in Peggy’s pocket. Cherry shook her head. Her patient could lose everything she had, if the Pell Plan were not on the level. It was important to find out.
Cherry’s father had some information for her. That evening, at dinner at home, Mr. Ames said the bank officer had heard from the Better Business Bureau in Chicago.
“They checked on the Cleveland Pell Corporation,” her father said. “You know it’s their job to check up on inquiries and complaints. They blacklist any dishonest individuals or businesses. It’s a public service. Anybody can go to the Better Business Bureau for information.”
Mrs. Ames stopped pouring the coffee. “You mean they protect the public from being cheated?”
Mr. Ames said dryly, “Sometimes they find a man out only after he has cheated his victims. But they help to prevent repeated frauds.”
“I’m bursting with curiosity!” Cherry said. “What about Pell?”
“The Better Business Bureau didn’t find out a thing about Pell,” said her father. “His business isn’t listed—so far—and there’s no record about the man himself. No business or criminal record.”
“Then at least there’s nothing against him,” Cherry’s mother said comfortably.
“There’s nothing against him on record,” Mr. Ames corrected her. “He might have successfully evaded the law. Or he may be operating under an assumed name and at a new address.”
“That is,” said Cherry, “the Better Business Bureau reports that Pell and his investment service are unknown factors. We learned nothing.”
Her father nodded.
After dinner Cherry asked him whether she should write to the Pell Corporation for its free market letters and evaluation reports, and turn them over to Mr. Alison for study.
“I don’t think that’s up to you,” her father said. “The Better Business Bureau in Chicago will probably get one of its employees on Pell’s mailing list, for the purpose of gathering information. I’m sure that the Illinois Securities Division in Springfield is doing much the same thing.”
“With all these watchdog law-enforcement agencies,” Cherry said, “I don’t see how any swindlers can operate.”
“They do, though. They know all the ways to evade the law. Investigations take time. They know how to get out, when the law catches up with them, and start over somewhere else.” Her father cautioned her, “Remember that as yet we don’t know anything one way or the other about Pell.”
The next day on the ward Cherry avoided the topic of the Pell Plan, but Peggy Wilmot did not. Her patient had gotten it into her head that Cherry, too, must invest with Pell—must share in this marvelous bonanza. Cherry tried to joke her out of the idea, as she went about her nursing tasks. There was always a great deal to do on Friday, before the weekend. She tried to interest Peggy in the reports of the other patients about the vaudeville show—Dr. Dan had sung spirituals and Western ballads, accompanying himself on his guitar—three young nurses from Pediatrics, costumed as clowns, had danced and especially delighted the children in the audience—two interns did magicians’ tricks—and the Jayvees had shown a movie cartoon.
But Peggy was not to be distracted. Cherry gave her a bed bath, remarking:
“Your knees and especially your wrists are beginning to be their normal size and color again. See how the inflammation and redness are subsiding?”
“Yes, and my wrists don’t hurt so much when you wash them,” Peggy replied. “But I wish you wouldn’t change the subject! No fooling, why won’t you consider the Pell Plan? Pell furnishes the expert inside information which is exactly what you need. Won’t you at least listen? If not to me, then to Jim Foye?”
Cherry was silent. It occurred to her that meeting the salesman might not be a bad idea. It would be one direct way of getting information. She was curious and concerned to see what sort of man had persuaded her patient to invest.
“I’ll—I’ll think about it,” Cherry said. “I haven’t very much saved up, anyway.” She had no intention of investing.
“Whether you invest much or little isn’t important,” Peggy insisted. “Just let Mr. Foye explain the plan to you. Please. Say yes.”
Cherry made a snap decision. “All right, if your Mr. Foye is willing to make a trip to Hilton to talk to me, I’ll be very much interested to talk with him.”
“Oh, good! I know he’ll come to Hilton,” Peggy said. “He and Mr. Pell’s other representatives travel to all the Illinois towns to see their clients and prospects, so Hilton won’t be out of the way.”
“Only Illinois towns?” Cherry asked.
“I think so, for now, because Mr. Pell is just getting his office started in Chicago. Jim Foye said that pretty soon they’ll expand to other states, too. Let’s write him a letter. Right now! Special delivery!”
Peggy cheerfully figured that if the letter was mailed by noon today, Friday, Mr. Foye would receive it tomorrow, and probably could come to Hilton early next week. Cherry wrote the letter for her, and Midge took it to the mailbox.
This weekend it was Cherry’s turn to work Sunday—the ward nurses took turns. Cherry almost preferred being at the air-conditioned hospital, in this midsummer heat. Her house—the spacious Victorian gray wooden house that her grandparents had built—was none too comfortable in summer, even with windows and curtains closed against the blazing sun.
More important, being at the hospital gave Cherry a chance to catch up on necessary chores. The Jayvees had taken a great deal of her time. The ward was quiet on weekends—few or no treatments. She was especially glad during crowded weekend visiting hours that she was there with old Mrs. Davis and Peggy Wilmot. No one came to see them, so Cherry gave her own tea party for them. “Small but select,” old Mrs. Davis said. Dr. Dan Blake came to make his afternoon rounds and stayed a while to tell stories.
On Monday the hospital was back on full staff and in full swing. Two intriguing things happened.
First, Peggy Wilmot received a letter in the morning mail from the Pell salesman. He wrote, very courteously, that he was shocked and sorry to learn that Mrs. Wilmot was in the hospital. “If there is anything I can do for you, I am at your service. I hope the hospital will permit me to visit you, even briefly. I plan to come to Hilton on Tuesday, to meet your nurse and friend, Miss Cherry Ames. Perhaps she can give me some time during her lunch hour? If this is not convenient, I will be glad to make other arrangements. Please be assured, Mrs. Wilmot, that I stand ready to assist you in your emergency. Very sincerely yours, James W. Foye.”
Second, Cherry’s father telephoned her at the hospital at noon. He sounded a little excited and puzzled.
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br /> “Cherry, Mr. Alison phoned me just now. He’s had a reply from the State Securities Division about this Cleveland Pell.”
“He did! Now we’re getting somewhere!”
“Yes and no,” said Cherry’s father. “Under Illinois law, an investment dealer and his salesmen must register with the State Securities Division. Cleveland Pell has applied for dealer registration; that is, for the right to operate legally as a qualified investment dealer and also as counselor; to sell registered securities, which the State Securities Division has examined and found honest. Pell has applied,” her father emphasized, “and now the State Securities Division is investigating him. I understand that usually takes about a month or two.”
“A month or two?” Cherry repeated. In that time Peggy Wilmot could invest—and gamble away—every cent she had. Cherry said, “And until the investigation is completed, the State Securities Division, of course, can’t advise investors one way or another about Pell.”
“That’s right,” said her father. “Honey, my other phone is ringing. See you later,” and he hung up as she called, “Thank you, Dad.”
Cherry hung up, too, puzzled. What did it prove or mean, that Pell was applying for registration? It was what an honorable man would do. It was also what a clever crook would do, to operate just within the law.
Then Dr. Watson came into the ward, accompanied by Dr. Dan, and Cherry forgot all about Pell. Dr. Watson had some wonderfully encouraging things to say for Peggy Wilmot, as he studied her temperature charts and examined her affected joints.
“Young lady, you’re much better! We’re going to taper off on your medication and you’ll wear those splints now only when you’re asleep.”
Peggy smiled up in relief at the cheerful old doctor.
“What’s more,” Dr. Watson boomed, “I’m going to send the physical therapist in to teach you how to exercise in bed. Just like Miss Hall over there, and Mrs. Lane who went home, have been doing. What do you think of that, hey?”
“I think—I’m going to get well,” Peggy said. Her dark eyes sought Cherry’s. “Miss Cherry keeps telling me I will, but now is the first time I really believe it.”
CHAPTER V
High-Pressure Salesman
THE ENTIRE WARD GASPED AND STIRRED AND TOOK notice. Cherry looked up from reading Liz’s chart and saw a most attractive, dignified young man with a portfolio at the open ward door. It was Tuesday morning, near noon. Peggy Wilmot whispered loudly in Cherry’s direction: “I told you he’d come!”
“I’m James Foye,” the young man was saying to Dodo at the nurses’ station desk. “Your receptionist downstairs said I might ask the head nurse for permission to visit Mrs. Wilmot—though I know this isn’t visiting hours—”
Dodo was too dazzled to do anything except stammer. Miss Julia Greer came up and talked with the caller. He thanked her with real gratitude for permission to see her patient for a few minutes.
Peggy Wilmot was happy and encouraged to see him. He had brought flowers. Cherry tried not to overhear, though all the patients were openly gaping at the handsomest, pleasantest visitor the ward had ever had. “Isn’t he stunning?” Midge whispered. “So well dressed! And such beautiful manners. Who is he?”
“Business,” said Cherry.
Peggy Wilmot called Cherry to her bedside, and introduced James Foye to her. He surprised Cherry: she was on guard for someone sharp, and this young man had an air of simplicity, a straightforward, modest manner.
“I’m appalled to find my client sick enough to be in the hospital,” he said to Cherry. “She tells me, though, that all of you are taking excellent care of her.” His tone practically said, “Thank you for that.”
Cherry smiled at both of them. “Mrs. Wilmot is a cooperative patient. She’ll be all well and out of the hospital within two or three weeks.”
“Good. Then since she’s so much better,” the young man asked, “would it be all right if I talked to her, just briefly, about practical matters?”
“I’d rather not—” Cherry started, but Peggy begged, “Oh, please, just for five minutes?”
Cherry relented, and James Foye said, “Don’t go away, Miss Ames. This might interest you, too.”
He told them quietly of some exciting news. It was necessarily incomplete, because this was confidential information and the Pell Corporation did not want to disclose too much until it had clinched the deal. This was to be a very profitable venture, thanks to Cleveland Pell’s initiative and acumen. Pell’s competitors were already beginning to get news of it, so that rapid action by Pell and his clients was advisable.
“To tell you the truth,” James Foye said to Cherry and her patient, “I don’t yet know the full details myself, except that one of the businesses which we, that is, you, have been investing in—the Commonwealth Wool Company—is having a record upsurge. Orders for its products are pouring in! In order to fill them, Commonwealth is planning to expand. That will mean more money needed for machinery, a new plant, a larger staff—all as soon as possible. Please don’t talk about this,” James Foye requested them. “I’m entrusting this secret to you because as a Pell client”—he smiled at Peggy Wilmot—” and you Miss Ames, a prospective client—well, naturally, I’d like to see my clients do well on this deal.”
Peggy Wilmot’s dark eyes shone with eagerness. She reminded Cherry of a child playing an exciting game.
“I’d like to share in this Commonwealth expansion,” Peggy said, rather greedily. “Will the money I’ve already invested with Mr. Pell cover this, too?”
“We hope so,” James Foye said, “we’ll do our best for you. Some of our clients are advising us not to send along their weekly dividend checks—they want to turn them back for reinvestment.” Cherry started to ask whether or not this was a usual practice, but James Foye went on earnestly, “And a few of our clients, who recognize what an extraordinary opportunity Commonwealth offers, are investing additional funds. Though I’m not sure I’d recommend that for you, Mrs. Wilmot.”
“I could invest the rest of my insurance money,” Peggy Wilmot said. “I’d been thinking of it, anyway, when I was reading the latest Pell report—”
Cherry silently cried out, “Stop—stop! You may ruin yourself!” She said aloud, “The five minutes are up now. I’m sorry, but this is all that Mrs. Wilmot can stand at this stage of her recovery.” She regretted that Peggy had been excited even to this extent.
The young man apologized, immediately took his hat and briefcase, and said good-bye to Mrs. Wilmot. “I mean it when I say I’m at your service. Anything I can do to help, anything—”
“I know you mean it,” Peggy Wilmot said. “I depend a lot on your good advice. And I appreciate your coming to see me, and these flowers—” For a moment Peggy got all choked up. Cherry, standing there waiting, thought how emotionally dependent Peggy was, perhaps because of her handicapping illness. James Foye gave her a warm smile. Peggy Wilmot said, “Good-bye for now, Mr. Foye.”
Cherry escorted the young man to the ward door. He asked Cherry when she would find it convenient to let him explain the Pell Plan to her.
“Right now,” said Cherry. “It’s my lunch hour, if you don’t mind lunching in the hospital cafeteria.”
“Whatever suits you, Miss Ames,” he said pleasantly.
James Foye caused more head craning when he and Cherry walked into the crowded cafeteria. Dr. Dan looked a little jealous. James Foye wanted to pay for Cherry’s lunch, but when she said, “No, thanks anyway,” he did not press. They found a small table off by themselves, and sat down to talk over sandwiches and milk.
“Sorry it isn’t lobster and champagne,” James Foye said with a grin. “At the rate the Pell Corporation is earning, it could be.” He told Cherry about the time he had eaten lobster, when it was one of a catch he and some men had made in a small, pitching boat in rain and rough ocean off the Maine coast. He hadn’t enjoyed the lobster—“I still don’t, very much, after being so seasick that day.”
He was entertaining, ingratiating, a good companion. Cherry, however, steered the conversation to business.
First, James Foye told her, the reason he was in a position to help her—if she decided she was interested—was because of his connection with Cleveland Pell. “He actually is extraordinary, Miss Ames. In a speculative field where many investors merely gamble, Mr. Pell finds out the facts about the various businesses before we invest in them. Mr. Pell goes to their offices and factories, looks at their inventories, studies their balance sheets. He talks to their bankers and customers; he—”
James Foye talked so smoothly, so persuasively, that Cherry began to feel half hypnotized. What a power of speech this young man exercised! Every time she broke in with a question or two, he had the answers ready on the tip of his tongue, sweeping her along to his next persuasive point. Cherry felt uncomfortably that she was being submerged by the salesman’s carefully prepared, soundly psychological attack.
“I’m sure Mr. Pell is as outstanding as you claim,” Cherry interrupted. “Can you tell me whether his investment company is listed in any of the directories? My father would ask me to check, you see.”
“You’d be absolutely right to check,” James Foye said. “We aren’t listed yet because the company is so new. We will be listed soon, of course. In case you’re wondering about Mr. Pell’s standing, I’d like you to look at these. You’ll see he knows all the big people.”
From his portfolio, Foye took letters on the letterhead stationery of banks and business firms, addressed to Cleveland Pell, signed by the presidents and treasurers of these firms. He showed Cherry canceled checks made out for large sums to these persons, paid by the Pell Corporation. Foye spread out on the cafeteria table reports from businesses in several fields, data sheets, newspaper clippings, even geodetic survey maps for engineering a proposed dam in Colorado, and aerial photographs of a brand-new fruit ranch in California, with blueprints for its canning plant.
“Only Mr. Pell has this confidential information,” the salesman said to Cherry. “Now you see for yourself the sound basis on which Mr. Pell decides to invest.”
