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Prestonby wanted to know. "My guess is Joyner and Graves. Am I right?" "Graves," Latterman said. "Joyner didn't have anything to do with it; didn't know anything about it. He's in charge of the Retail Merchandising section, and any action like this would be unethical, since Pelton's is a client of the Retail Merchandising section.
Even aside from everything else, it'd be a good idea to have somebody there who can read and dares admit it, till a new crew of Literates can get there. You were speaking about the possibility of kidnaping; how about the boy? Ray?" Prestonby nodded. "I'll have him come here to my office, and stay there till I get back; I'll have Yetsko stay with him."
Prestonby found Frank Cardon looking out of the screen in his private office. The round, ordinarily cheerful, face was serious, but the innocent blue eyes were as unreadable as ever. He was wearing one of the new Mexican charro-style jackets, black laced with silver. "I can't see all your office, Ralph," he said as Prestonby approached. "Are you alone?"
He picked up a pad from a desk and wrote a few lines on it. "Show this to any Literate you meet; get Literate Hopkinson to countersign it for you, when you find him. Tell him we want his whole gang up here as soon as possible." "How about getting help from outside?" Claire asked. "The city police, or " "City police won't lift a finger," Prestonby told her.
He said that all the party storm troops had been lured out to some kind of a disturbance in North Jersey Borough; he'd try to get them recalled." Prestonby swore bitterly. "By the time his own party-goons get here, the Literates' Guards and Macy & Gimbel's will have pulled Pelton's bacon off the fire for him. Nice friends he has!"
"This call is in connection with the recent attack of Chester Pelton upon Literate First Class Bayne." "Continue, understanding that we admit nothing," Prestonby told him. "An extemporary session of the Council has found Pelton guilty of assaulting Literate Bayne, and has fined him ten million dollars," Armandez announced. "We enter protest," Prestonby replied automatically.
He didn't impress me as being much like a teacher, but I suppose they think anything's good enough for us Illiterates." Literate First Class Ralph N. Prestonby remained standing by the lectern, looking out over the crowded auditorium, still pleasantly surprised to estimate the day's attendance at something like ninety-seven per cent of enrollment.
Yetsko, his length of rubber hose under his arm, ambled out of Prestonby's private office, stopping to stub out his cigarette. The action reminded Prestonby that he still had his pipe in his mouth; he knocked it out and pocketed it. Together, they went into the hall outside. "Where to, first, captain?" Yetsko wanted to know. "Cloak-and-Dagger Department, on the top floor.
She tossed a big chart across the desk to him. "I made a few notes on it; you can give it to whoever is in charge." It went on, like that, for the next hour. When the new Literate crew arrived, Prestonby was delighted to find a friend, and a fellow-follower of Lancedale, in charge. Considering that Retail Merchandising was Wilton Joyner's section, that was a good omen.
"Doug Yetsko's all," Prestonby said, and, as Cardon hesitated, added: "Don't be silly, Frank; he's my bodyguard. What could I be in that he wouldn't know all about?" Cardon nodded. "Well, we're in a jam up to here." A handwave conveyed the impression that the sea of troubles had risen to his chin.
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