Mr Eccles sat down slowly. It was as if he had suddenly lost the strength in his legs. 'World-Wide Publishing Company,' he muttered and wrote on his blotting paper. 'All right, I'll remember that.'
'I want you to remember it,' Brant said. 'I'm surprised that a man of your experience does not know who published the
Mr Eccles looked up. 'Who—me? No, I haven't. Now, look here, young man—'
'Then you will be glad to hear that you are going to be presented with a set. That's why we've come to see you.'
'Presented with a set?' Mr Eccles repeated, his little eyes opening. 'You mean given a set?'
'Certainly,' Brant said, his hands on the desk. 'We're anxious that every teacher should have a set of the CSE, but, for obvious reasons, it is not possible to give so many sets away. It has been decided, however, that the headmaster of the best school of each London borough is to be presented with our deluxe, half-calf edition, free, gratis and for nothing.'
If Mr Eccles was surprised by this news, George was utterly flabbergasted.
'Well, 'pon my soul,' Mr Eccles exclaimed, a sly smile lighting up his face. 'Why didn't you say so before? Sit down, young man. I'm sorry I was so abrupt just now, but if you only knew how I'm pestered all day long, you'd appreciate I've got to do something to protect myself.'
Brant drew up a chair and sat down. George, standing by the door, was forgotten.
'I understand, Mr Eccles,' Brant went on, after a moment's pause, 'that your children's handwriting is of an exceptionally high standard. Mr Pickthorn of Trinity School also boasts of a high standard. We are organizing a harmless competition between schools, and I suggest you might like to co-operate. All we need is a specimen of each of your pupils' handwriting, which will be sent to our head office, and the pupil with the best handwriting will be given a beautifully inscribed certificate and ten shillings. Mr Pickthorn has been happy to help us in this scheme, and we would like your pupils to compete against his. Whatever you decide, of course, will not influence my Company's decision to send you the CSE, which should reach you early next month.'
'Pickthorn?' Mr Eccles snorted. 'That old muddler! None of his brats can write. He's got no method. Why, in a competition, it'd be a walk over.' He frowned down at his blotting pad. 'I'd like to do it. 'Pon my word, I would. I'd like to wipe old Pickthorn's eye, but it'll disorganize my day. A thing like that'd need a bit of arranging.'
Brant shifted in his chair. 'It took less than ten minutes at Radlet's,' he said quietly. 'All you have to do is to get the children to write their names and addresses on a piece of paper, and we will judge their handwriting from that. It s a simple system, and we shall not need to bother you further, as we shall have the name and address of the prizewinner. Surely, that's not going to upset your school?'
Eccles looked a little blank. 'Well, if that's all it is,' he said doubtfully. 'I suppose I could arrange that. All right, I'll do it. Will you call hack sometime tomorrow?'
Brant stared at him with bored eyes. 'We have a lot of ground to cover, Mr Eccles. Could we wait? It shouldn't take a few minutes.' He paused, and before Mr Eccles could speak, he went on, 'By the way, I suppose you would like a bookcase for your set of the CSE? I think I could persuade the Company to part with one. It's a nice piece of furniture, light oak with glass panels.'
Mr Eccles got to his feet. 'Yes,' he said, beaming, 'that sounds magnificent. Hmm, yes, by all means.' He rubbed his hands together. 'Well now, you wait here and I'll get these kids to work. I'll be as quick as I can.'
As soon as he left the room, George said, 'Have you gone mad? What are you playing at? The Company doesn't give sets away, let alone bookcases. They don't even sell bookcases.'
Brant stared at him in a bored, detached way. 'He doesn't know that,' he said, and his thin mouth sneered.
'Well, he soon will when the books don't turn up,' George said, now thoroughly agitated. 'He'll report us. Why, he might even tell the police. There'll be a hell of a stink about this. And what's all this about handwriting competitions? I really think you must be out of your mind.'
Brant looked out of the window. 'Can't you see?' he said with that patient voice that people reserve for tiresome, questioning children. 'We're going to get the names and addresses of all the brats in this school. That's what you want, isn't it? You made a mess of it, so I've fixed it. I said I would, didn't I?'
'You'll jolly well pay the ten bob out of your own pocket. I'm not going to throw money away like that,' George snapped, flushing angrily.
The cold eyes flickered. 'Don't be wet,' Brant said. 'No one's going to pay ten bob. Let the brat whistle for it.'
'What?' George exclaimed, starting forward. 'You're not even going to give a prize after telling all those lies?'
'You dumb, or something?' Brant's face showed a faint curiosity. 'Your pal Kelly wouldn't pay 'em a nickel, would he? What's the matter with you—slipping?' He stared at George until George had to look away. 'Anyway, why should you worry? We won't be here next month. They don't know our names, and if they complain to the Company, we can deny it. It's their word against ours.'
The enormity of such a swindle paralyzed George. He sat down and stared stupidly at Brant.
'It's cheating,' he said at last. 'I—I don't know what to say.'
'Aw, dry up!' Brant said, a vicious snarl in his voice. 'The whole business is a racket. The Company doesn't care how you get business so long as you don't tell 'em. They don't pay you a salary and they don't care if you starve. All they're interested in is to get a mug to sell their hooks. Robinson cheats us out of ten bob on every order we get. Do you think he cares? He doesn't give a damn so long as he gets his rake off. These teachers are only out for what they can get. It's a racket from start to finish.' He leaned forward, two faint red spots on his thin cheeks. 'It's us or them. If you don't like it, then get the hell out of it and leave me to handle it. I'm out for what I can get, and I'm going to get it. So, shut up!'
George flinched away from the savage anger that faced him, and for a long time the room was silent except for the distant sound of children's voices coming from the classrooms.
