“I’ve got something to say,” she announced.
Major Gilligan looked at her in surprise. “Ma’am?” He gestured her forward. “Please step up to the table so the stenographer can hear.”
Maude came forward with a copy of the contract and determination in her eyes. She pointed to the line in the contract where the Margruders agreed to print the ingredients on every can of food sold to the military. “I’d like to know why food sold to ordinary people won’t have the ingredients on the label. You charge a lot for baked beans, and we’re entitled to know what’s inside. Are you using bacon or not?”
“Of course,” old Jedidiah said. “Plenty of bacon.”
Maude nodded. “Good. I think you should print the ingredients on the label for everybody, not just the military. Because if there’s no bacon, I’m not buying.”
Major Gilligan looked at the Magruders. “Is there any reason you don’t print ingredients on the cans sold to the public?”
“Because it’s pointless,” Clyde said. “Everyone knows what baked beans taste like.”
Major Gilligan looked amused. “You have to admit, the lack of bacon can break a deal.”
The clicking of the stenograph machine continued, capturing every word, but hopefully Clyde had forgotten he was on the record. He leaned over to confer with his father, speaking behind cupped hands. After a moment, Clyde addressed the crowd.
“Too much administrative hassle,” he said simply.
“If there’s nothing wrong with it, why not just print the ingredients on the label?” Major Gilligan asked, appearing genuinely curious.
Jedidiah’s brows lowered in annoyance. “Our baked beans are one hundred percent pure. Real beans, real brown sugar, real bacon. We’ve already met with a pair of your government lawyers after that magazine story slandered our products. There are no fillers or substitutes in our baked beans.”
“Then I’d like to see the ingredients on the label,” Maude said. “I want to know if there’s real bacon in the can or just pork fat. Because real bacon—”
“It’s real bacon,” Jedidiah groused.
“Then put it on the label so everyone can see,” Maude said. “Not just for the military, but for everyone.”
“Fine!” Jedidiah said. “Fine. Clyde, make the changes.”
Clyde opened and closed his mouth, uncertain how to overrule his father, for it would look bad if he backtracked now.
“While we’re on the topic, I’d like to discuss your maple syrup,” Maude said.
Major Gilligan pinched the bridge of his nose. “No disrespect, ma’am, but we are veering far off topic.”
Gray stood. “Not at all. The army is also contracting for condensed milk, pancake mix, and maple syrup. It fell below the threshold for public consideration, but the American people have a right to know if the government has been overpaying.”
“You certainly have been,” Maude said. “The Magruders use flavored corn syrup and pass it off as maple. Corn syrup costs ten cents a tin, while maple syrup is ninety cents more. Now mind you, I bought a tin of that fake maple syrup, and it tasted fine. But I had a right to know that it wasn’t the real thing. Frankly, I overpaid, and I’d like my ninety cents back.”
Clyde opened his wallet, peeled out a dollar bill, and handed it to the orderly. “Please give this to the good lady on the far side of the room. Tell her she can keep the change.”
The young man held the bill, uncertain what to do.
Maude raised her hand. “I’ll take it.”
Muffled laughter rippled through the crowd as the orderly carried her the bill. Maude rolled it neatly and pushed it into her coin purse. Now she was ready to bring out the big guns.
“Based on my calculations of how much syrup the Magruders sold last year, the people in Kansas overpaid $240,000 on artificially flavored corn syrup. Thank you for my dollar, but I think you owe almost a quarter of a million dollars to the rest of Kansas. I’ve got the numbers for what people overpaid in Oklahoma Territory, Nebraska, Missouri, and both Dakotas too. I’ll let the east coast come after you on their own.”
Major Gillian looked baffled. “Is there a point to any of this, ma’am?”
Gray had to bite his tongue. Everything in him wanted to stand up and drive the point home, but it would sound better coming from Maude.
“The point is that by tricking people about what they’re selling, the Magruders have cheated us out of our hard-earned money. And that’s just maple syrup.” She held aloft a piece of paper. “I’ve also got numbers for their pancake mix, applesauce, condensed milk—”
Jedidiah smacked the flat of his hand on the conference table, causing the water glasses to jump. “That’s enough, woman,” he growled. “Our products are pure. Our products are excellent.”
