“Pretty good business, ain’t it?” went on the stranger, without answering the question which had been put.
“Sometimes it is.”
“I reckon there’s a heap of money in it,” proceeded the shabby stranger.
“Well, we are not yet millionaires,” put in Andy, with a pleasant laugh.
“I know a feller what made a pile of money in the auction business,” remarked the man as he ejected a quantity of tobacco juice from his mouth. “He was a rip-snorter at it, though—could talk a table into walking off—and keep it up all day and half the night.”
To this statement Matt and Andy made no reply. 95 Neither liked the looks of the newcomer, and both wished he would go away.
“Say, you don’t want to take a fellow in, do you?” asked the man, after a slight pause, as he came close beside Matt, who was nearest to him.
“No, we haven’t any work for an outsider,” returned the boy.
“I’m a rustler when I get a-going, let me tell you. I can tell stories and sing and sell more goods than any one has any idea of. Besides that, I’ve got a new corn salve I put up myself which goes like hot cakes. Barberry’s Lightning Salve, I call it—my name is Paul Barberry, you know—Dr. Barberry, most of ’em call me. Say the word, and I’ll go with you and put up my salve against your outfit, and we’ll share and share alike.”
“As I said before, we have no room for an outsider,” returned Matt, while Andy nodded approvingly. “The wagon seat only holds two, and besides, our plans are all completed for our trip.”