The Young Auctioneers/Chapter 23
CHAPTER XXIII.
SOMETHING IS MISSING.
"The goods haven't come in!" cried Matt. "What's to be done now? We can't open up without them, and we can't afford to miss the chance of taking a good round sum on parade day."
"I'll telegraph to New York and find out what the trouble is," returned Andy, and he started for the telergaph office without delay.
The message was sent to the metropolis within quarter of an hour, reaching its destination before any of the down-town wholesale houses were open for business. At eleven o'clock a reply came back that the cases had been duly sent, and that the delay would be traced up, if possible, at the freight depot there.
"This leaves us in a pickle for to-day," said Andy, as he handed the message over to Matt.
"Well, it won't be so bad if only we get our goods by to-morrow morning, Andy. Let us go over to Easton, anyway, and look for a store, and if we can find one, take the risk of hiring it."
So they crossed the river and began a search, leaving the horse and wagon tied up at the freight depot in Phillipsburg in the meantime.
They found that the firemen's parade was really to be very large, and already the store-keepers were decorating in its honor. On the streets numerous fakirs were about, offering badges, medals, song-sheets, souvenirs, and other wares for sale.
"I'll take this street, and you take that," said Andy, as they came to a corner. "Go around the block, and then take the next block. In that way we may find a store quicker. There is no use for both of us to go over the same ground."
So, after appointing a meeting-place, the two separated, and Matt hurried along the street Andy had designated to him.
"Here you are, gents, the most wonderful corn and bunion salve in the market!" he presently heard a voice crying out. "Made first expressly for the Emperor of Germany, and now sold in America for the first time. Warranted to cure the worst corn ever known, and sold for the small sum of ten cents! They go like hot-cakes, the boxes do, for they all know how good the salve is! Thank you, sir; who'll have the next?"
Matt stopped short, as something in the voice of the street merchant attracted his attention. He looked at the man and saw that it was Paul Barberry, the fellow who had wished to be taken in as a partner in Newark.
"Give me a box of that ere salve," Matt heard an old man say, and saw the traveling corn doctor hand over a package of his preparation.
The purchaser of the package handed over a quarter of a dollar in silver. Barberry stuck the money in his pocket, and without attempting to give back any change, thrust two more packages of his corn salve into the old man's hands.
"What—what's this?" stammered the old fellow. "Where is my change?"
"That's all right, three for a quarter, sir," returned Paul Barberry briskly. "Who'll have the next? Don't all crowd up at once!"
"But I don't want three," said the old man timidly. "I want my change."
"You'll find you need three, find 'em very valuable, sir! That's right, come right up and buy, buy, buy! It's the greatest on the face of the globe!" bawled Barberry, turning away and addressing another crowd on the sidewalk.
"Well, I'll be jiggered!" muttered the old man, and much put out, but too timid to stand up for his rights and demand the return of his money, he placed the packages in his coat-tail pocket, and walked off."
"Well, that's what I call a rather high-handed proceeding," thought Matt. "No wonder some folks consider street merchants and traveling auctioneers little better than thieves, when some of them act in that fashion. I don't think he'll prosper, though, in the end."
He was about to continue on his way, when Paul Barberry caught sight of him and came forward.
"Hullo, my young friend!" he called out pleasantly. "What brings you to Easton—the big parade?"
Matt did not like this manner of being addressed. He considered the corn salve doctor altogether too familiar, so he replied rather coldly:
"Not particularly. We merely struck Easton in the course of our travels."
"Oh, then you and your companion are still on the road with your wagon?"
"Yes."
Paul Barberry seemed to grow interested at once.
"Good enough! And how is business?"
"Very good," returned Matt, and not without pardonable pride.
"Then you are not ready to take me in as a partner yet?"
"Not quite; my friend and I can run the business very well without outside help."
"But you might make more money with me in the firm," went on Paul Barberry persistently.
"We haven't room for a third person."
"Where are you stopping now?"
"We haven't a place yet. My partner and I have just started to look for an empty store."
"Oh, then you are going to stay several days or a week."
"Yes."
"Where were you last?"
"Across the river."
"Do pretty well in Phillipsburg?"
"We did very well—until we began to run out of goods."
"I couldn't do anything in Phillipsburg," grumbled Paul Barberry. "It's only a one-horse place, anyway. So you ran out of goods there?"
"We ran out of some goods—our best sellers."
"Why don't you send for more goods?"
"We have sent, and we are expecting the cases at any moment at the Phillipsburg freight depot."
"Where is your horse and wagon?"
"Tied up at the depot over there," and to avoid being questioned further, Matt began to move off.
"I think I can get a good store for you," went on Barberry, catching him by the arm.
"Thank you, but I would prefer to do my own hunting," returned the young auctioneer, still more coolly.
"Don't want anything to do with me, eh?" retorted the corn salve vender angrily.
"I don't want you to take your valuable time in transacting my business," returned Matt, and off he hurried, before Barberry could offer any reply.
"He and his partner are mighty independent chaps," grumbled the pretended doctor, as he gazed after Matt, with a scowl on his face. "I suppose he thinks himself above me because he has a horse and wagon. Well, maybe he won't be any better off than I am some day."
And, in far from a good humor, Paul Barberry resumed the sale of his so-styled wonderful corn cure, a preparation, by the way, which was of no value as a remedial agent.
Matt walked along for several blocks without running across any empty stores that would be suitable for holding sales. Most of the places were too small, and others were in out-of-the-way corners, to which it would be next to impossible to attract a crowd.
At the appointed time he walked to the spot where he was to meet Andy. His partner was waiting for him, a smile resting on his pleasant face.
"Any luck, Matt?" he asked.
"None."
"I've struck something that I imagine will just suit us. Come on and look at it."
The two hurried to the place Andy had in mind. It was, indeed, a good store, and just in the right spot, and ten minutes later they were on the way to hunt up the landlord and rent the place.
It was no easy matter to find the person for whom they were seeking, and it was well along in the afternoon before the man who owned the building was found. He agreed to let them have the store for four days for ten dollars, and the bargain was closed on the spot.
Then they returned to the store and cleaned it up as best they could, and at a little after five o'clock locked up and started back to Phillipsburg to ascertain if their cases of goods had yet arrived.
The walk across the bridge did not take long, and the freight depot was close at hand.
"Why, where is the horse and wagon?" cried Matt, as he discovered that the turn-out was missing from the place where Billy had been fastened.
"Well, that's what I would like to know," returned Andy. "I don't see a thing of it anywhere, do you?"
They looked around, up one street and down another, but neither Billy nor the gayly-painted wagon came into view.
"I'll ask the freight agent about it," said Matt, and he hurried into the office.
"Your horse and wagon?" repeated the agent, in reply to his question. "Why, I guess your man drove off with them."
"Our man?" gasped the young auctioneer.
"Yes; the one you sent around here to get those cases of goods you were expecting. He took the cases, too."