“AND DO YOU KNOW WHAT BUD JOHNSON SAID TO THE Director of Volunteers?” grumpy, skinny Mrs. Jenkins demanded indignantly of Cherry in the ward doorway. “Bud said, ‘Be reasonable, see it my way.’ Humph! These junior volunteers!” Mrs. Jenkins was fussing about Bud’s remark, while the rest of the hospital enjoyed a good laugh. It was such a hot day, this third Thursday in July, too hot to fuss about anything.
Cherry said to Mrs. Jenkins, “Well, the Jayvees have their good points. The youngsters on my ward are proving so helpful that today Miss Greer accepted Midge and Dorothy as full members of our nursing team.”
Mrs. Jenkins was astonished. She opened her mouth to object, but no sound came out. Like the rest of the hospital, she had great respect for Julia Greer. She retreated down the corridor, and Cherry watched her, thinking of another of Bud’s catchphrases. It was one she’d like to tell that old cross-patch: “It’s nice to be nice—try it.”
However, Cherry reflected, Mrs. Jenkins probably had not heard about Dave McNeil; he was a natural leader and troubleshooter. This week he persuaded Lillian Jones not to resign, no matter how hard Dietary Kitchen was on her feet. And he had averted a crisis when Dodo Ware’s mother telephoned and said to Miss Vesey: “Can’t you fire my daughter? We want to go on a short trip, but Dodo won’t leave her hospital job in order to go with us.” Dave had called on Mrs. Ware and persuaded her to schedule their trip for a weekend, when Dodo was not on duty.
Dodo had turned out to be completely reliable, despite her bounce and giggles. She was doing a first-rate job, especially in relieving at the nursing station: keeping supply records up to date, tactfully watching to see that only authorized persons entered the ward, answering the ward telephone.
As Cherry re-entered the ward, Midge sped toward her carrying an ice bag and a towel. She was on her way to the small ward kitchen, to fill the ice bag and bring it back to Nurse Corsi.
“Hi,” said Midge as she passed. “I got Miss Hattie Hall to smile. Fixed her hair for her.”
“Well, cheers,” said Cherry. Considering that the patient was flat on her back, Midge’s hairdressing must have required some skill.
Cherry consulted the head nurse on a few points, then started her nursing chores. She treated the ambulatory and convalescent patients first. This afternoon these women would be taken to the hospital auditorium to see an amateur vaudeville show. The nurses, younger doctors, and some of the Jayvees were putting it on, and it was the talk of all the wards. Young Liz fretted because, being in traction, she could not attend.
“I want to hear Dr. Dan sing,” said Liz.
“Never mind, I’ll sing to you,” said Cherry, “if you don’t stop me. Now let’s give you some back care.”
Because of the constant pressure caused by lying nearly motionless in bed, good back care was needed to stir up circulation and to avoid bed sores. Cherry pressed down on the mattress and slipped her hand in, being careful not to disturb the alignment of Liz’s broken heel bone, and rubbed Liz’s back. Poor Liz’s arm and legs were still all scrapes and bruises from her fall, but nothing much could be done to hasten their healing.
Mrs. Davis in the next bed was set up because she was going to the vaudeville show. Liz whispered to Cherry, as she rubbed, that the was in a great deal of pain today, and her medicine had not helped much. Mrs. Davis did not know that with her osteoarthritis—a degenerative disease of old age, her joints having undergone much wear and tear—she probably was never going to be free of pain. But Liz knew, and it saddened her.
“The vaudeville show will help her,” Cherry said softly. “And you help her, Liz, by practically adopting her.”
“Wish I could do more. I’m young and strong, in spite of this shattered heel bone,” Liz said.
“You wanted to help Midge and Dodo,” Cherry reminded her. “I could ask one of them to show you how to make swab sticks.”
“Well, that’s not much, but it’s something,” said Liz, who seemed less restless.
Peggy Wilmot was feeling better today, she announced as Cherry came over to change her position in the bed. Cherry was careful to rest the bed covers on the footboard, not on the patient’s feet. Today Dr. Watson had ordered the physical therapist to bring the diathermy machine to Peggy’s bedside; it provided extra heat, sending electric waves through the tissues below the skin. That would improve Peggy’s circulation and hasten healing. Diathermy could be used now because the inflammation of Peggy’s knees and wrists was subsiding. This was progress, Cherry thought.
“Did the diathermy treatment feel good?” she asked Peggy.
“Yes, it did. That’s not the only reason I feel better,” Peggy said. “Another dividend check came in the mail this morning. Every Thursday like clockwork!”
She wanted Cherry to help her endorse it, then mail it to her bank for deposit. Cherry promised to do so as soon as she gave Miss Hall her medication, and took care of quiet Mrs. Swanson. By the time Cherry had done these chores, the ambulatory patients had left for the vaudeville show, in care of Miss Corsi and Midge. The head nurse was working at her desk. Liz and Dodo rolled bandages, other patients napped. Orthopedics was quiet and peaceful.
Cherry sat down at Peggy Wilmot’s bedside, glad of this chance to talk. For a moment she wondered whether to tell her patient what the bank officer had found out: that there was no record of the Cleveland Pell Corporation. But any sick person, and particularly an arthritis patient, should not be alarmed or upset. Besides, hadn’t Mr. Alison said not to leap to conclusions about the Pell Corporation? Cherry remembered that the bank officer wanted to see the advisory reports Pell was sending out. She rested her hand on the pile of Pell brochures on Peggy’s bedside table.
“Peggy, I wonder if I might borrow some of these reports and special letters? Just to study them for a few days.”
“Why, of course—no, wait.” Peggy looked troubled. “Excuse me, but I’ve been planning to study them again myself. I’m sorry, Miss Cherry. Anyway, we could easily get copies for you by writing to Chicago.”
Cherry hid her surprise at the refusal.
“Yes, it is possible to write for copies,” Cherry agreed peaceably. “Never mind, thanks, it’s not too important.” Cherry had an idea that Mr. Alison—or she herself—would learn less from the high-flown brochures than through making direct inquiries. If Mr. Alison or her father advised writing for copies, then she would do that.
“Tell me something, Peggy,” Cherry asked. “How did you find out about this investment counselor in the first place?”
Peggy’s face brightened. “Just by being alert and open-minded to business trends, I guess. I heard a radio announcement that offered—let’s see—‘Pell’s Report on Ten Growth Investments,’ I think it’s called. For one dollar. Well, I mailed a dollar with my name and address to a post-office box in Chicago, and back came the most interesting report! A regular eye opener! Then a few days later the salesman called on me. Mr. Pell has several salesmen.”
“Oh?” said Cherry mildly. “Well, sending a salesman is the usual procedure.”
“Except that this salesman—his name is Jim Foye, James Wadsworth Foye—isn’t at all like the usual salesman who tries to get you to buy something,” Peggy Wilmot said. “Mr. Foye came to explain to me what the Pell investment service can do—and can’t do. He’s more like Mr. Pell’s personal representative than a salesman. Very much of a gentleman, a very well-educated young man, I’d guess, and such good manners. And he’s so proud to be associated with Cleveland Pell! Called him a financial wizard—”
From the salesman’s description, Pell apparently was a big and respected figure in the world of investment advisers. Although Pell was a newcomer, he was already making a brilliant record, surging to the top of his field. His new company offered investors a unique opportunity, and Foye had shown Peggy Wilmot letters from important businessmen, even bankers, subscribing to the Pell Plan. But Jim Foye had stressed to Peggy Wilmot that she must make her own decision.
“Honestly, Miss Cherry,” Peggy said, “I never met anyone so courteous and obliging—except for my husband, of course. I wasn’t feeling very well and Mr. Foye offered to make a special trip back to Hilton, when I felt better.”
“That was good of him,” Cherry agreed. “So you didn’t start in with the Pell Plan on your first meeting with the salesman?”
“No, although,” Peggy said, “we talked at length about my financial and personal situation, so that Mr. Foye could help me judge whether the Pell Plan was right for me. He knows an amazing lot about business, and financial investments, and he was understanding about a woman’s point of view. Really he helped me think through my problems and my future plans, Miss Cherry. More than the local banker or any of Arthur’s business acquaintances did.”
“Mm-m.” Cherry debated silently whether the salesman had been of genuine help, or whether he had merely been gathering information and winning Peggy’s confidence.
“Why, Jim Foye even took me to dinner,” Peggy said, “before he took the plane back to Chicago. And he urged me to go see Dr. Fairall first thing the next morning. I should have taken that advice too.”
Cherry did not know what to think of the salesman’s solicitude. All that was clear was that Peggy felt she had found a real friend in him, and a benefactor in the Pell Plan. Cherry sighed. She hoped this was so, but it was almost too good to be true—at an incredible ten percent every week. Businessmen did not generally play Santa Claus.
Peggy Wilmot went on talking: “—so Mr. Foye had left a contract with me. Then he called me up from Chicago or somewhere in Illinois—he travels—to see how I was feeling, and what I’d decided. Well, after a few days I signed the contract and sent the Pell Corporation a chunk of my insurance money.” Peggy lay very still in the bed, then said, “In fact, I sent a good big chunk of it. Three quarters of it.”
She named a big sum, and Cherry suppressed a gasp. To entrust such a sum to Pell on mere hearsay!
“I’d never get ten percent anywhere else,” Peggy pointed out. “I’m getting a tremendous break here.”
“But didn’t it occur to you,” Cherry asked, “that there might be something odd in gaining so much wealth so fast? I know I’d stop and think twice about a get-rich-quick plan.” She could not say right out that Peggy was being greedy, impatient, and naïve. Or childlike.
Her patient laughed. “What’s odd? What’s so impossible about financial acumen?”
Cherry briefly repeated what both her father and the bank officer had said: that anyone attempting to get more than reasonable returns was simply gambling. “Fair warning,” said Cherry.
“Oh, you’re foolish and old-fashioned.” Peggy laughed again. “You ought to invest with Pell, yourself.”
“You accepted the salesman’s story without question? You believe all the things these brochures say?”
Peggy Wilmot became indignant. “Mr. Foye gave me all sorts of facts and figures. So do these reports and letters. Just look at the names of people and companies, all over the country, who are investing in the Pell Plan!”
It was true that the pile of publications was impressive. Cherry decided to say no more, at least for now, since her skepticism only pushed Peggy into still greater, stubborn enthusiasm for Pell.
Peggy was saying the salesman had actually suggested that by investing more, she could earn even more. The evaluation reports seemed to urge her on. What was left of the insurance money was burning a hole in Peggy’s pocket. Cherry shook her head. Her patient could lose everything she had, if the Pell Plan were not on the level. It was important to find out.
Cherry’s father had some information for her. That evening, at dinner at home, Mr. Ames said the bank officer had heard from the Better Business Bureau in Chicago.
“They checked on the Cleveland Pell Corporation,” her father said. “You know it’s their job to check up on inquiries and complaints. They blacklist any dishonest individuals or businesses. It’s a public service. Anybody can go to the Better Business Bureau for information.”
Mrs. Ames stopped pouring the coffee. “You mean they protect the public from being cheated?”
Mr. Ames said dryly, “Sometimes they find a man out only after he has cheated his victims. But they help to prevent repeated frauds.”
“I’m bursting with curiosity!” Cherry said. “What about Pell?”
“The Better Business Bureau didn’t find out a thing about Pell,” said her father. “His business isn’t listed—so far—and there’s no record about the man himself. No business or criminal record.”
“Then at least there’s nothing against him,” Cherry’s mother said comfortably.
“There’s nothing against him on record,” Mr. Ames corrected her. “He might have successfully evaded the law. Or he may be operating under an assumed name and at a new address.”
“That is,” said Cherry, “the Better Business Bureau reports that Pell and his investment service are unknown factors. We learned nothing.”
Her father nodded.
After dinner Cherry asked him whether she should write to the Pell Corporation for its free market letters and evaluation reports, and turn them over to Mr. Alison for study.
“I don’t think that’s up to you,” her father said. “The Better Business Bureau in Chicago will probably get one of its employees on Pell’s mailing list, for the purpose of gathering information. I’m sure that the Illinois Securities Division in Springfield is doing much the same thing.”
“With all these watchdog law-enforcement agencies,” Cherry said, “I don’t see how any swindlers can operate.”
“They do, though. They know all the ways to evade the law. Investigations take time. They know how to get out, when the law catches up with them, and start over somewhere else.” Her father cautioned her, “Remember that as yet we don’t know anything one way or the other about Pell.”
The next day on the ward Cherry avoided the topic of the Pell Plan, but Peggy Wilmot did not. Her patient had gotten it into her head that Cherry, too, must invest with Pell—must share in this marvelous bonanza. Cherry tried to joke her out of the idea, as she went about her nursing tasks. There was always a great deal to do on Friday, before the weekend. She tried to interest Peggy in the reports of the other patients about the vaudeville show—Dr. Dan had sung spirituals and Western ballads, accompanying himself on his guitar—three young nurses from Pediatrics, costumed as clowns, had danced and especially delighted the children in the audience—two interns did magicians’ tricks—and the Jayvees had shown a movie cartoon.
But Peggy was not to be distracted. Cherry gave her a bed bath, remarking:
“Your knees and especially your wrists are beginning to be their normal size and color again. See how the inflammation and redness are subsiding?”
“Yes, and my wrists don’t hurt so much when you wash them,” Peggy replied. “But I wish you wouldn’t change the subject! No fooling, why won’t you consider the Pell Plan? Pell furnishes the expert inside information which is exactly what you need. Won’t you at least listen? If not to me, then to Jim Foye?”
Cherry was silent. It occurred to her that meeting the salesman might not be a bad idea. It would be one direct way of getting information. She was curious and concerned to see what sort of man had persuaded her patient to invest.
“I’ll—I’ll think about it,” Cherry said. “I haven’t very much saved up, anyway.” She had no intention of investing.
“Whether you invest much or little isn’t important,” Peggy insisted. “Just let Mr. Foye explain the plan to you. Please. Say yes.”
Cherry made a snap decision. “All right, if your Mr. Foye is willing to make a trip to Hilton to talk to me, I’ll be very much interested to talk with him.”
“Oh, good! I know he’ll come to Hilton,” Peggy said. “He and Mr. Pell’s other representatives travel to all the Illinois towns to see their clients and prospects, so Hilton won’t be out of the way.”
“Only Illinois towns?” Cherry asked.
“I think so, for now, because Mr. Pell is just getting his office started in Chicago. Jim Foye said that pretty soon they’ll expand to other states, too. Let’s write him a letter. Right now! Special delivery!”
Peggy cheerfully figured that if the letter was mailed by noon today, Friday, Mr. Foye would receive it tomorrow, and probably could come to Hilton early next week. Cherry wrote the letter for her, and Midge took it to the mailbox.
This weekend it was Cherry’s turn to work Sunday—the ward nurses took turns. Cherry almost preferred being at the air-conditioned hospital, in this midsummer heat. Her house—the spacious Victorian gray wooden house that her grandparents had built—was none too comfortable in summer, even with windows and curtains closed against the blazing sun.
More important, being at the hospital gave Cherry a chance to catch up on necessary chores. The Jayvees had taken a great deal of her time. The ward was quiet on weekends—few or no treatments. She was especially glad during crowded weekend visiting hours that she was there with old Mrs. Davis and Peggy Wilmot. No one came to see them, so Cherry gave her own tea party for them. “Small but select,” old Mrs. Davis said. Dr. Dan Blake came to make his afternoon rounds and stayed a while to tell stories.
On Monday the hospital was back on full staff and in full swing. Two intriguing things happened.
First, Peggy Wilmot received a letter in the morning mail from the Pell salesman. He wrote, very courteously, that he was shocked and sorry to learn that Mrs. Wilmot was in the hospital. “If there is anything I can do for you, I am at your service. I hope the hospital will permit me to visit you, even briefly. I plan to come to Hilton on Tuesday, to meet your nurse and friend, Miss Cherry Ames. Perhaps she can give me some time during her lunch hour? If this is not convenient, I will be glad to make other arrangements. Please be assured, Mrs. Wilmot, that I stand ready to assist you in your emergency. Very sincerely yours, James W. Foye.”
Second, Cherry’s father telephoned her at the hospital at noon. He sounded a little excited and puzzled.
“Cherry, Mr. Alison phoned me just now. He’s had a reply from the State Securities Division about this Cleveland Pell.”
“He did! Now we’re getting somewhere!”
“Yes and no,” said Cherry’s father. “Under Illinois law, an investment dealer and his salesmen must register with the State Securities Division. Cleveland Pell has applied for dealer registration; that is, for the right to operate legally as a qualified investment dealer and also as counselor; to sell registered securities, which the State Securities Division has examined and found honest. Pell has applied,” her father emphasized, “and now the State Securities Division is investigating him. I understand that usually takes about a month or two.”
“A month or two?” Cherry repeated. In that time Peggy Wilmot could invest—and gamble away—every cent she had. Cherry said, “And until the investigation is completed, the State Securities Division, of course, can’t advise investors one way or another about Pell.”
“That’s right,” said her father. “Honey, my other phone is ringing. See you later,” and he hung up as she called, “Thank you, Dad.”
Cherry hung up, too, puzzled. What did it prove or mean, that Pell was applying for registration? It was what an honorable man would do. It was also what a clever crook would do, to operate just within the law.
Then Dr. Watson came into the ward, accompanied by Dr. Dan, and Cherry forgot all about Pell. Dr. Watson had some wonderfully encouraging things to say for Peggy Wilmot, as he studied her temperature charts and examined her affected joints.
“Young lady, you’re much better! We’re going to taper off on your medication and you’ll wear those splints now only when you’re asleep.”
Peggy smiled up in relief at the cheerful old doctor.
“What’s more,” Dr. Watson boomed, “I’m going to send the physical therapist in to teach you how to exercise in bed. Just like Miss Hall over there, and Mrs. Lane who went home, have been doing. What do you think of that, hey?”
“I think—I’m going to get well,” Peggy said. Her dark eyes sought Cherry’s. “Miss Cherry keeps telling me I will, but now is the first time I really believe it.”