'Kaggs. Home office,' he said. 'Glad to meet you.'
'This is Mr. Dillon,' the clerk said, nervously obsequious. 'Roy's one of our best salesmen, Mr. Kaggs.'
'He is the best.' Kaggs didn't give the clerk a glance. 'Which isn't saying much for this place. Want to talk to you, Dillon.'
He turned, still clinging to Roy's hand as though to hustle him along. Roy remained where he was, pulling Kaggs back around with a jerk. He smiled pleasantly, as the home-office man blinked at him, startled.
'That was a pretty backhanded compliment, Mr. Kaggs,' he said, 'and I never let people get away with things like that. If I did, I wouldn't be a good salesman.'
Kaggs considered the statement; nodded with curt judiciousness. 'You're right. I apologize. Now, I'd still like to talk to you.'
'Lead the way,' Roy said, picking up his briefcase.
Kaggs led him back down the counter, abruptly swerving away from the wicket and moving toward the building entrance. 'How about some coffee, okay? Sets a bad example; too much piddling around here already. But it's hard to talk with so many people trying to listen in.'
'You don't seem to think much of them,' Roy remarked.
Kaggs said crisply, as they started across the street, that he had no feelings at all about people in the abstract. 'It depends on how they stack up. If they're on the ball, I've got plenty of consideration for 'em.'
In the restaurant, he asked for milk as well as coffee, mixing the two together a little at a time as he sipped from his cup. 'Ulcers,' he explained. 'Your trouble too, right?' Then, without waiting for an answer he went on:
'Had you spotted when you passed me this morning, Dillon. Nothing slobby or sloppy about you. Looked like you were going somewhere and you knew the way. Figured then that you must be Dillon; connected you with your sales right away. And when I said that it didn't say much for Webb & Sarber-your being the best man, I mean-I meant just that. You stack up as a top-flight man in my book, but you've had no incentive here. No one walking on your heels. Just a lot of half-asses, so the tendency's been not to stretch yourself. I'm bouncing the slobs, incidentally. Makes no difference to me if they are only on commission. If they're not making good money, they're not giving us good representation and we can't afford to have 'em around. What's your selling experience, anyway? Before you came here, I mean?'
'Selling's all I've done since I left high school,' Roy said, not knowing what all this was leading up to but willing to go along for the ride. 'You name it, I've sold it. All door-to-door stuff. Premiums, brushes, pots and pans, magazines.'
'You're singing my song,' Kaggs grinned crookedly. 'I'm the guy who worked his way through college peddling subscriptions. You switched to businesshouse selling when you came with us; why?'
'It's easier to get into doors,' Roy said, 'and you can build up regular customers. The house-to- house stuff is mostly one-shot.'
Kaggs nodded approvingly. 'Ever supervise salesmen? You know; kind of head them up, keep 'em on their toes.'
'I've run house-to-house crews,' Roy shrugged. 'Who hasn't?'
'I haven't. Don't have the talent for it, somehow.'
'Or tact?' Roy smiled.
'Or tact. But never mind me; I do all right. The point is, Webb & Sarber need a sales manager. Should have had one right along. Someone who's proved he's a salesman and can handle other salesmen. He'd have a lot of deadwood to clear out, or put some sap back into 'em. Hire new men, and give 'em a good draw if they cut the stuff. What do you think?'
'I think it's a good idea,' Roy said.
'Now, I don't know offhand what your best year's earnings have been. Around sixty-six hundred, I believe. But put it this way. We'll top your best year by fifteen hundred; make it eight thousand in round numbers. That's just a beginning, of course. Give you a year at eight, and if you're not worth a lot more than that by then I'll kick you the hell out. But I know you will be worth more. Knew you were my kind of man from the minute I saw you this morning. And now that we've got that settled, I'm going to borrow one of your cigarettes and have a real cup of coffee, and if my stomach doesn't like it I'll kick it the hell out, too.'
Roy held out his cigarette package. In the rapid-fire delivery of Kaggs talk, he had let its meaning slip away from him. And coming to him abruptly, hitting him like a blow, his hand gave a convulsive jerk.
Kaggs looked at him, blinking. 'Something wrong? Incidentally, don't cigarettes and coffee bother you? Your ulcers, I mean.'
Roy nodded, shook his head. 'I, uh, it wasn't a bad ulcer. Just happened to be in a bad place. Struck a vein. I-look, Mr. Kaggs-'
'Perk, Roy. Perk for Percy, and smile when you say that. How old are you, Roy? Twenty-five or -six? Fine. No reason at all why you can't…'
Roy's mind raced desperately.
He couldn't take the job. On the other hand, how could he turn it down, without arousing suspicion? How could you reasonably refuse a job that was right up your alley, one that was not only much better than the one you had but promised to become far, far better?
'… glad to get this thing settled, Roy,' Perk Kaggs was saying. 'Now, we've wasted enough time here, so if you're through with your coffee-'
'Mr. Kaggs-Perk,' Roy said. 'I can't take the job. I can't take it right away, I mean. This is the first day I've been up and around, and I just dropped by to say hello and-'
'Oh?' Kaggs looked at him judiciously. 'Well, you do look a little pale. How soon will you be ready, a week?'
'Well, I-the doctor's checking me over in a week, but I'm not sure that-'
'Two weeks then. Or take a little longer if you have to. Be plenty of work, and you've got to be in shape for it.'
'But you need a man right now! It wouldn't be fair to you to-'
'I take care of the being-fair-to-me department.' Kaggs permitted himself an icy grin. 'Things been going to hell this long. They can go a little longer.'
'But-'
But there was nothing more to say. Perhaps he could think of an out for himself during the next week or so, but none occurred to him now.
They walked back across the street together, and then he went on by himself to his car. He got into it uncertainly, started the motor, then cut it off again.
What now? How could he pass the time that Kaggs had given him? Selling was out of the question, of course, since he was supposedly unready to work. But there was the other, his real occupation; the source of the wealth behind the four clown pictures.
He started the car again. Then, with a dismayed grunt, he again shut it off. Since work was out, so also was the grift. He wouldn't dare turn a trick. Not before the weekend, at least, when he would normally be idle and could unsuspiciously indulge in some уn-the-towning.
The weekend. And this was only Wednesday.
He thought about Moira. With an unconscious frown, he dismissed her from his mind. Not today. It was too soon after Carol.
