Young Auctioneers: or, The Polishing of a Rolling Stone. Stratemeyer Edward

the blacksmith’s face fell. Evidently he had not anticipated that a mere boy would take such a decided stand.

      “Yes, but that colored man – ” he began, more mildly.

      “If there was a colored man in the case, you can explain matters to suit yourself. As for me, I believe you caught the horse yourself and wanted to do what you could to keep him.”

      “How dare you!” cried the blacksmith, with a threatening gesture. “Do you take me for a thief?”

      “Never mind what I take you for. That is my horse, and I am going to take him away.”

      And undaunted by the blacksmith’s manner, Matt marched out into the yard, and untied Billy, who was covered with sweat, and still trembling from fright.

      “It’s playing a bold game you are,” grumbled the man of the anvil, as the boy led the horse through the blacksmith-shop toward the front door. “I reckon you think you are mighty smart.”

      “One has to be smart to deal with such a man as you!” retorted Matt. “Had you done the fair thing at the start, I might have rewarded you for stopping the horse, but as it is, I don’t believe you deserve a cent.”

      And with this parting shot, which, by the way was fully deserved by the dishonest blacksmith, Matt sprang upon Billy’s back and rode off.

      When the boy reached the alleyway again he found that the fire department had gotten the fire under control, and that much of the crowd of people had gone on about their business. In the space around the wagon several cabmen were busy getting out their horses and cabs, all thankful that their turnouts and animals had not been consumed by the conflagration, which had all but leveled the great stable to the ground.

      Andy was seated on the wagon, anxiously awaiting his return. While the two harnessed Billy into place, Matt told his partner of the trouble he had experienced.

      “That blacksmith meant to bluff you off and keep the horse,” said the auctioneer. “If you hadn’t come back soon I would have gone off after you.”

      “Is the wagon damaged?” questioned Matt anxiously.

      “Not in the slightest. I have examined everything carefully. And the stock is O. K. too. We can start off just as if nothing had happened.”

      “But we haven’t decided yet as to just where we are to go,” returned the boy.

      “Oh, that reminds me!” cried Andy. “I meant to tell you before, but the fire drove it clean out of my head. I saw a fellow yesterday who is going to strike out up through Harlem to-morrow. He was going to take the very route I had thought out. So I was going to propose that we take the ferry over to Jersey City, and strike out through New Jersey first.”

      “Well, one way will suit me just as well as another,” returned Matt. “So New Jersey it is.”

      In less than five minutes later they were ready to start. The owner of the stable, nearly distracted over his loss, was around, and into his hand they thrust the money they owed him. Then Matt procured his valise, and without waiting to be questioned by the police and the firemen any more than was necessary, they drove off.

      “Not a very favorable start,” was Andy’s comment, as the scene of the conflagration was left behind. “But they say ‘a bad beginning makes a good ending,’ so we ought not to lose heart.”

      “Lose heart!” cried Matt lightly. “No, indeed! I am thankful we are able to start, even though we do look like a couple of tramps,” he added with a grin.

      “We’ll take a wash-up when we are across the ferry. We’ll have lots of time, for we won’t be able to do any business to-day. We must get at least twenty or thirty miles from New York before we attempt to open up.”

      The drive down to Cortlandt street ferry was an uneventful one through the crowded streets. A boat had just come in when they reached the ferry-house, and after paying the fare, they drove upon this, and were soon on their way to the New Jersey shore.

      “Do you know the road?” asked Matt, as they tied up upon an open street on the other side, and went into the great ferry-house to wash and brush up.

      “I know the roads through Newark and Elizabeth,” returned Andrew Dilks. “I think we had better strike along the New Jersey Central Railroad as far as Bound Brook or Somerville, and then strike through Flemington, and across to the Delaware River, and so on into Pennsylvania.”

      “That suits me,” returned Matt.

      It was exactly half-past ten o’clock when they left the vicinity of the ferry in Jersey City, and moved off toward the old plank road, so called, which leads to Newark, five miles distant. Both were in excellent spirits, despite the thrilling experience through which they had passed.

      “I have here a list of all the articles we have in stock,” said Andy, as he set Billy on a brisk trot. “You had better study it. The prices are also put down, and of course, we never will auction a thing off for less, unless it is unsalable otherwise and we wish to dispose of it.”

      “But supposing a thing is put up and people won’t bid above a certain figure?”

      “We will buy it in ourselves, or get some one to bid for us, or else refuse to take a bid under a certain sum.”

      Matt took the sheet of paper, and resting on the box in the back of the wagon, began to study it carefully, and so absorbed did he become that he did not notice when Newark was reached, and was only aroused when Andy drew up in front of a restaurant and asked him if he did not feel like having some dinner.

      “You can just bet I do!” exclaimed Matt. “The fire and the drive have made me as hungry as a bear.”

      The restaurant was not a very large place, and but few customers were present. They ordered what they wished, and it was soon brought to them.

      “I didn’t want to go to one of those high-toned places where they charge big prices,” observed Andy, as he began to fall to. “We can’t afford to cut a spread until we see how our venture is going to pan out.”

      “You are right there,” returned Matt. “As it is, I think our supply of cash is getting mighty low.”

      “I notice the knives and forks are rather rusty here,” went on Andy. “I wonder if I can’t sell the proprietor some table cutlery. We have some on board that is both cheap and good.”

      “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,”