"What'll we auction off?" I asked Mark.
"That," says he, "is what we've g-got to find out."
"Let's auction everything," says Binney.
Mark just looked at him. It was enough. You could see how disgusted he
was, and I can tell you Binney kept pretty quiet after that.
"We'll auction old stuff," says Mark. "There's l-l-lots of things here
nobody could sell any other way. Whatever we get out of them 'll be
clear gain."
So we went to rummaging, and the mess of things we found was enough to
make you blink. We took all the rest of the day for that. Next morning
Mark had us clean tables up in front. About eleven o'clock we got that
part pretty well done.
"Now," says Mark, "we got to advertise."
"How?" says I. "We hain't got money to spend in the paper, and,
besides, it don't come out till the auction's over."
"L-lots of ways," says Mark. "Binney, can you get your pa's horse?"
"I guess so," says Binney.
"And the spring wagon?"
"Sure."
"All right, then. Now come on."
He led us to the storeroom back of the Bazar and set us to work making
a frame. This didn't take long. The frame was shaped like a tent. When
it was done we tacked some white cloth on the sides so it was tight and
smooth, and Mark got the lampblack and the brush and began to paint
signs on it. He could make letters as good as a regular sign-painter,
too, and that fast you wouldn't believe it. The same sign was on both
sides of the tent. It said:
GRAND AUCTION SALE
Anything You Want For What You Want To Pay For It
AT
SMALLEY'S BAZAR
Monday, September 30
MARK TIDD, Auctioneer
"Now," says Mark, "f-fetch down your horse and wagon, Binney. We'll set
this sign on the wagon. You can drive, and Tallow 'll sit inside and
bang on this drum."
"Where'll we go?"
"Out in the c-country this afternoon. To-morrow you'll ride around
town."
As soon as they had their dinner they started off, and Mark and I were
left in the store.
"F-first thing's to fix the windows," says he.
We picked out the showiest things and put them where folks could see
them--and there was everything from a patent churn to a toy duck that
waggled its head. One window was like that--just everything put in so
folks could get an idea what was going to be sold. The other window
Mark fixed up like a town. He used a lot of toys to do it, but we had a
lot to do it with. When we were through it was a regular sight, and
I'll bet nobody in Wicksville ever saw anything like it before. There
were streets and houses and horses and wagons driving along, and a
train coming into the depot, and a band playing in the square, and a
fire-engine going to a fire that Mark fixed in a house with yellow
paper for flames. It looked pretty real. There were churches and
stores, and folks shopping, and kids playing. It was pretty fine.
Next Mark made some more signs--one great big one to stretch across the
front of the store, and others on stiff paper to tack upon fences
around town. We were to do that after we closed up at night.
All this time we didn't see a thing of Jehoshaphat P. Skip, but we
found out he'd gone to the city about some of his stock that was slow
coming. We were just as glad, because he'd be more surprised than
anybody when he saw what we were up to.
"Bet Mr. Skip 'll most strangle all the way down his neck," I says,
"when he sees what's goin' on."
Mark's little eyes got bright and twinkly, but he didn't say a word.
Next day was Friday, and we spent that arranging stock. Mark had tables
moved to the middle of the store, and we covered them with all sorts of
things. This wasn't for the auction, but for regular business. The
first table was a five-cent one, the next was a ten-cent one, and so
on. You didn't have to ask the price of a thing. That made it handy for
us and for customers.
"L-lots of folks'll buy things they hain't got any use for," says Mark,
"just because they look cheap."
"Shouldn't think so," says I.
"Wait," says he. "Let 'em rummage around and see things all marked
plain. Right off they'll b-begin wantin' things. And they'll buy. You
see."
And I did see, Saturday. Those signs and windows got folks all riled up
with curiosity, and they began droppin' in to see what kind of a mess
we were making of it. Everybody acted like they thought it was a big
joke for Mark and us to be keeping store, but we didn't care. Mark said
that was a good thing, because good-natured folks buy more than folks
that don't think they've got something to laugh at.
We had more folks in the store that day than we ever had before, I
believe, unless maybe nights before Christmas. We let them joke us all
they wanted and didn't try to sell them things. What we wanted them to
do was walk around and sell things to themselves. That was Mark's idea.
You haven't any idea how people like to poke around by themselves and
stick their noses into things. They right down enjoy it. The more they
poked the more they bought. It kept Mark and me busy, and we wished a
lot of times that Binney and Tallow were there to help us. But we did
the best we could, and they were there after supper, of course. We kept
open till ten o'clock, and anybody'd have thought we were running a
free show to see how the place was jammed.
Mark got the idea of setting a phonograph going, and we had music all
the while.
Along about nine o'clock we saw Mr. Long Neck come pussy-footing in. He
stood in the door a minute and scowled and then walked all around slow,
and slinking, to see what we were doing and how we were doing it. Mark
said to let on we didn't know him, and then went up to him like he
thought he was a customer, and says:
"Anythin' s-s-special you was lookin' for, sir?"
Mr. Skip was like to have swelled up so he cracked his long neck right
there, and the way he woggled his nose back and forth was enough to
have put it out of joint.
"You're a-havin' that auction Monday just to interfere with my Grand
Openin'," he says, savage-like.
"Was you havin' a Grand Openin', Monday?" asks Mark, innocent as could
be.
"You know I be," says Mr. Skip.
"N-now hain't that too bad!" says Mark, still looking as serious as a
wall-eyed pike. "I hope it won't draw away from your crowd any."
"You better mark my word, young feller," says Mr. Long Neck, "and put
it off. I won't have no interferin' with my plans."
"Um!" says Mark.
"And these here five-and-ten-cent tables," says Mr. Skip. "You got to
do away with 'em."
"We're doin' away with 'em now," says Mark, with just the beginning of
a grin, and he pointed at the tables that were surrounded by folks like
flies on a lump of sugar. "Don't look like there'd be much l-left, does
it?"
"You're a young smart Alec," says Mr. Skip, and then he hurried out
like he was afraid he'd burn up if he stayed.
Mark turned and winked at me.
Everybody was interested in the auction and we were answering questions
about it all day. You could see folks picking out things they figured
on bidding for and making memorandums of them, and that pleased us a
good deal and made me feel a whole heap better about our chances of
making a showing against Mr. Skip.
When everybody was gone we counted the money we had taken in, and it
was a hundred and sixty-two dollars and ninety-five cents. Once I heard
pa say a hundred and forty-five was the biggest day he ever had. I tell
you we were tickled. And the best of it was everything we sold was at
regular prices. Yes, sir. We didn't reduce a cent.
Before we left the store I wrote mother a long letter and told her
about it all and bragged considerable, and let on I guessed we were
going to get as rich as Mark Tidd's father had out of the
turbine-engine he invented. Then we all signed it and sent it off. I
was pretty proud, but when you come to think of it, there wasn't
anything for _me_ to be very stuck up about. Mark was the fellow who
had a right to think he was some pumpkins, but he didn't act like he'd
done anything out of the ordinary. That was the way with him. If he was
to be elected President of the United States to-morrow, it wouldn't
even make him blink. He'd just go ahead and _be_ President like he was
used to it all his life. Sometimes it made me mad to see how cool he
took things. But he says you can think a lot better when you're
calm-like than you can when you're all het up and flabbergasted. I
guess he's right about it, too.