"RIP" TRIES OUT HIS BARGAIN
Had a meaner trick ever been played on boys with whom it was so
hard to raise money?
"Ha, ha, ha!" chuckled Fred Ripley, so loudly that the dismayed,
angry boys could not fail to hear him.
"You sneak! You knew it all the time!" flared Dave Darrin, gazing
down in disgust at the lawyer's son.
"Maybe I did know," Fred admitted, yet speaking to Mr. Dodge.
"You see, one of my father's clerks served the papers which attached
the show."
There was no help for Dick & Co. They had parted with their money
and their "property" had been turned over to them.
It is an ancient principle of law that the buyer must beware.
The auctioneer had been most careful not to represent the canoe
as being fit for service. He had offered it as an historical
curiosity!
Dick & Co. looked at the canoe anxiously.
"What shall we do with it?" asked Dave Darrin moodily.
"Make a bonfire of it?" asked Danny Grin.
"Might as well," Greg nodded.
"No, sir!" Dick interrupted. "Tom, what do you say? You're one
of the really handy boys. Can't this canoe be patched up, mended
and put in commission?"
"It might be done," Tom answered slowly.
The other five stood regarding him with eager interest.
"But we'd have to get an Indian here to show us how to do it."
"Where are the Indians that were here with the show?" asked Harry
Hazelton.
"They went away as soon as the show was attached," Dick answered.
"Probably they're hundreds of miles from here now. They were
only hired out to the show by their white manager, and they've
gone to another job. Besides, they were only show Indians,
and probably they've forgotten all they ever knew about
canoe-building---if they ever did know anything."
"Then I don't see but that we're just as badly off as ever," sighed
Greg. "We're out eighteen dollars and the fine canoe that we
expected would provide us with so much fun."
"The paddles look all right, anyway," spoke up Harry Hazelton,
lifting one out of the canoe and looking it over critically.
"Oh, yes, the paddles are all right, and the river is close at
hand," spoke Dave Darrin vengefully. "All we need is a canoe
that will float."
"If it were a cedar canoe we might patch it easily enough," Prescott
declared. "But I've heard that there is so much 'science' to
making or mending a birch bark canoe that an amateur always makes
the job worse."
"Haw, haw, haw!" came boisterously from Fred Ripley. He and Mr.
Dodge were now standing before the table of the auctioneer's clerk.
Fred was paying down the remaining twenty-six dollars on the
price he had bid for the handsome chestnut pony.
"Yes, you're laughing at us, you contemptible Rip!" scowled Dave,
though he spoke under his breath. "You can afford to lose money,
for you always know where to get more. You knew this canoe was
worthless, and you deliberately bid it up on us---you scoundrel!"
"Shall we make Colonel Grundy a present of this canoe?" suggested
Danny Grin dolefully.
"The poor old man hasn't money enough to get the canoe away from
here, even if he wanted to," replied Dick, in a voice of sympathy.
"But how did the show folks manage to use this canoe?" asked Tom
Reade.
"They didn't, except on a truck in a street parade, I imagine,"
Dick replied. "And that must be how the holes came to be in the
bottom. The sun got in its work on the bark and oil, and blistered
the body of the canoe so that it broke or wore away in spots.
Oh, dear!"
The sale was over, but a few odds and ends remained. Fred Ripley,
having now paid the whole of his forty-one dollars through Mr.
Dodge, ordered his handsome new purchase led out.
A man came out, holding the pony's halter. He walked slowly,
the pony moving contentedly after him.
"A fine little animal!" glowed Fred, stroking the glossy coat.
"He---er---looks rather old, doesn't he?" ventured Mr. Dodge.
"Not so very old," Fred answered airily. "There is a lot of life
and vim left in this little fellow. And he can show speed, too,
or I'm all wrong."
Then Fred's eye roved toward the pile of stuff on which no one
had bid.
"There's a good saddle," suggested Ripley. "The real western
kind," nodded the auctioneer.
It looked the part.
"I'll give you two dollars for the saddle," Fred offered.
"You'll pay ten if you get that saddle," replied the red-faced
auctioneer.
"Put it up and let us see how the bids will run," proposed Ripley.
"The sale is closed. Anything that is sold now will go at private
sale," retorted the auctioneer.
"Oh, come now!" protested Ripley. "I'd like to trade with you."
"You can, if you produce the price. At least, your friend can.
I can't deal with you, for you're a minor."
Fred tried vainly to persuade the auctioneer to lower the price
of the saddle, but finally concluded to pay ten dollars for it
and two dollars for a bridle. A worn saddle cloth was "thrown
in" for good measure. Ripley handed the money to the auctioneer's
clerk.
"Saddle up," directed Fred, tossing a quarter to the man who held
the pony's bridle.
Though flushed with his bargain, Fred was also feeling rather
solemn. He had parted with nearly all of the sixty dollars his
father had handed him that morning as his summer's spending money.
He was beginning to wonder if his pony would really take the
place of all the fun he had planned for his summer vacation.
"Here is your mount, sir," called the man who had done the saddling.
"Now, let's see what kind of a horseman you are."
"As good as you'll find around Gridley," declared Fred complacently.
Putting a foot into the left stirrup, he vaulted lightly to the
animal's back.
"He has a treasure, and we're stung," muttered Dave Darrin in
a low voice. "Those that have plenty of money and can afford
to lose don't often lose!"
Before starting off Fred, glancing over at Dick & Co. standing
dolefully on the truck, brayed insolently:
"Haw, haw, haw!"
Dave clenched his fists, but knew that he could do nothing without
making himself ridiculous.
"Get up, Prince!" ordered young Ripley, bringing one hand smartly
against the animal's flank.
"He's going to call his pony 'Prince,'" whispered Danny Grin.
"It looks like an appropriate name," nodded Dick wistfully.
For some reason the pony didn't seem inclined to start. Fred
dug his heels against the animal's side and moved away at a walk.
"A-a-a-ah!" murmured a crowd of small boys enviously.
"Now, show a little speed, Prince," ordered Fred, digging his
heels in hard.
The pony broke into a trot. Someone passed Ripley a switch, with
which he dealt his animal a stinging blow. Away went pony and
rider at a slow canter.
"Fine gait this little fellow has," exulted Fred, while cheers
went up from the small boys.
Suddenly the animal slowed down to a walk. Fred applied two sharp
cuts with the switch, again starting his mount. Fred turned
and came cantering back toward the group, feeling mightily proud
of himself.
Suddenly the pony stopped, trembling in every limb.
"Get off, young man!" called someone. "Your pony is going to
fall!"
Fred got off, feeling rather peculiar. He wished that the six
fellow high school boys over on the truck would move off.
Mr. Dodge hurried over to the young man, looking very much concerned.
"Fred," murmured the banker, "for all his fine looks I'm afraid
there is something wrong with your pony."
"What is it?" asked Fred, looking, as he felt, vastly troubled.
At that moment an automobile stopped out in the road.
"Beg your pardon, Mr. Dodge," called the chauffeur, "but are you
going to want me soon?"
"I want you at once," called back the banker, adding in a lower
voice to Fred:
"Flannery, my new chauffeur, was a coachman for many years. He's
a fine judge of horseflesh."
Flannery came up, an inquiring look on his face.
"I want you to look this pony over and tell me just what you think
of him," directed the banker.
Flannery went over the pony's "lines" with the air of an expert,
as, indeed, he was.
"Fine-looking little beast," said Flannery. "He has been well
fed and groomed."
Then he looked into the pony's mouth, examining the teeth with
great care.
"Used to be a nice animal once," decided Flannery, "but he was
that a long time ago. He's about twenty-five or twenty-six years
old."
"_What_!" exploded young Ripley, growing very red in the face.
"Thinking of buying him, sir?" asked the chauffeur respectfully."
"I've already bought him," confessed Fred ruefully.
Flannery whistled softly. Then he took the pony by the bridle,
dragging him along over the ground at a trot, the crowd making
way for him.
"Wind-broken," announced the ex-coachman, leading the trembling
animal back. "Bad case, too."
"A veterinary can cure that," Fred declared, speaking more airily
than his feelings warranted.
"Hm!" replied Flannery dryly. "You find the veterinary, Master
Fred, and I'll show the gentleman how to make his fortune if he
can cure wind-broken horses."
"Then what good is the pony?" demanded Fred in exasperation.
"Well, the hide ought to fetch three dollars, and there are a
good many pounds of soap fat in him," replied Flannery slowly.
"And is that all the good there is in this pony?" cried Ripley.
He felt like screaming.
"It's all the good I can see in him, sir," replied Flannery.
"Then I won't take this pony," young Ripley declared, flushing
hotly. "It's a downright swindle. Here, my man, hand my money
back and take your old soap box."
"Not to-day," declared the auctioneer briefly. He and his clerk
were now preparing to depart.
"You'd better!" warned Fred.
"I won't."
"Then I'll have you arrested."
"Try it."
"Run and get a policeman," Fred ordered, turning to a crowd of
small boys.
"All right," smiled the auctioneer. "If you'll be quick about
it I'll wait for your policeman."
But Mr. Dodge, who had shaken his head toward three boys who had
shown signs of being willing to run for a policeman, now led young
Ripley to one side.
"No use making any fuss about it, I'm afraid, Fred. You saw the
pony when it was offered for sale, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"And you didn't ask to have him run? You didn't demand the privilege
of trying him yourself?"
"No, sir."
"What representations did the auctioneer make about the pony?"
pressed Mr. Dodge.
"Why, he said the pony was a fine-looking animal-----"
"And that's no lie," responded Mr. Dodge gravely. "What else?"
"That's the only representation that I did make," broke in the
auctioneer, who had strolled slowly over to them. "I also said
that the pony showed all of his good points."
"I'm afraid you'll have to swallow your loss, Fred," suggested
the banker. "I'm sorry that I had even an innocent part in this
trade."
"Trade?" screamed Fred, now losing all control of himself. "It
wasn't a trade at all! It's piracy! It's highway robbery! It
was a barefaced swindle, and this swindler"
Fred glared at the auctioneer.
"Go slowly, young man," advised the salesman of the afternoon.
"You're a swindler, and a mean one, taking downright advantage
of other folks," stormed young Ripley. "But you won't get away
with this swindle. My father is a lawyer---the best lawyer in
the place---and he'll give you good reason to shiver!"
"All right, young man. Send your father after me---if he'll take
the case. But I'm going down to see him, anyway, for I must give
him an accounting of the money taken in this afternoon. Come
along, Edson," to his clerk.
Very red in the face, Fred Ripley stood with his fists clenched,
trying to avoid the eyes of the many grinning men and boys gathered
around him.
Dick & Co. had gotten down from the truck. They did not join
in the fun-making at the enemy's expense, though naturally they
did not feel very sorry for young Ripley.
"Will you ride your pony home, sir?" asked the man who had done
the saddling.
"No," said Fred shortly. He felt tempted to tell the man to lead
the worthless animal away and shoot it. Then he changed his mind.
"Take this half dollar," he said, "and take the pony down and
leave it in our stable."
For another thought had just occurred to Fred Ripley. If he
kept a close mouth, and watched his chance, he hoped that he
might yet be able to make some sort of "trade" with the pony
as an asset.