walked into the office with a fistful of money. Brian treated Carter with utmost care — he was head of The Vigils.

'Okay, kid,' Carter had said, flinging the money, bills and change, on the desk. 'Here's the returns. Seventy- five boxes sold — one hundred fifty dollars. Count it.

'Right.' Brian leaped to the task under Carter's watchful gaze. His fingers trembled and he cautioned himself to make no mistakes. Let it be one-fifty exactly.

'Right on the nose,' Brian reported

And then came the weird part.

'Let me see the roster,' Carter said.

Brian handed over the list of names, each name with boxes beside it in which returns were noted as they arrived, corresponding to the master list on the big boards in the assembly hall. After studying the roster for a few minutes, Carter told Brian to credit various students with sales returns. Brian made the entries as Carter called them out: Huart, thirteen… DeLillo, nine… Lemoine… sixteen. And so on, until the entire seventy-five boxes had been distributed among seven or eight students.

'Those guys worked hard selling the chocolates,' Carter said, a silly smile on his face. 'I want to make sure they get credit.'

'Right,' Brian said, not making waves. He knew, of course, that none of the fellows chosen by Carter had sold the chocolates. But that was not his business.

'How many guys reached the fifty quota today?' Carter asked.

Brian consulted his figures. 'Six, counting Huart and LeBlanc. Those sales they just made put them over the top.' Brian actually was able to keep a straight face.

'Know what, Cochran? You're a bright boy. You're cool. You catch on fast.'

Fast? Hell, they'd been juggling the sales all week long and Brian hadn't caught on for two entire days. He was tempted now to ask Carter if the campaign had turned into a Vigils project — like one of Archie Costello's assignments — but decided to hold down his curiosity.

Before the afternoon had ended, the sale of four hundred and seventy-five boxes had been received — cold, cold cash — as the teams returned to school with horns blowing, high with the hilarity of success.

When Brother Leon arrived, they totaled the sales together and discovered that fifteen thousand and ten boxes of chocolates had been sold thus far. Only five thousand to go — or four thousand, nine hundred and ninety to be exact, as Brother Leon pointed out in that fussy meticulous way of his. But Leon wasn't a problem today. He, too, seemed giddy, high, his wet eyes sparkling with the success of the sale.

He actually called Brian by his first name.

When Brian went to the assembly hall to post the latest figures, a cheering bunch of fellows applauded as he made the entries. No one had ever applauded Brian Cochran before and he felt like a football hero, of all things.

Chapter Thirty

There was no necessity for the chocolate roll call now because most of the students were bringing their returns directly to Brian Cochran in the office. But Brother Leon persisted anyway. The Goober noticed that the teacher now took a delight in the process, making a big deal of it. He read off the latest sales as reported to Brian Cochran, reciting them to the class in detail, lingering over the names and the totals, wringing as much drama and satisfaction out of the situation as possible. And he had stooges or frightened kids like David Caroni who sang out their reports in the classroom as Leon basked in the totals.

'Let's see, Hartnett,' Leon said, shaking his head in pleased surprise. 'The report says you sold fifteen boxes yesterday, bringing your total to forty-three. Wonderful!' And he'd glanced slyly at Jerry.

It was all ridiculous, of course, because Hartnett hadn't sold any chocolates at all. The sales had been made by the teams of fellows who went out every afternoon. The school had become chocolate crazy. But not Goober. As a show of sympathy to Jerry, he had decided to stop selling the chocolates altogether and his total had remained unchanged for the past week at twenty-seven. It was little enough to do.

'Mallan,' Leon was calling out.

'Seven.'

'Let me see now, Mallan. Why, that brings your total to forty-seven. Congratulations, Mallan. I'm sure you'll be selling those three remaining boxes today.'

Goober shriveled in his seat. Next would be Parmentier. And then Jerry. He glanced toward Jerry, saw him sitting erect in his chair as if he was looking forward to having his name called.

'Parmentier.'

'Seven.'

'Parmentier, Parmentier,' Leon marveled. 'That makes your total, yes, by George, fifty! You've made the quota, Parmentier. Good boy, good boy! A round of cheers, gentlemen.'

Goober faked his cheer — little enough.

The pause. And then Leon's voice sang out, 'Renault!' That was the exact description — sang. His voice exultant, lyrical. Goober realized Leon didn't care now whether Jerry sold chocolates or not.

'No,' Jerry answered, his own voice clear and forceful, ringing with a triumph of its own.

Maybe both of them could win. Maybe a showdown could be averted, after all. The sale was winding down. It could end in a stalemate and eventually be forgotten, absorbed by other school activities.

'Brother Leon.'

All eyes turned to Harold Darcy who had spoken.

'Yes, Harold.'

'May I ask a question?'

A frown of annoyance from the teacher. He'd been having such a great time that he resented the interruption.

'Yes, yes, Darcy.'

'Would you ask Renault why he isn't selling the chocolates like everybody else?'

The sound of a car horn could be heard from two or three blocks away. Brother Leon's face was guarded. 'Why do you want to know?' he asked.

'I figure it's my right to know. The right of everybody to know.' He looked around for support. Somebody called out, 'Right on.' Darcy said, 'Everybody else is doing his part, why isn't Renault?'

'Would you care to answer that, Renault?' the teacher said, the moist eyes flashing, the malice unmistakable.

Jerry paused, face flushed. 'It's a free country,' he said, words which touched off a ripple of laughter. Someone snickered. Brother Leon looked positively joyous and Goober felt nauseous.

'I'm afraid you'll have to be more original than that, Renault,' Brother Leon said, playing to his audience, as usual.

Goober could see the color rising to Jerry's cheeks. He was also aware of a change in the class, a subtle alteration of mood and atmosphere. Until this particular roll call, the class had been neutral, indifferent toward Jerry's position, maintaining a live-and-let-live attitude. Today however, the air was filled with resentment. More than resentment — hostility. Take Harold Darcy. Ordinarily he was a regular kid, minding his own business with no tinge of the crusader or fanatic about him. And suddenly here he was challenging Jerry.

'Did you say this sale was voluntary, Brother Leon?' Jerry asked.

'Yes,' the teacher said, hanging back as if he were trying to fade into the background, letting Jerry betray himself with his own words.

'Then I don't feel that I have to sell the chocolates.'

A ripple of resentment across the classroom.

'You think you're better than we are?' Darcy shot out.

'No.'

'Then who do you think you are?' Phil Beauvais asked.

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