Читать книгу The Counterfeit Mystery - Norvin Pallas - Страница 5

CHAPTER 2

BLUE HARVEST

It was a ridiculous situation, of course. The Town Crier had only three full-time employees in the office, Mr. Dobson, Miss Monroe, and Carl Allison, and that two people could work there even part time without knowing each other seemed incredible.

“You must be Nancy Lindell,” Ted decided in wonder. “And Miss Monroe is your aunt. I’ve heard her mention you many times.”

“Yes, and you must be Ted Wilford. She’s mentioned you in some of her letters. I was hoping to meet you here, but didn’t expect you’d be pulling me out of the water.”

“But she didn’t say anything to me about your coming here to work,” Ted objected.

“No, it was a rather sudden decision. I wanted to come while she was ill, but I had another job, housekeeping for several children while the parents were traveling, and I couldn’t get away. Anyway, I guess I wouldn’t have been much good without someone to tell me what to do. Just the same, I was anxious to get in a little secretarial experience, so when she told me she could use me for a few weeks, I came right out.”

“I haven’t been down to the office since Monday morning,” Ted explained, but did not add that his dispute with Carl Allison was responsible. “That’s why I missed you.”

They were feeling well acquainted already as they stood on the walk, Ted’s hand still on the open door.

“I don’t like to rush you people, but either I drop a dime in this parking meter, or else I have to go,” Nelson finally remarked.

Nancy turned to him once more, and extended her hand. “Thanks, Nelson. I appreciate what you’ve done for me, and even more what you tried to do. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon.”

“You bet,” Nelson agreed, and drove off whistling.

Holding open the office door, Ted followed Nancy in. Mr. Dobson was there, seemingly in conference with a man who was a stranger to Ted. But Miss Monroe was absent, which was only to be expected. There were always a great many things to be done outside the office, and as a normal thing work was arranged so that someone was in the office at all times. Now with Mr. Dobson’s leg still not fully healed from the auto accident he had suffered at the beginning of summer, it was generally the editor who was there and his secretary who was out.

Both men looked up at the newcomers, and Mr. Dobson started to rise, momentarily forgetting his bad leg. Then he made a casual introduction, and Ted learned that the visitor’s name was Mr. Woodring. They shook hands.

“I see you two have met,” the editor observed to Ted, nodding toward Nancy. “Nancy, Miss Monroe said she’d be back before noon.”

“That’s all right. Perhaps she left some typing for me to do.”

“And I can find something to help with,” added Ted.

“Oh, no, no,” Mr. Dobson objected. “I particularly asked you here, Ted, to meet Mr. Woodring. He has a proposition that I believe may be of some benefit to the whole town. Nancy, you might find it of interest, too.”

Thus invited, the two young people drew up chairs.

“Mr. Woodring represents a trading-stamp company,” continued Mr. Dobson. “He’s told me a little about his plan, but I’ll let him describe it again for you.”

The visitor cleared his throat, hesitated a moment, as though not sure exactly how to begin—he wasn’t quite so fluent as most salesmen are expected to be, Ted observed—then took out a folder from his sample case. He handed it to Mr. Dobson, who did not happen to have his reading glasses on, and so merely gave it a slight glance before handing it on to Nancy. She opened it and held it so that Ted could see, too.

It was a book of gummed trading stamps, called Blue Harvest stamps. Ted had never seen this particular kind before. They were beautifully tinted, and showed a rural scene, with a cow before a fence, cornstalks on the other side of the fence, and hills in the background.

“Pretty nifty,” Ted decided.

“They are attractive,” Nancy agreed, before finally closing the booklet and returning it to Mr. Woodring.

“I hear that Forestdale stores have been having a little trouble,” Mr. Woodring began, “and I thought I might have the answer.” He laughed. “Naturally, I’m concerned about my own interests, but if we’re able to help each other out, then all the better.”

“I’ve been telling Mr. Woodring something about the new shopping center in North Ridge,” Mr. Dobson put in. “There can be no question that it is drawing trade away from Forestdale. Even some of our own townspeople are getting into the habit of driving over to North Ridge, and a great many of the country people living between the two towns seem to have developed a preference for North Ridge. Their stores are offering a larger stock at slightly lower prices, and that’s a combination hard to beat.”

“Why can’t we match their prices?” asked Ted.

“I believe that’s where I come in,” Mr. Woodring continued. “It’s largely a question of volume. If we could do something to stimulate local trade, volume would pick up, and lower prices would come. I frankly don’t believe that there is enough difference to justify Forestdale people driving into North Ridge to shop. It seems to me they are going over now mostly as a matter of curiosity. My discount stamps would not only make up for the difference in price, but would also be a novelty that might induce them to come back.”

“What do you think of it, Nancy?” asked Mr. Dobson, turning to her. “We’re anxious to get the woman’s point of view.”

“I think it’s a grand idea,” said Nancy with enthusiasm. “We have trading stamps in my home town, and everybody seems to like them—anyway, the women do.”

“And it’s the women we have to consider chiefly,” said Mr. Woodring quickly, “since they do most of the shopping. After all, you can’t always get 3 per cent on the money you save, so when you can get 3 per cent on the money you spend, that looks like a pretty good bargain. The women are the ones who have to stretch the household budget. When they can earn valuable premiums they couldn’t otherwise afford, it’s easy to see why they like the idea.”

He had another booklet in his hands which he handed to Nancy. It was filled with pictures of premiums, and Ted noticed at once an electric train and a number of familiar household items. This glance satisfied his own curiosity, since he did little shopping himself, but Nancy appeared much more interested, and continued to leaf through the book as the conversation went on.

Mr. Dobson seemed to be encouraging Ted to express an opinion, as though he wanted the plan to be thoroughly talked out.

“Who’s paying for it?” asked Ted bluntly, determined not to be sold a bill of goods, but to try to find flaws in the plan if he could.

“Who’s paying for what?” asked Mr. Woodring patiently.

“Well, for printing up the books and stamps and all. That’s kind of expensive itself, isn’t it?”

“Well, Ted, as far as that goes, we can be completely realistic about things. You know—and I know—that not all the stamps that are given to customers are going to be turned in. Some stamps are lost. Some customers start but never complete their books. My firm charges the stores for all the stamps we give them, but not all these stamps come back, and so we never have to redeem them. The difference is enough to cover the costs of keeping the plan moving.”

“But who’s paying for the premiums? Isn’t it true that the customers are really paying for them, in the form of higher prices when they make their original purchases?”

“No, Ted, I don’t think that’s a fair way to look at it at all. A store sells merchandise at a certain price, as low a price as it can and still make a fair profit. Perhaps it would like to lower its prices to beat the competition, but it can’t and still remain in business. Then a trading-stamp plan comes along. The trading stamps attract more customers, and because the store is doing a larger volume of business it can now afford to lower its prices. It appears to be charging the same prices, but its prices are really lower because the customers are getting these additional premiums. But no, I decidedly don’t think it’s fair to say the customer is merely paying for his premiums through higher prices. He’d have to pay these prices anyway. The plan is really being paid for by increased efficiency.”

Of course he was a salesman for the trading-stamp firm, and he could hardly have been expected to express any other point of view. In fact, his company had probably trained him to make that little speech. Just the same, Ted felt that there was some sense in what he was saying.

“What I can’t figure out is how your company makes any money,” Ted maintained. “If you merely sell stamps to the stores, and afterward redeem these stamps from the customers, how do you make any profit? Just how does the Blue Harvest stamp company pay your salary?”

“I suppose, Ted, if you want to be blunt about it, the truth is that we’re merchants, too. We’re selling merchandise, the merchandise being the premiums offered in that book.” He nodded toward Nancy. “You know that most stores buy their merchandise in large quantities, and because they buy these large quantities they are given discounts. They then sell to their customers at the full list price, and the difference between the two prices represents their margin. Out of this margin they have to meet all their expenses, and they hope to have a little left over for profit.

“Now my firm does about the same thing. We buy these premiums in large quantities, and get our discount. Then we sell to our customers at the full price. When a customer comes in to us with ten dollars’ worth of stamps and selects a ten-dollar premium, that doesn’t mean the premium cost us ten dollars. We bought it at a lower price. But that doesn’t mean the customer is getting cheated, either,” he added quickly, “for if he went out to buy that premium somewhere else, he’d have to pay ten dollars for it. The difference between the cost of the premiums to us and the price we sell them to our customers represents our margin, and that’s what keeps us in business. Of course our customers don’t pay us in cash. They pay us in stamps, but since we previously sold these stamps to the stores for cash, the result is the same.”

“What if the North Ridge stores should adopt the plan, too?” Ted questioned. “Then wouldn’t we be in the same predicament in relation to them that we are now?”

“That isn’t likely to happen, Ted.” Mr. Woodring’s tone sounded wistful. “I don’t say that we wouldn’t like to have them adopt our plan, but they have a different style of operation. If they do adopt a trading-stamp plan, it won’t be ours. But if the North Ridge stores do come up with some such plan, isn’t that an even stronger reason why the Forestdale stores should have a plan of their own to meet the competition?”

Mr. Woodring had been addressing his remarks to Ted, but Mr. Dobson had been following closely, and it was to the editor that he now turned for a decision.

Mr. Dobson had evidently been giving the matter some careful thought, and he now seemed to have made up his mind.

“Yes, Mr. Woodring, you’re right that our town has been having trouble keeping our sales up. Since North Ridge is a larger town, it may be that it does offer attractions to buyers that we can’t hope to meet but we should at least be able to hold our own, and it may be that your trading-stamp plan will do it. At least, I think it’s worth a trial.”

Mr. Woodring rose to extend his hand to the editor. “Thanks. I’ve heard something about your reputation, and how you get behind local projects, so I was hoping I could interest you.”

“But it’s still up to you to sell the plan to the merchants,” the editor cautioned him. “If you can do that, the newspaper will stand behind you with publicity and an advertising plan such as we were discussing before Ted and Nancy came in.”

Having made his sale, a good salesman leaves promptly, and Mr. Woodring was about to do so when he added:

“By the way, now that you’ve accepted my plan, I feel I’d better go ahead and open up some office space. Do you know of any place that happens to be vacant?”

“There’s the Jackson Realty Company office on Poplar Street,” Ted spoke up. “They moved out a couple of weeks ago, and I noticed this morning it’s still vacant. Of course I don’t know whether they’ve got a new tenant lined up, and it isn’t very large.”

“That sounds like it might do,” said Mr. Woodring quickly. “I don’t need much space—just a desk and a telephone and display room for some of my premiums. I may need it for only a few weeks. Sometimes my firm opens up a permanent premium store, but I don’t think the volume will justify it in this town. Later, people will have to order their premiums by mail. But just now I think I ought to have some display space. It might help arouse a little customer interest and curiosity, if nothing more. Incidentally, you needn’t regard anything I’ve said today as being at all confidential. The more publicity you can give to the plan the better.”

He said good-by to each of them by name, picked up his brief case into which he had stuffed his exhibits, and opened the door, almost bumping into Miss Monroe, who was just returning. Pausing only to excuse himself, he hurried on outside, and was soon out of sight.

Miss Monroe seemed pleased that Ted and Nancy had become acquainted. Nancy hurriedly described her meeting with Ted at the swimming pool, but while she wanted to give Ted full credit, she made light of her own fears. Ted, too, followed her lead.

“She could have made it all right by herself,” he joked, “but it was more fun this way.”

“Well, what about lunch?” asked Miss Monroe, laying down her notebook and purse on the desk as though she had had a frustrating morning. “Will you join us, Mr. Dobson?”

“No,” he returned with a smile, but still thoughtful, “I’ll stay here and tend to the shop until you get back.”

“How about you, Ted?” asked the secretary.

Having lunch with Nancy would have been fun, but Ted declined. There was still a question in the back of his mind. This Blue Harvest plan was interesting enough, but where did he fit in? Mr. Dobson had asked him to sit in on the conference, but for what purpose? It was hardly just a courtesy. After all, Mr. Dobson didn’t owe him any favors, although for some reason he seemed to think he did. Ted had an idea that Mr. Dobson was waiting to get him alone before broaching some sort of proposition.

“I’d like to very much,” he answered, “but I’m expected home for lunch”—which was the truth. “Anyway, I hope I’ll be seeing you again soon, Nancy.”

“I hope so, too, Ted,” she returned with a smile as she and her aunt left the office.