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 telegraph 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."