“What sort of goods are they?” I asked, at once alive to the possibility which might lurk behind the name.
“Notions and ready-made clothing,” he answered. “I believe there is some good stuff in it, too; but the whole lot is out of date, and part of it damaged.”
“All right; I’ll go along with you and help you. Just now I’ve nothing to do.”
“But what have you been doing, and how are you off for coin? You have hardly made a fortune in soap-foam signs.”
I explained briefly then, and afterwards at greater length.
We took the train together that evening, and I told him my little experiences since we parted. The next day we hunted up the stock, which he told me had been valued as low as nine hundred dollars, but which, when opened out, made quite a respectable showing. We also rented a large, vacant store-room. I told him the people didn’t know me, and consequently would not know the goods, and I was confident there could be good money made selling them off at auction. As he had very little money, I advanced what was necessary, and proposed to act as auctioneer myself.
“All right,” he answered, “let it go at that. If we make even a couple of hundred dollars out of it I will be satisfied—so it is cash.”
“If we can sell anything at all we surely can get that,” I assured him.
Mr. Carlysle was a trifle dubious about my abilities, but my late little experiences had helped me wonderfully, and given me thorough confidence. I thought, moreover, of a dodge which, no matter what the line, has always worked. I assumed as youthful an appearance as possible and he had me advertised all over town as “The boy auctioneer.” That brought the people out in swarms, and when I saw the crowd we had succeeded in gathering I knew we had ‘em. Carlysle had given me a thorough coaching in private, and I felt that there was no danger of being at a loss for something to say. When I began I confess I was a trifle nervous from stage fright, but after selling a few minor articles I was all right and ready to start in full swing. If there is anything the boy from a farm has heard it is the patter of an auctioneer. I had listened to it a hundred times, and I went on something like this:
“Gentlemen, you all know I am no resident merchant, and before I get fairly into this sale I wish to make an explanation.