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[Illustration: LET GO OF THAT HORSE!--PAGE 144. Y. A.]
* * * * *
YOUNG AUCTIONEERS;
OR,
THE POLISHING OF A ROLLING STONE.
By EDWARD STRATEMEYER,
Author of "Bound to be an Electrician," "Shorthand Tom,"
"Fighting for his Own," etc., etc.
W. L. ALLISON COMPANY,
NEW YORK.
* * * * *
Popular Books for Boys and Girls.
Working Upward Series,
By EDWARD STRATEMEYER.
THE YOUNG AUCTIONEERS, or The Polishing of a Rolling Stone.
BOUND TO BE AN ELECTRICIAN, or Franklin Bell's Success.
SHORTHAND TOM THE REPORTER, or The Exploits of a Smart Boy.
FIGHTING FOR HIS OWN, or The Fortunes of a Young Artist.
Price, $1.00 per Volume, postpaid.
Bright and Bold Series,
By ARTHUR M. WINFIELD.
POOR BUT PLUCKY, or The Mystery of a Flood.
SCHOOL DAYS OF FRED HARLEY, or Rivals for All Honors.
BY PLUCK, NOT LUCK, or Dan Granbury's Struggle to Rise.
THE MISSING TIN BOX, or Hal Carson's Remarkable City Adventures.
Price, 75 Cents per Volume, postpaid.
Young Sportsman's Series,
By CAPTAIN RALPH BONEHILL.
THE RIVAL BICYCLISTS, or Fun and Adventures on the Wheel.
YOUNG OARSMEN OF LAKEVIEW, or The Mystery of Hermit Island.
LEO THE CIRCUS BOY, or Life Under the Great White Canvas.
Price, 75 Cents per Volume, postpaid.
Young Hunters Series,
By CAPTAIN RALPH BONEHILL.
GUN AND SLED, or The Young Hunters of Snow-Top Island.
YOUNG HUNTERS IN PORTO RICO, or The Search for a Lost Treasure.
(Another volume in preparation.)
Price, 75 Cents per Volume, postpaid.
W. L. ALLISON CO.,
105 Chambers Street, New York.
COPYRIGHT, 1897, BY W. L. ALLISON CO.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER. PAGE
I. Matt Attends a Sale 5
II. A Lively Discussion 12
III. Something of the Past 19
IV. An Interesting Proposition 26
V. Matt Is Discharged 33
VI. A Business Partnership 40
VII. Getting Ready to Start 47
VIII. An Unexpected Set-Back 53
IX. The Result of a Fire 60
X. On the Road at Last 68
XI. Harsh Treatment 77
XII. Matt Stands up for Himself 84
XIII. The Corn Salve Doctor 92
XIV. The Young Auctioneer 100
XV. The Charms of Music 108
XVI. The Confidence Man 116
XVII. The Storm 124
XVIII. A Hold Up 132
XIX. Out of a Bad Scrape 141
XX. Accused of Stealing 150
XXI. The Tell-Tale Cap 157
XXII. The Shanty in the Woods 165
XXIII. Something is Missing 173
XXIV. Along the River 181
XXV. A Bitter Mistake 189
XXVI. Something of a Surprise 197
XXVII. Timely Assistance 205
XXVIII. Back to the Village 213
XXIX. Undesirable Customers 220
XXX. A Dash from Danger 229
XXXI. Dangerous Mountain Travelling 238
XXXII. An Interesting Letter 245
XXXIII. The Rival Auctioneers 252
XXXIV. Matt Speaks His Mind 260
XXXV. Tom Inwold 268
XXXVI. Lost in the Snow 277
XXXVII. More of Auction Life 284
XXXVIII. A Surprising Discovery 291
XXXIX. A Mystery Cleared Up 298
XL. The Mining Shares 304
PREFACE.
"The Young Auctioneers" forms the initial volume of a line of juvenile
stories called "The Working Upward Series."
The tale is complete in itself, and tells of the adventures of a
homeless, although not a penniless youth, who strikes up an
acquaintanceship with another young fellow experienced as an
auctioneer. The two purchase a horse and wagon, stock up with goods,
and take to the road. The partners pass through a number of more or
less trying experiences, and the younger lad is continually on the
lookout for his father, who has broken out of an asylum while partly
deranged in mind over the loss of his wife and his fortune.
I have endeavored in this tale to give a faithful picture of life
among a certain class of traveling salesmen who are but little known
to the world at large, especially to those who inhabit our large
cities. In country places the traveling auctioneer is looked for as a
matter of course, and he is treated according to the humor of the
inhabitants, or rather, according to the merits or demerits of the
"bargains" offered on a previous trip.
I sincerely trust that my numerous boy readers will find the tale to
their liking, and that the moral--to lead an upright, honest life
under any and all circumstances--will not escape them.
EDWARD STRATEMEYER.
THE YOUNG AUCTIONEER.
CHAPTER I.
MATT ATTENDS A SALE.
"Now, ladies and gentlemen, what am I offered for this elegant vase,
imported direct from Italy, a most marvelous piece of workmanship,
worth every cent of twenty-five dollars? Who will start it at five
dollars? Start it at four? Start it at three? At two? At one dollar?
What is that--fifty cents? Rather low, lady, but as I said before,
these goods must be sold, regardless of the prices obtained. Fifty
cents, it is! Fifty--fifty! Who will make it one dollar?"
"Sixty!"
"What, only sixty? Well, well, well! Never mind, the goods must go,
and sixty cents is better than nothing. Sixty--sixty----"
"Seventy-five!"
"Eighty!"
"One dollar!"
"At last I am offered one dollar! Think of it! One dollar for a
beautiful vase such as might well adorn the home of a Gould, or a
Vanderbilt! But such is life. One dollar--one dollar----"
"One and a quarter!"
"One and a half!"
"One and a half is offered! Oh, what a shame, ladies and gentlemen; a
paltry dollar and a half for an article worth, at the very lowest
estimate, twenty-five dollars. Who makes it two dollars?"
"Two!"
"Two and a half!"
"Three!"
"Three and a quarter!"
"Three and a quar-- Ah, four dollars? Four dollars! Who says five?
Going at four--at four--at four. Four and a half--four and a
quarter--this is your last chance, remember. Did you say five, sir?
No? Well, four it is, then. Going--going--the last chance, ladies and
gentlemen! Going--going--gone, to the lady in the brown dress, Andrew,
for four dollars!"
The scene was a small store on Nassau street near Fulton street, in
New York City. Outside of the open doorway hung a red flag, indicative
of an auction sale. The single window of the place was crowded with
vases, imitation marble statues, plated tableware, and gorgeous lamps
of highly-polished metal.
Among these articles was a sign in black letters on white cardboard
bearing these words:
ROYAL CONSIGNMENT AUCTION CO.,
Sales Daily from 10 A.M. to 3 P.M.
Inside, toward the rear, there was a small raised platform, and upon
this stood the auctioneer, a tall, thin-faced man, with sharp black
eyes, and rather a squeaky voice. To one side was his assistant, a
much younger and much more pleasant-looking individual, who wrapped up
the articles sold and collected for them.
It was between twelve and one o'clock in the day, and the auction
store was crowded with business people, who, during their lunch-time,
had dropped in to see what was going on, and, possibly, make a
purchase. There were middle-aged business men, young clerks, and
several young ladies, and all appeared interested in the mild
excitement attending the disposal of the goods.
Among the young people present was a boy of fifteen, whose clothing,
although not of a fashionable cut, was, nevertheless, neat and clean.
He had dark curly hair, and his face was as honest in appearance as
it was fearless and handsome.
The youth was as much interested in the sale as though he was buying
half the articles auctioned off, although he had not enough in his
trousers pocket to even start bidding, for no bid of less than
twenty-five cents was recognized by the auctioneer in beginning a
sale.
The vase disposed of, the auctioneer's assistant brought forth from a
side shelf a piece of imitation marble statuary, representing three
doves bearing a wreath of flowers between them. The bit of bric-a-brac
looked quite nice, but as it was but imitation marble, it was not
worth more than two dollars, if as much.
"Now, here we have as fine a piece of Italian marble as was ever
brought to New York," began the auctioneer, holding up the piece in
question. "And the work upon it cannot to-day be excelled by any
sculptors on this side of the Atlantic. How beautiful are those three
doves, and how natural that wreath! Examine the piece for yourselves,
ladies and gentlemen. It is genuine Italian marble, and will not go to
pieces in your hands. There you are, sir."
The bit of statuary was handed to a gentleman who stood directly in
front of the auctioneer. He gave it a hasty glance and then started
to hand it back.
"Pass it through the crowd, please. I want every one to be convinced
of its quality before I attempt to sell it!" bawled the auctioneer,
and the gentleman handed it to the man next to him.
Thus started, the bit of bric-a-brac traveled from one hand to another
until it reached a heavy-set man with red mustache, who stood but a
couple of yards from the doorway.
"Humph!" muttered the man, as he turned over the article in contempt.
"I wouldn't give a dollar a cartload for them. Here you are!"
As he finished, he thrust the piece of bric-a-brac toward a young lady
who had just entered. She drew back in surprise, not knowing what his
action meant. The statuary left the man's hand, touched the young
lady's arm, and then fell to the floor with a crash, and was broken
into a dozen pieces.
The young lady uttered a slight shriek of surprise at the accident, and
instantly the crowd looked toward her, and then at the auctioneer.
"Here, who broke that?" demanded the auctioneer, in an entirely
different tone of voice, as he left his stand and hurried to the
spot.
"That young lady," replied a fellow who had not seen the movements of
the man with the red mustache.
"No! no! I did not do it!" cried the young lady, shrinking back. "I
did not touch the piece, sir."
"Well, but it's right at your feet, madam; you must have let it fall,"
said the auctioneer harshly.
"I did not, sir."
"Well, who did, then?"
"A man who ran out as soon as the statuary was broken."
"Oh, pshaw! It isn't likely a man would run away like that."
"The young lady speaks the truth, sir," put in the boy previously
mentioned. "The man shoved the statue toward her, and when she drew
back it slipped from his hand to the floor. She was not in the least
responsible."
"Thank you for that, Matt Lincoln," said the young lady, with a
grateful nod. "I shall not forget this service."
"Oh, that's all right, Miss Bartlett," returned the boy, blushing. "I
like to be of service to you."
"You evidently seem to know this young lady?" said the auctioneer,
turning to Matt Lincoln.
"I do; she is the stenographer at our office. That's how I came to
notice her when she came in."
"No wonder you try to shield her!" sneered the auctioneer. "But I
can't afford to let this matter pass. You will have to pay for the
damages done, madam. The cost price of that piece of bric-a-brac was
ten dollars, but I'll throw off two dollars and call it eight."