"Now what, pray tell, does a twelve-year-old boy want with a pewter teapot?"
Slopey's cowlick, which had bobbed up and down a few seconds ago, now waved from side to side as he shook his head. He didn't know what a twelve-year-old boy wanted with a pewter teapot. He only knew that he wanted to keep it. He liked it. He really... really... liked it.
"... feels," he muttered at last.
"Pardon me?" Mr. Gaunt asked, raising his single wavy eyebrow.
"I like the way it feels, I said!"
"Slopey, Slopey," Mr. Gaunt said, coming around the counter, "you don't have to explain to me. I know all about that peculiar thing people call 'pride of possession.' I have made it the cornerstone of my career."
Slopey Dodd shrank away from Mr. Gaunt in alarm. "Don't you touch me! Please don't!"
"Slopey, I have no more intention of touching you than I do of telling you to give your mother the teapot. It's yours. You can do anything you want with it. In fact, I applaud your decision to keep it."
"You... you do?"
"I do! Indeed I do! Selfish people are happy people. I believe that with all my heart. But Slopey..."
Slopey raised his head a little and looked fearfully through the hanging fringe of his red hair at Leland Gaunt.
"The time has come for you to finish paying for it."
"Oh!" An expression of vast relief filled Slopey's face. "Is that all you wanted me for? I thought maybe..." But he either couldn't or didn't dare finish. He hadn't been sure what Mr. Gaunt had wanted.
"Yes. Do you remember who you promised to play a trick on?"
"Sure. Coach Pratt."
"Right. There are two parts to this prank-you have to put something somewhere, plus you have to tell Coach Pratt something.
And if you follow directions exactly, the teapot will be yours forever."
"Can I talk like this, too?" Slopey asked eagerly. "Can I talk without stuttering forever, too?"
Mr. Gaunt sighed regretfully. "I'm afraid you'll go back to the way you were as soon as you leave my shop, Slopey. I believe I do have an anti-stuttering device somewhere in stock, but-"
"Please! Please, Mr. Gaunt! I'll do anything! I'll do anything to anyone! I hate to stutter!"
"I know you would, but that's just the problem, don't you see?
I am rapidly running out of pranks which need to be played; my dance-card, you might say, is nearly full. So you couldn't pay me."
Slopey hesitated a long time before speaking again. When he did, his voice was low and diffident. "Couldn't you... I mean, do you ever just... give things away, Mr. Gaunt?"
Leland Gaunt's face grew deeply sorrowful. "Oh, Slopey! How often I've thought of it, and with such longing! There is a deep, untapped well of charity in my heart. But...
"But?"
"It just wouldn't be business," Mr. Gaunt finished. He favored Slopey with a compassionate smile... but his eyes sparkled so wolfishly that Slopey took a step backward. "You understand, don't you?"
"Uh... yeah! Sure!"
"Besides," Mr. Gaunt went on, "the next few hours are crucial to me. Once things really get rolling, they can rarely be stopped... but for the time being, I must make prudence my watchword.
If you suddenly stopped stuttering, it might raise questions.
That would be bad. The Sheriff is already asking questions he has no business asking." His face darkened momentarily, and then his ugly, charming, jostling smile burst forth again. "But I intend to take care of him, Slopey. Ah, yes."
"Sheriff Pangborn, you mean?"
"Yes-Sheriff Pangborn, that's what I mean to say." Mr. Gaunt raised his first two fingers and once again drew them down in front of Slopey Dodd's face, from forehead to chin. "But we never talked about him, did we?"
"Talked about who?" Slopey asked, bewildered.
"Exactly. "Leland Gaunt was wearing a jacket of dark-gray suede today, and from one of its pockets he produced a black leather wallet.
He held it out to Slopey, who took it gingerly, being careful not to touch Mr. Gaunt's fingers.
"You know Coach Pratt's car, don't you?"
"The Mustang? Sure."
"Put this in it. Under the passenger seat, with just a corner sticking out. Go to the high school right now-it wants to be there before the last bell. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Then you're to wait until he comes out. And when he does...
Mr. Gaunt went on speaking in a low murmur, and Slopey looked up at him, jaw slack, eyes dazed, nodding every once in awhile.
Slopey Dodd left a few minutes later with john LaPointe's wallet tucked into his shirt.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
1