The man—Hutschnecker, Prestonby remembered hearing Claire call him—nodded.
"That might be all right. We could cover the cases with tarpaulins."
A buzzer drew one of the Illiterates to a handphone. He listened for a moment, and turned.
"Hey, there's a Mrs. H. Armytage Zydanowycz down in Furs; she wants to buy one of those mutated-mink coats, and she's only got half a million bucks with her. How's her credit?"
Claire handed Prestonby a black-bound book. "Confidential credit-rating guide; look her up for us," she said.
Another buzzer rasped, before Prestonby could find the entry on Zydanowycz, H. Armytage; the Illiterate office worker, laying down one phone, grabbed up another.
"They're all outta small money in Notions; every son and his brother's been in there in the last hour to buy a pair of dollar shoestrings with a grand-note."
"I'll take care of that," Hutschnecker said. "Wait till I call control tower, and tell them about the fireworks."
"How much does Mrs. H. Armytage Zydanowycz want credit for?" Prestonby asked. "The book says her husband's good for up to fifteen million, or fifty million in thirty days."
"Those coats are only five million," Claire said. "Let her have it; be sure to get her thumbprint, though, and send it up here for comparison."