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November's Book Review Continued
 November Book ReviewThis Month's Book Review is being taken out of a Reader's Digest First
Edition Copyright 1964 by the Reader's Digest Association. The
Review is on the First Book Title. The book has 6 titles total.
Too Young To Be A Grandfather by Willard Temple
Published by Crown Publishers
Too Young To Be A Grandfather, Copyright 1964
He made a few hurried calls to the public library, the Chamber of
Commerce and the newspaper office, and the next day, back in The
City, he began a campaign to open a Goose Bay branch office of a
New York Stock Exchange firm, with himself as manager.
No one was encouraging. His own employer shook his head.
"You'll starve, Duncan. Goose Bay's ingrown, an you'll be a rank
outsider. Those two investment firms have been established for
years; they handle all the securities business there is."
But Blake comforted himself with statistics that indicated a growth
trend for Goose Bay. And he felt he had to make the move now;
before long he might reach an age when he would be afraid of
change. He pushed his campaign with a brokerage firm in New
York, and the following spring he stood in a Goose Bay side street
and watched the lettering go up on his new office window: Prosper,
Peake and Parks. He ran ads in the local paper and commercials
on the TV station, moved Mary and Susan into a rented house,
and watched his savings dwindle. Morning after morning, the
girl with the long attractive legs whom he had hired to chalk up
prices on the board did her job solely for Blake's benefit.
The long bull market of the fifties saw him through, however.
New firms with new personnel moved into Goose Bay, his doors
opened more frequently, and the telephone rang. Finally he took
the gamble of installing the first electric stock-quotation board in
town, and the next day after it was installed the local TV station
gave its viewers a tour of the office, climaxed by a brief interview
with Blake. The next morning every chair in front of the board
was occupied. He knew they wouldn't all stay, but enough did to
make him hire two registered representatives and another clerk.
Then one morning the manager of Goose Bay's oldest investment
firm had come in. As he stood staring angrily at the board, Blake
walked toward him and extended his hand. "Don't believe we've
met," he said. "May I help you?"
The man ignored his hand. "You can't afford that thing!"
Blake listened to the sweetly musical clickety-click of the
changing numbers. "I'm going to be able to afford it," he said.
His visitor sputtered, "Dammit, you know what you've done? Now
I've got to put one in. It must have cost a fortune."
"Come into my office, and I'll give you all the information."
The man peered at his watch and grunted. "Twelve o'clock.
Have lunch with me at the Goose Bay Club. Only decent place for
lunch in town. When I get that electric board, you'll be in the hole
again, but I may as well put you up for club membership."
The Goose Bay Club was a weathered Georgian building with a dining
room, a bar, a game room and a library. It was a masculine haven
except for Thursday nights when women were allowed in the dining
room-by the side door only.
The first Thursday after he had been accepted, Blake proudly brought
Mary. She took in the beamed ceiling, the heavy wood-work and the
ancient waiter. "I hope we are here because Goose Bay has decided
you are able, honest and kind," she said. "Not if it's just because of
that darned old electric board."
"All it means is that I'm recognized as permanent by the competition.
It doesn't mean I've been accepted by the town."
Mary peered through the gloom at a man who was just walking in.
He was tall and slim, somewhat hawk-featured, with a thin pencil
mustache. "Who's that distinguished-looking man?" she said.
"Don't know him," Blake said, and asked the waiter.
The waiter looked surprised. "That's Mr. Chester," he said,
The waiter departed and Blake said, "You don't need to have money
in Goose Bay, but it helps to have roots. The Chesters have been
here forever."
In spite of the club, Blake knew he was still regarded as " that fellow
from The City." What he needed now was solid growth toward and
acknowledged, dignified position. It was about a month later that
he saw signs of the first breakthrough. He had emerged from his
office one afternoon to find George Tolliver prowling the premises,
a cigar in his mouth.
"Aren't you Mr.Tolliver?" Blake said. "I'm Duncan Blake."
"I know who you are." He stabbed his cigar in the direction of the
electric board. "You have plenty of nerve but I don't know if it will
work. Goose Bay people want to know all about the man who
handles their money. They figure you're in over your head."
Blake grinned. "Did you come in to look at the corspe?"
It was like an oral exam: Tolliver picked Blake's mind clean. Then,
after an hour and a half, he abruptly got up. "We might do business,"
he said, and walked out.
The next morning, he presented himself in Blake's office doorway.
"That stock we talked about yesterday," he began. "International
Harvestor. You claimed it was in a buying range?"
"Yes," Blake said. "It's a fine company and the prospects for farm
equipment and the truck business look very good this year."
Blake knew that George Tolliver was well-to-do; also that he had retired
from the family firm, the Tolliver Fastener Company, at forty, when he
had married a much younger woman. Now some stock deal had probably
gone sour for him in one of the other brokerage houses. Blake might
very well lose Tolliver in turn, anytime his own counsel backfired. But
for the moment, at least, his first old resident was in the corral.
"Guess I'll open an account," Tolliver said. "Get me some of that
International Harvester. Ten shares."
After a shocked moment Blake said, "Ten shares, Mr. Tolliver?"
"Ten shares," Tolliver said, and departed.
Blake sat back in his chair, realizing from experience what lay ahead. If
one of International Harvester's plants went on strike, Tolliver would be
in his office suspecting the worst. If Iowa had a drought, hurting the
sales of farm equipment in that area, Tolliver would be in to demand why.
A few days later he was standing in the club coatroom when two men
paused outside the door. "Hear you got rid of Tolliver," a voice said.
"I've been trying for years to get him mad enough to walk out,"
a second replied. "We were at it again the other day and I said, 'If you
don't like my advice why don't you try that hotshot from The City?'
He hasn't darkened my door since."
Hidden among the coats, Blake listened dismally to the laughter. He
had made his breakthrough into old Goose Bay all right-he had acquired
the town eccentric.
It was a disappointment. Still, though he did not reach the inner circle,
his list of clients grew steadily. A year later he and Mary bought a house
in a new development on the north side. When its residents started a
modest family, country club, Blake became a charter member and
dutifully took up golf.
And now he stood in the club's main lounge with his wife, his daughter,
her husband towering beside her, and the groom's parents, the
P. Ashley Chesters.
Blakes feet hurt, and he felt that the smile he bestowed on each guest who
came down the line was as phony as that of an actress in a television
commercial. The Tollivers came through the line, June Tolliver slim
and pretty. Her husband trailed behind her, wearing his usual scowl.
June kissed Blake while Tolliver growled, "Keep moving. My feet hurt."
The line was coming to an end like a long slow freight with a large, amply
padded woman who puffed on past.
"The caboose," Blake said happily, beginning to relax. He decided the
remark was worth repeating. "The caboose," he said, leaning over to
let the Chesters in on the jollity; Mary had told him he had been stiff
with them at the rehearsal dinner.
The Chesters smiled dutifully but Mary dug an elbow in his ribs.
"Idiot!" she whispered, with amusement. "That was the Chesters'
Aunt Julia, all the way from Pasadena."
"Well, I wonder if everyone is getting enough to drink," Blake said, and
took off like a coward for the punch bowl.
He looked at the empty bottles stacked below the table and decided it was
better not to count. From a distance he watched Susan, her husband's hand
on her arm, cut the first slice of cake. He thought with a sudden lump in
his throat, Be happy, Susan. He moved on, and was trapped by total
strangers who wanted to discuss the securities market. When he looked
again for his daughter, she had vanished. She had walked out of his life
without so much as a backward word or look.
Aimlessly he wandered through the crowd and finally found Mary staring
at him."What's happened to you?" she said.
"She might at least have said good-bye," Blake said.
"She's in the ladies' locker room, changing. If you want to say good-gy,
go into the small lounge. They will slip out the side door. Don't be too
obvious."
Peering furtively from side to side, Blake went into the small lounge and
found it jammed. He was struggling toward the door when Susan and Chip
came through. "Good-by," Blake called frantically, but an usher about six
feet five got in front of him. He had just a glimpse of Susan going out
with Chip and then the crowd poured out.
Blake turned and saw Mary and then they heard the roar of a car, and a
horde of young people raced past the window. Blake clutched his head.
"Making a getaway and he had to warm up his motor, the damn fool!"
"Duncan, that is your son-in-law you're calling a fool. He's Susan's husband
now. Her name isn't Blake any longer. It's Chester."
Blake stared into the night. "You're right, Mary," he said. "By heaven,
she's married.".......
This is the end of the first chapter of this story titled: Too Young To Be
A Grandfather by Willard Temple, Copyright 1964
I hope you have enjoyed Nov. 2002's book review from the Book Nook.
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