“I trust your husband succeeds in having them all locked up,” put in Matt, “for they richly deserve it.” And after a few words more with the farmer’s wife they passed on.
It was getting on toward noon when they finally arrived at Bethlehem, that pretty little town on the Lehigh River. They drove past several of the silk mills, and finally found a livery stable, at which Billy and the wagon were put up.
“It looks as if we might do some business here,” 236 said Andy, as they started for a restaurant for dinner. “Let us open up this afternoon if possible.”
“Shall we hire a store?”
“Let us try to sell from the wagon first.”
Immediately after dinner they procured a license and found a suitable corner. They did all in their power to attract a crowd, and finally, toward evening, when the working people were on their way home, succeeded in bringing quite an assemblage around them.
But, strange to say, they could not make a single sale, try their best. Both used up all their eloquence; Matt played on the banjo and mouth harmonica, and Andy told funny stories. It was no use; the crowd merely smiled or frowned, and then one after another drifted away.
“This is the worst luck yet,” whispered Andy to Matt. “I never dreamed that we would strike anything like this.”
A stout German who stood in the crowd saw the look of wonder and disappointment on Andy’s face, and he laughed heartily.
“You ton’t vos caught der same pirds twice alretty!” he chuckled to several bystanders.