comfortable. The old man was beginning to wonder whether the inquisitive police captain, George Parker, was his man. He was friendly, probably honest, had a secure job and was waiting outside for the old man as he shambled out of the hotel.
"Top of the morning, Mr. Eisner."
"Captain. What a pleasant surprise."
"You mentioned you needed a taxi, and I thought since I was in the neighborhood I'd offer to take you where you're going."
"Well, how considerate."
"Where was it you were going, now?"
The man huddled under his heavy sweater and drew on his corncob pipe. He was starting to notice a hint of suspicion in the policeman's disarming manner. "Actually, I was planning on taking a walk this morning. I would like to see what your lovely town looks like. Can you join me?"
"Walking around Smallville is what I do for a living."
"You keep long hours, Captain Parker. How does your wife feel about that?"
"I'm a widower. The force is about all I've got right now. Hope to be police chief someday."
"Oh, I am sorry. I lost my wife, too, some years ago. A man should have someone who can take care of him."
"Suppose he should. But I do all right."
The child should have a mother. Parker would not do.
"Surely you have other interests, Captain. Hobbies?"
"Oh, not really. Used to go sailing a lot, though. Tell me, Mr. Eisner, just who was it you wanted to—"
"Sailing? I love sailing. You know, I have my own sailboat. I go out every week on a lake where I live. Did you know that at the time of Columbus people did not even know how to sail into the wind?"
"Do tell?"
"No one had ever thought of something as simple as tacking with a rudder. Can you imagine that? One would think perhaps daVinci or Archimedes or someone could have come up with the idea with not much effort, but no."
"Maybe we should go sailing, then, before you leave Smallville. How long did you say you would be staying?"
"Perhaps we could, Captain, that would be nice. Do you have a boat?"
"Not one of my own, but Sam Cutler here rents them by the day. The fella that owns the hardware store over there."
It was not simply a hardware store. There was hardware sold there, but also used heavy farm equipment, lumber, building supplies, and the finest collection of small sailboats the old man had seen in a long time. One in particular, a nine-foot Ketcham-Craft, drew his attention, and Parker wandered into the store after him when he insisted on measuring its dimensions.
The old man interrupted a conversation the proprietor was having with a handsome middle-aged couple to ask for a tape measure. "I know Franklin Ketcham, the sailboat racer," the old man whispered to Parker. "I had no idea he had gone into manufacturing."
"Sure is a fine-looking piece of machinery, Sam," the middle-aged man was saying to the shopkeeper, "but eight hundred for a used tractor is a little out of my range just now."
"For you, Jonathan, seven seventy-five."
"You make it look awfully good."
"Jonathan," the woman piped up, "if we can't afford eight hundred dollars, how can we afford twenty-five dollars less?"
"I don't know, Martha. Twenty-five dollars is twenty-five dollars, like the man says."
"Sure it is, Martha," the salesman insisted, "and look at that trailer attachment back there. See how solid it is?"
"Little rust underneath, ain't there?"
"That's not rust, Jonathan. That's weathering. Gotta expect a little weathering, don't you know? That'll haul twice as much as any horse you ever heard tell of."
"We sure need a tractor, Sam, we sure do, but I don't want to go into debt for more than another five hundred if I can help it."
"What's your worry, Jonathan? The war's over. We won. The country's depending on the farmers like you. Come here and look at this transmission."
The old man was chuckling with glee as he wrapped the tape measure over the hull of the sailboat. "That old goniff!" he mumbled at the policeman.
"Old what?"
"Crook. That old crook."
"Sam? Can't blame Sam, he's
"Top of the morning, Mr. Eisner."
"Captain. What a pleasant surprise."
"You mentioned you needed a taxi, and I thought since I was in the neighborhood I'd offer to take you where you're going."
"Well, how considerate."
"Where was it you were going, now?"
The man huddled under his heavy sweater and drew on his corncob pipe. He was starting to notice a hint of suspicion in the policeman's disarming manner. "Actually, I was planning on taking a walk this morning. I would like to see what your lovely town looks like. Can you join me?"
"Walking around Smallville is what I do for a living."
"You keep long hours, Captain Parker. How does your wife feel about that?"
"I'm a widower. The force is about all I've got right now. Hope to be police chief someday."
"Oh, I am sorry. I lost my wife, too, some years ago. A man should have someone who can take care of him."
"Suppose he should. But I do all right."
The child should have a mother. Parker would not do.
"Surely you have other interests, Captain. Hobbies?"
"Oh, not really. Used to go sailing a lot, though. Tell me, Mr. Eisner, just who was it you wanted to—"
"Sailing? I love sailing. You know, I have my own sailboat. I go out every week on a lake where I live. Did you know that at the time of Columbus people did not even know how to sail into the wind?"
"Do tell?"
"No one had ever thought of something as simple as tacking with a rudder. Can you imagine that? One would think perhaps daVinci or Archimedes or someone could have come up with the idea with not much effort, but no."
"Maybe we should go sailing, then, before you leave Smallville. How long did you say you would be staying?"
"Perhaps we could, Captain, that would be nice. Do you have a boat?"
"Not one of my own, but Sam Cutler here rents them by the day. The fella that owns the hardware store over there."
It was not simply a hardware store. There was hardware sold there, but also used heavy farm equipment, lumber, building supplies, and the finest collection of small sailboats the old man had seen in a long time. One in particular, a nine-foot Ketcham-Craft, drew his attention, and Parker wandered into the store after him when he insisted on measuring its dimensions.
The old man interrupted a conversation the proprietor was having with a handsome middle-aged couple to ask for a tape measure. "I know Franklin Ketcham, the sailboat racer," the old man whispered to Parker. "I had no idea he had gone into manufacturing."
"Sure is a fine-looking piece of machinery, Sam," the middle-aged man was saying to the shopkeeper, "but eight hundred for a used tractor is a little out of my range just now."
"For you, Jonathan, seven seventy-five."
"You make it look awfully good."
"Jonathan," the woman piped up, "if we can't afford eight hundred dollars, how can we afford twenty-five dollars less?"
"I don't know, Martha. Twenty-five dollars is twenty-five dollars, like the man says."
"Sure it is, Martha," the salesman insisted, "and look at that trailer attachment back there. See how solid it is?"
"Little rust underneath, ain't there?"
"That's not rust, Jonathan. That's weathering. Gotta expect a little weathering, don't you know? That'll haul twice as much as any horse you ever heard tell of."
"We sure need a tractor, Sam, we sure do, but I don't want to go into debt for more than another five hundred if I can help it."
"What's your worry, Jonathan? The war's over. We won. The country's depending on the farmers like you. Come here and look at this transmission."
The old man was chuckling with glee as he wrapped the tape measure over the hull of the sailboat. "That old goniff!" he mumbled at the policeman.
"Old what?"
"Crook. That old crook."
"Sam? Can't blame Sam, he's
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