Brant leaned forward. “To the exact penny, Mr Thomas. What is it? Four and three or three and ten? Tell me the exact amount and the ten bob’s yours.”
Mr Thomas scowled. “I dunno,” he admitted. “Not to the exact penny. Rut wot’s all this got to do with it?”
“All right,” Brant said briskly, putting his ten-shilling note away. “You don’t know how much you have in your pocket, do you? So if I put tuppence into your pocket without you knowing it, you wouldn’t know you were tuppence to the good? In the same way, if I took tuppence out of your pocket, you wouldn’t miss it. It therefore follows that you can afford to pay tuppence a day for these very valuable books.”
Mr Thomas gaped for a moment, and then a wide grin spread over his face. “That’s smart,” he said, admiringly. “I never thought of it that way. Orl right, give us the order form. I’ll sign it.”
George watched the signing of the order form with mixed feelings. He was angry that Brant had interfered with his sale. He was humiliated that Brant should have come to his rescue so successfully when he should have been the one to have shown Brant the dodges. Again it crept into his mind that Brant’s success had been a cheap trick. Of course it was a cheap trick. A confidence trick!
But Brant seemed oblivious to George. He took the order form from Mr Thomas, examined it carefully, smiled and folded it. Without looking at George, he put the form casually into his pocket.
There was an awkward pause. George felt blood rising to his face, but this was no time to protest. They both shook hands with Mr Thomas, had a word to say to Mrs Thomas and then walked down the path in silence.
Once out in the road, away from the house, George said, “Look here, old boy, that’s my order, you know. I did all the selling, and besides, it was one of my addresses.”
Brant smiled. “Don’t be a fool,” he said, bored and cold, his hard eyes on George’s face. “You’d never’ve landed it: not in a hundred years. What do you think I am—a sucker?” He glanced up and down the road. “Well, I can manage now. I see how it’s done. If you ask me, it’s a mug’s game. All that talking for thirty bob.” He shrugged indifferently. “I’m not going to waste my time on this job for long.”
George shifted his feet; a tiny spark of anger flared up and then went out. “I think we might split it, old boy,” he said a little feebly.