Young Auctioneers: or, The Polishing of a Rolling Stone

“I’d try it by all means,” cried Matt heartily.

So when the meal was concluded Andrew Dilks walked up to the proprietor, who was also cashier, and paid their bill. Then he asked the man if he did not think some new knives and forks would be appreciated by his customers.

“I have no doubt but what they would be,” returned the restaurant keeper. “But they cost too much money, and times are rather hard.”

“I can sell you some cheap,” returned Andy, and he mentioned his price.

The restaurant man smiled.

“Too cheap to be good,” he said. “I must have some that will stand the wear.”

“Let me show you them. Matt, go out and bring in a few dozen of the No. 23 knives and forks, and also some of the X23 spoons,” went on Andy briskly.

Matt at once complied, and his partner continued to talk to the restaurant keeper, thus keeping his attention. When the articles were brought Andy invited the prospective purchaser to make a thorough examination of them.

“Send a couple down to the kitchen and have them scoured. They are triple-plated, and will stand it,” he added.

Andy’s business-like way pleased the restaurant keeper, and after a little more talk he purchased three dozen each of knives and forks and two dozen spoons.

The price was paid over, and both Andy and Matt were congratulating themselves on their good luck, when a man who had been standing near the window of the restaurant peering in stepped inside and tapped both on the shoulder.

“I would like to see your license for selling,” he said sternly.

CHAPTER XI.

HARSH TREATMENT

Both Matt and Andy were considerably taken aback by the unexpected demand of the stranger. When they had come to Newark they had not expected to sell anything, and therefore had not given the question of a license a single thought.

“Excuse me, but I am sorry to state we have no license,” returned Andy frankly. “We did not expect to make any sales here, but were going straight through to Elizabeth.”

“Very likely,” sneered the man, who was a special officer attached to the police department. “But I saw you make the sale, and you must come with me.”

“Oh, Andy, let us pay the license,” exclaimed Matt, in a low voice, as visions of a week or a month in jail floated before his mind. It would be simply terrible to be locked up.

“That’s what we will have to do,” returned Andy, who had been through such a predicament before, and was not, therefore, greatly alarmed. “Don’t be afraid; we will come out all right. Only it will cost us two or three dollars.”

“I don’t care if it costs fifty – I don’t want to run afoul of the law,” returned Matt bluntly.

“Nor do I,” returned his partner.

“Well, what do you say?” demanded the officer sharply.

“We will go with you and pay the license,” replied Andy.

“All right.”

“Will you ride with us?”

“Don’t care if I do,” said the officer, and all three hopped on the wagon seat, and Matt drove off.

The office where licenses could be procured was at the City Hall, on Broad Street. When they turned into that thoroughfare Matt uttered a cry of surprise.

“What a broad street!” he exclaimed, as he surveyed it.

“It is one of the broadest in any eastern city,” returned the officer, who seemed inclined to be more friendly now that they had shown a disposition to do the right thing.

Inside of the City Hall they were compelled to wait near half an hour before they could procure their license. Then they were asked for how long a term they desired it.

“For to-day only,” returned Andy, and so it was made out and as quickly paid for.

“Oh, but I’m glad we are out of that scrape so easily!” murmured Matt, as the two walked back to their wagon. “I was afraid they would lock us up for ten days or a month.”

“They would have their hands full locking up all the peddlers who try to sell goods without a license,” laughed Andy. “All they care for is the money.”

“We will have to pay in almost every town we go, won’t we?”

“Yes, every town. Some places charge so much that we won’t try to sell in them. I’ll make it a point after this to find out about a license as soon as we enter a place.”

“Yes, do that by all means,” returned Matt, much relieved.

Now that they had a license good for the balance of the day, Matt moved that they remain in Newark and try to make more sales.

“Let us try all the restaurants,” he said. “We may be able to sell more of those knives and forks and spoons.”

“I am willing,” said Andy. “This isn’t exactly auctioneering, but it pays just as well, so we have no cause to grumble.”

They turned back into the business portion of the city and drove along slowly until two restaurants, directly opposite to each other, were reached.

“I’ll take one and you can take the other,” said Andy. “Be sure and sell all you can,” he added, with a laugh.

Matt nodded, and with half a dozen samples under his arm, he entered the restaurant on the right.

It must be confessed that the boy’s heart beat rather fast. This was the first time he had endeavored to effect a sale solely on his own responsibility. Moreover, Andy was pitted against him, trying to sell goods in a similar way to similar people.

“I must do as well as he,” thought Matt. “If I don’t he may imagine I am not worthy of being an equal partner in the concern.”

The place Matt had entered was handsomely fitted up in the latest style. It was quite large, but at this hour of the day was but scantily patronized. In the back half a dozen waiters were discussing the merits of certain race horses, while behind the cashier’s desk a young man, with an enormous diamond, was reading a copy of a sensational weekly.

A waiter rushed forward to conduct Matt to a seat at one of the tables, but the boy shook his head and turned to the desk.

“Can I see the proprietor?” he asked.

The clerk had laid down his paper and gave Matt an ugly stare before replying.

“So you are another one of them,” he said slowly, as he surveyed the boy from head to foot.

Matt was somewhat mystified by this, but smiled pleasantly.

“I suppose I am – if you say so,” he said. “Did you say the proprietor was in?”

“No, I didn’t say so. Say, you’ll wish you hadn’t come here if old Mattison gives you a chance,” went on the young man, in a lower voice.

“Why will I wish that?” questioned Matt, more mystified than ever.

“Because he’s a tough customer to get along with.”

“But if my goods and the price suit, why, it ought to be all right.”

“Goods and price? What are you talking about?” demanded the young man quickly.

“The goods I have to sell – knives, forks, and spoons.”

“Oh, pshaw! I thought you were another of those chumps that want my place here. Old Mattison gave me notice to quit next Saturday, and put an advertisement in the paper for a new clerk, and there have been about a dozen here already.”

“And none of them suit?”

“Suit! He’s a man that is never suited.”

“Then perhaps I won’t be able to sell him any goods,” returned Matt, his heart sinking.

“It ain’t likely. Business is poor, and he ain’t buying more than he can help. You can try him, though.”

“Where is he?”

“I’ll call him.”

The young man behind the desk rang the bell for one of the waiters, and sent that individual upstairs for the proprietor. The waiter was gone nearly five minutes before he returned, accompanied by a short, stout man, with bushy black hair and a heavy beard.

“Well, sir, what can I do for you?” asked the man of Matt.

“If you are not too busy I would like to show you some goods which are both good and very cheap,” returned Matt, as easily as he could, and without waiting for a reply he unrolled his package of samples, and placed them upon the desk.

“And is that what you called me downstairs for?” cried the proprietor of the restaurant, in a rage. “Make me throw down a good hand at cards just to look at a lot of tin knives and forks! You peddlers are getting more bold every day. The police ought to sit down on every one of you!”

“I am sorry if I disturbed your leisure,” returned Matt, as mildly as he could. “But, I thought – ”

“You thought you would just like to cheat me into buying a lot of your trash,” finished the restaurant proprietor. “Well, you can’t do anything of the kind, and you can take that for your impudence!”

And hastily gathering up the package of samples, the restaurant keeper walked to the open doorway and flung knives, forks and spoons into the muddy gutter!

CHAPTER XII.

MATT STANDS UP FOR HIMSELF

It was evident, by the self-satisfied look upon the restaurant-keeper’s face, that the hot-tempered man supposed that he had done a very smart thing in thus disposing of Matt’s wares by throwing the bundle into the muddy gutter of the street.

“Now pick up your goods and skip out!” he cried, as he turned to the boy. “And the next time you be careful how you disturb folks when they are trying to take it a little easy!”

For the instant Matt was stupefied, and stood still, hardly moving a muscle.

Then the boy’s natural temper arose to the surface, and for the moment he felt as if he must fly at the man and pound him in the face just as hard as he could. His face grew first red and then deadly pale. The man saw the change in his countenance, saw the fire flash in the boy’s eyes, and stopped short just as he was about to repeat his injunction to leave the establishment.

“You are a – a brute!” exclaimed Matt, stepping forward with clinched fists.

“What’s that?” cried the restaurant-keeper, so loudly that several customers and a number of the waiters gathered round to learn the cause of the trouble.

“I say you are a brute!” repeated Matt, undaunted by the fierce look the restaurant-keeper had assumed. “If you did not wish to buy from me you could have said so. There was no need for you to throw my goods in the gutter.”

“Shut up and clear out!” growled the man. “I want no back talk from the likes of you. Do you suppose I buy from beggars and thieves?”

“I am neither a beggar nor a thief!” returned Matt striding still closer. “And I won’t allow you nor any one else to say so.”

“Oh, you won’t?” sneered the man.

“No, I won’t,” answered Matt firmly. “My business is just as honest and honorable as yours, even though I may not make such enormous profits,” he added, bound in some way to “get square.”

“See here, are you going to get out, or must I pitch you out?” howled the man more savagely than ever.

For the moment Matt did not reply. He was very angry, but knew it would do him more harm than good to lose his temper. Yet he was not the person to allow the insults he had received to pass unnoticed.

“I will get out just as soon as you restore my goods to me,” he said. “You had no right whatever to throw them into the gutter and soil them.”

“What?”

“And let me say, too, that I expect my goods to come back to me just as clean as they were when you took them.”

“You say another word and I’ll stand you on your head!” fumed the proprietor of the restaurant, but the look in Matt’s eyes kept him from laying hands upon the boy.

“If you dare to touch me I’ll call in the police,” replied Matt, more sharply than ever. “I have a license, and by that license the police are bound to protect me. Now, you get my goods back for me and I’ll leave.”

“I’ll see you in Jericho first!”

“Very well; but remember, if anything is lost or damaged, you’ll pay the bill.”

“Good for the boy!” exclaimed one of the men who had just been lunching in the place. “I like to see a fellow stick up for his rights.”

“See here, I want no outside interference here!” blustered the restaurant-keeper. “I am fully capable of attending to this affair myself.”

“Well, I’m going to see that the boy gets a show,” returned the other coolly, as he paid the amount of his check and lit a cigar taken from his pocket. “I don’t think it was a fair deal to throw his stuff in the gutter.”

“It wasn’t,” put in another customer. “He’s got to make a living, just the same as all of us.”

“Oh, don’t talk!” cried the restaurant-keeper, waving them away with his hand. “Come, now, no more talk!” he went on to Matt. “Go, before I have you thrown out.”

“I won’t budge a step, excepting it is to call the police,” returned Matt, more firmly than ever, now that he saw he had friends in the crowd. “I’ll give you just five minutes to give me back my goods.”

The restaurant-keeper began to bluster and threaten, and even sent a waiter out, ostensibly to call in a policeman. But Matt was not frightened, and in the end another waiter was sent to gather up the sample goods, wipe them off and restore them to the boy.

“Good for you, boy!” said one of the customers, as he followed Matt out upon the sidewalk. “Always stick up for your rights,” and he nodded pleasantly and passed on.

When Matt reached the wagon he found Andy had not yet come back. He accordingly looked around, and seeing another restaurant about half a block further down the street entered it.

He found the proprietor behind the desk, laughing quietly to himself. He had heard of what had happened in his neighbor’s place, and was immensely tickled thereby.

“Hullo! ain’t you the boy that had the row with Mattison?” he exclaimed in surprise.

“I had some trouble with that man,” said Matt. “But it was not my fault, I can assure you.”

“You came out ahead, didn’t you? Ha! ha! ha! It does me good to hear it. Tell me how the row started.”

Matt did so, and was compelled to go into all the details, to which the man listened with keen interest.

“Served him right! He can get along with nobody. But you are a clever one, too.”

“Thank you,” replied Matt.

And then he began to talk business, showing up his somewhat bedimmed samples to the best possible advantage, and quoting prices in a manner that made the restaurant-keeper think he was an old hand at the business.

The man was not particularly in need of anything, but he liked Matt’s way, and thought it was worth something to have a good story to tell to his rival’s discredit. He bought four dozen triple-plated spoons and a carving-knife, and then Matt persuaded him to invest in a new toothpick holder, and a match holder of aluminum, which were both very pretty and cheap.

“Just an even seven dollars!” thought Matt, as he hurried back to the wagon. “I don’t think that so bad. Our profits on that sale ought to be at least two dollars.”

Andy was waiting for him. He had sold, after a good deal of hard talking, a dozen knives and forks, upon which he had been forced to make a slight discount. He listened to Matt’s story in amazement.

“Seven dollars’ worth! That’s fine, Matt! You must be a born salesman. Keep right on, by all means.”

“But I don’t expect any such luck every time,” returned the boy, and then he told the story of his troubles in the first restaurant he had visited.

“It was plucky in you to stick out as you did,” was Andy’s comment. “I don’t believe I could have done it. I would have gone out and picked up the things myself.”

“I wouldn’t, never!” cried Matt, and his whole face showed the spirit within him.

It was only four o’clock in the afternoon, and Andy suggested that they continue to try their luck until sundown. So they drove on down the street slowly, visiting every restaurant and many stores on the way.

In one place Matt sold a dozen spoons, and in another a fancy water-pitcher. Andy sold some spoons also, and a cheap watch and chain, which the buyer explained he intended to sell to some customer for double the money.

At the last place at which they stopped Andy made arrangements to remain all night. A stable was also found for Billy and the wagon, and by eight o’clock the partners found themselves free from business cares. Matt moved that they have supper, and to this Andy willingly agreed.

While the two were waiting for their orders to be filled, Andy brought out a bit of paper and a pencil and began to figure.

“The net receipts for the day were eighteen dollars and a half,” he said, when he had finished. “The goods and the license cost thirteen dollars and sixty cents. That leaves a profit of four dollars and ninety cents, which is not so bad, considering that we only worked about five hours all told.”

“And what were our expenses?” asked Matt.

Andy did a little more figuring.

“Expenses from this morning until to-morrow morning, including this supper, about two dollars and thirty cents.”

“Then we have two dollars and sixty cents over all?”

“Yes, that is, without counting wear and tear on wagon, harness, and so forth.”

“Of course. But that isn’t so bad.”

“Indeed it is not,” returned Andy. “If we do as well as that every day we shall get along very well, although I trust to do even better.”

CHAPTER XIII.

THE CORN SALVE DOCTOR

After supper the two partners found that time hung a little heavily upon their hands. Matt suggested that they walk around the city a bit, taking in the sights, but Andy was too tired.

“I’ll tell you what I will do, though,” said the older member of the firm. “I’ll get one of the accordions out and you can get a banjo, and we can practice a little. There is nothing like being prepared for an emergency, you know.”

“That is true, and we’ll have to brush up quite a bit if we wish to play in public,” laughed Matt.

He accompanied Andy to the barn where the wagon was stored, and they brought not only the accordion and the banjo, but also a violin and a mouth harmonica.

These instruments they took to the bedroom which had been assigned to them, and here, while it was yet early, they tuned up and began to practice upon such simple tunes as both knew by heart. Matt first tried the banjo, and after he had it in tune with the accordion, the partners played half a dozen selections quite creditably.

“We wouldn’t do for grand opera soloists, but I guess it will be good enough to attract crowds in small country towns,” laughed Andy, as he ground out a lively German waltz.

“Supposing we try the violin and banjo,” suggested Matt, and Andy took up the king of instruments.

But this did not go so well, and it was not long before Andy turned back to the accordion, which, according to his statement, half-played itself. Matt tried the mouth harmonica, and surprised not only Andy, but half a dozen listeners, by the wonderful effects he produced upon the little instrument.

“Good for you!” shouted Andy, as Matt finished a particularly clever selection. “If the auction business fails, you can go on the variety stage.”

“No, thank you,” returned Matt. “I understand enough about it to know that it is little better than a dog’s life. I just as lief stick to what I’m doing, or become a traveling order salesman for some big New York house.”

“Well, I don’t know but what that shows your level-headedness,” returned Andy.

The two slept soundly that night. Matt was up at five o’clock the next morning, and he at once aroused his partner. They had an early breakfast, and then walked around to the stable where the wagon was housed.

While they were hitching up Billy a middle-aged man, rather slouchy in appearance, came shuffling in.

“Are you the two young fellers what’s running this here auction wagon?” he began, addressing Matt.

“We are,” returned the boy. “What do you want?”

“Pretty good business, ain’t it?” went on the stranger, without answering the question which had been put.

“Sometimes it is.”

“I reckon there’s a heap of money in it,” proceeded the shabby stranger.

“Well, we are not yet millionaires,” put in Andy, with a pleasant laugh.

“I know a feller what made a pile of money in the auction business,” remarked the man as he ejected a quantity of tobacco juice from his mouth. “He was a rip-snorter at it, though – could talk a table into walking off – and keep it up all day and half the night.”

To this statement Matt and Andy made no reply. Neither liked the looks of the newcomer, and both wished he would go away.

“Say, you don’t want to take a fellow in, do you?” asked the man, after a slight pause, as he came close beside Matt, who was nearest to him.

“No, we haven’t any work for an outsider,” returned the boy.

“I’m a rustler when I get a-going, let me tell you. I can tell stories and sing and sell more goods than any one has any idea of. Besides that, I’ve got a new corn salve I put up myself which goes like hot cakes. Barberry’s Lightning Salve, I call it – my name is Paul Barberry, you know – Dr. Barberry, most of ’em call me. Say the word, and I’ll go with you and put up my salve against your outfit, and we’ll share and share alike.”

“As I said before, we have no room for an outsider,” returned Matt, while Andy nodded approvingly. “The wagon seat only holds two, and besides, our plans are all completed for our trip.”

“Humph!” The man’s face took on a sour look. “You are missing the chance of your lives.”

“We’ll risk it,” laughed Andy.

“I can sell more salve than you can sell other goods every day in the week – and make more money, too.”

“Then you had better start alone – and at once,” returned Andy shortly.

“I will – if you fellers won’t take me in as a working partner. I made the suggestion only because I thought it would be more pleasant to travel in a company of three.”

“We are satisfied to go it without outside assistance,” cried Matt, as he hopped on the seat. “All ready, Andy?”

“Yes, go on,” returned his partner, climbing up beside him.

“Then you won’t make a deal with me?” questioned Paul Barberry more sourly than ever.

“No,” replied Matt and Andy in a breath, and while one gathered up the lines the other spoke to the horse, and the turn-out began to leave the stable.

“All right,” shouted Paul Barberry. “You may be sorry for it. You young fellows think you know it all, but you may get tripped up badly before long,” and picking up an ancient and decidedly rusty traveling-bag which he possessed, the corn salve doctor trudged away up the street.

“What a forward man!” exclaimed Matt, as they moved off. “Why, he actually wanted to force himself on us!”

“There are a good many such fellows on the road,” returned Andy. “The moment they see some one who appears to be prospering, they try their best to get in with him. I dare say that Dr. Paul Barberry is about broke, and would consider it a windfall of fortune to be taken in by the owners and managers of the Eureka Auction Co.”

“I wonder if we’ll meet him again,” mused Matt, as he looked back just in time to see the shabby figure disappear around a corner.

“Oh, he may turn up again; such fellows very often do,” replied Andy.

But neither he nor Matt dreamed of the peculiar circumstances under which they would again come in contact with Paul Barberry.

The day was warm and bright, and Billy, the horse, appeared in excellent spirits by the way he trotted along over the macadamized road from Newark to Elizabeth.

It was not their intention to stop at the latter place, but just as they reached the outskirts of the city Billy began to limp, and they saw that one of his shoes had become loose.

“We’ll have to take him around to a blacksmith shop,” said Andy, and they accordingly drove on until such a place was reached.

Here they found they would have to wait until dinner-time before the shoe could be refitted. Rather than go to the trouble and expense of getting a license, however, they decided to spend the time in walking around.

“This is one of the oldest towns in New Jersey,” remarked Andy, as they walked around the depots and down Broad Street, the main thoroughfare. “Down along the water front is one of the largest sewing machine factories in the world. I was through it once and I can tell you it was a sight well worth seeing.”

Just before twelve o’clock they stopped in a restaurant not far from the blacksmith shop, and had dinner. By the time this was over Billy’s shoe had been readjusted, and once more they were off.

It was easy driving along the smooth country road, and after passing through Cranford, Westfield and several smaller places, they struck out for Plainfield, which Andy declared was to be their first regular stopping place.

“It is a fair-sized city,” he said. “And if we can strike the right stand we ought to do well there for several days or a week.”