to spend for both turnout and stock.
“Three hundred dollars,” repeated Andrew Dilks. “If that’s the case, we can’t do business with you.”
“Dot’s too pad. How much you gif, hey?”
“We will give you a hundred and seventy-five.”
At this announcement the German baker held up his hands in horror, and muttered a number of ejaculations in his native tongue.
“Make it two hundred and seventy-five,” he said.
“We can’t do it.”
“Den take der turnout for two hundred and fifty.”
“No, we can’t do it,” said Matt, and with a wink to Andrew Dilks, he pulled his companion toward the stable doors.
“Hold up!” shouted the baker, in alarm. “Don’t go yet, chentlemen. Make dot figure two hundred and twenty-five, and it vos more as tog cheap at dot.”
“Perhaps it is, but we can’t afford to pay it.”
“If I could haf der dime to sell, I vos got more as dot, chentlemen.”
“Perhaps so,” returned Matt. “But you haven’t got to accept our offer, you know. We’ll look around for something cheaper.”
“You vill bay cash on der spot?”
“Yes; but you must give us a free and clear bill of sale.”
“I vos do dot. Make it chust two hundred dollar.”
But Andrew Dilks had set his mind on getting a further reduction, and at last the bargain was settled, and they paid over a hundred and ninety dollars for the turnout, leaving them still ten dollars to expend upon rubber blankets and other necessary articles.
The purchase completed, they made arrangements with the boarding-stable keeper to keep the horse and wagon for them until the following Monday morning. In the meantime they procured some paint, and painted over the baker’s signs on the wagon, and then Andrew, who was a fair letterer, painted on each side of the wagon-cover the following:
“There, that ought to attract attention wherever we go,” said Andrew when the job was finished. “The word company makes it sound big, and we can call ourselves a company as well as not.”
On Friday and Saturday the two made a tour of the wholesale houses in New York, and Andrew expended the fifty dollars as judiciously as possible in the purchase of goods. As business was rather slow, and ready money scarce, he struck several decided bargains, especially in cutlery and musical instruments. He had all of the goods sent up to the stable, and the two worked until ten o’clock Saturday night stowing away all of the stock in their wagon.
“Now, we are all ready for the start on Monday morning,” said Andrew as the two walked away from the stable.
“Yes, but we haven’t decided where we shall go first yet,” returned Matt.
“Let us leave that until the last minute. We know about where we are going, and it doesn’t make much difference what villages we strike so long as we do the business.”
Sunday passed quickly enough for Matt. He attended church and the Sunday-school into which Ida Bartlett had introduced him, and in the evening he packed his valise with all of his worldly possessions. Ida Bartlett also came over to bid him good-by, and remained to give him such advice as he might have received from an elder sister.
Matt had arranged to meet Andrew at the stable at six o’clock sharp, and quarter of an hour before the appointed time found him on his way to the place, valise in hand.
“I’ll show Andrew that I mean to be on time,” he thought to himself, as he turned into the street upon which the stable was situated.
Suddenly he saw a crowd running up from the block below. There were at least a dozen men and boys, some of whom were shouting at the top of their lungs:
“Fire! fire!”
“Fire!” repeated Matt quickly. “I wonder where it can be?”
But hardly had he uttered the words than, happening to glance toward the stable in which their turnout was located, he saw a thick volume of smoke come pouring out of several of the upper windows.
“My gracious!” he gasped, his face blanching. “It’s that stable, and our horse and wagon with the stock still inside!”
“That place is doomed!” said a man beside Matt. “See how the fire is gaining headway! They won’t be able to save a single horse or anything else!”
CHAPTER IX.
THE RESULT OF A FIRE
It was no wonder that Matt’s heart was filled with dismay when he saw the stable which contained the auction outfit being thus rapidly devoured by the flames. Almost every cent he possessed was invested in the horse, wagon and stock, and if they were consumed he would be left in New York City next to penniless.
Close to where he was standing was a grocery store, and rushing into this he threw his valise on the counter.
“Keep this for me, please!” he cried to the proprietor. “I want to try to save my horse and wagon!”
And before the grocer could reply he was out of the store again, and running toward the burning stable as fast as his feet could carry him.
When he reached the front of the building, which was three stories high, and quite broad and deep, he found an excited mob of stable-hands, cab-drivers and tradespeople assembled, each trying to get inside to save his belongings.
The owner of the stable was also present, having just arrived, and was directing, or trying to direct, the movements of the highly excited ones.
“Go into the alley on the left!” he shouted. “You can get more out of the side doors. The smoke is blowing too thickly out here!”
A rush was made for the alley and Matt got into the midst of the crowd. The side doors, to which the owner of the stable had referred, were found to be securely bolted from the inside.
“Get some axes!”
“Get a log and smash in the doors!”
“Never mind that!” yelled Matt. “I’ll climb through one of the windows and open the door!”
“Good for the boy!”
“Give me a boost up, somebody!”
Half a dozen willing hands raised Matt’s form to one of the small side windows, and an instant later the boy’s form disappeared within the smoke-laden building.
“He can’t stand it in there!”
“He’ll be smothered to death!”
Once inside, Matt found it advisable to crouch low down to the floor, for the smoke did, indeed, almost smother him. He could see but little, and had to feel his way out of a stall, and across the floor to where the doors he wished to open were located.
