Bound To Succeed Part 9

"All right, get into action."

Frank was proud and pleased as he hurried back home. He did not let the gra.s.s grow under his feet, but neither did he go off in a wild tangent that might disorder things. He was all business and system.

First, he reported to his mother. They decided to move at once. Then he sought out Nelson Cady, a close chum, and commissioned him to look after his evening paper route and other odd jobs he did daily. Frank decided he could save money by hiring home talent to do the moving of the salvage stuff. He was not much acquainted at Riverton. The teamsters there might be extortionate, as it was a double trip for the wagons.

Within an hour's time Frank had made an excellent bargain, and all interested were duly satisfied with the arrangement. An honest old negro named Eben Johnson, who carted ashes and other refuse for the town, was not doing much that especial day. He agreed to lease his two teams and one driver for twelve hours for seven dollars and the keep of man and horses.

Frank knew he could make no more economical arrangement than this. By eleven o'clock he was on the way to Riverton, acting himself as driver of one of the teams.

The driver of the other team was a good-natured though rather s.h.i.+ftless fellow, named Boyle. When they reached Riverton, Frank took him to a restaurant, gave him the best meal he had ever eaten, and made the fellow his friend for life. The horses were given a first cla.s.s feed and a good rest.

Frank found he had to handle eight immense packing cases and one zinc box. This latter was full of books and papers. These went to the purchaser, it seemed, along with the "good will" of the business.

The eight packing cases were tremendously heavy. A glance at their contents showed Frank a confused jumble. There were hammers and hatchets with their handles burned off, saws and chisels, blackened, and some of them burned out of shape by the fire. There were nails, tacks, hinges, keys, door k.n.o.bs, in fact a confusing ma.s.s of mixed hardware of every description.

Frank and his man could not handle four of the cases alone. The lad had to hire a couple of men to help them load these onto the wagons. As they got all ready to start for home, the custodian came up with a little wizened man with a Jewish cast of countenance, and introduced him as Mr.

Moss.

"There's a lot of junk not worth carting away over at the ruins,"

explained the custodian to Frank. "This man wants to buy it."

"All right," said Frank, "let him make an offer."

"Mein frient, two dollars would be highway robbery for dot oldt stuff,"

a.s.serted the junk dealer, with a characteristic shrug of his shoulders.

"Is that your offer, Mr. Moss?" asked Frank in a business-like tone.

"I vill gif it chust to spite oldt Isaacs, my combet.i.tor," declared Moss.

"Well, we will go and take a look at the stuff," said Frank.

"Mein frient, dot vos useless," insisted Moss. "Time ish monish. Tree tollars!"

"No," said Frank definitely. "I always calculate to know what I'm about."

He left the wagons, and accompanied by Moss soon reached the blackened ruins of the hardware store.

Just as they arrived there, a shrewd-faced little urchin approaching them halted, and gave both a keen look.

"Hoo!" he yelled--"I must tell vader!"

Moss threw his cane after the disappearing urchin, and looked perturbed and anxious.

"Dot vos de stuff," he explained, pointing out two cindery piles back of the ruins.

"Why," said Frank, poking in and out among the debris, "there is quite a heap of it."

"Ashes, mein frient, ashes," suavely observed the junk dealer.

"Not at all," retorted Frank. "Here is a stove, all but the top. Here are a lot of hoes and rakes, twisted a little, but not entirely worthless. Both heaps are nearly all solid metal. There must be over a ton of iron here."

"Four tollars--I tell you vot I do: four tollars," said Moss fervently.

Frank shook his head and continued to look calculatingly at the blackened heaps.

"Five tollars," spoke Moss with sudden unction. "Mein tear younug frient--cash. Say nodings. Dere vos de monish."

But Frank looked resolutely away from the bank note tendered as a near shout rang out.

A stout, clumsy man had come lumbering around the corner at his best gait, in a frantic state of excitement.

He was in his s.h.i.+rt sleeves, drenched with perspiration and waving his arms wildly. Beside him ran the urchin Frank had before noticed. It was apparent that he had succeeded in satisfying his father that a sale of the fire debris was on.

"Mishter, Mishter," he called, "it is Ezekiels Isaacs. I vill puy de goods. How mooch is offered?"

"Five dollars so far," repeated Frank tranquilly.

"Six," instantly bolted out the newcomer.

"Seven!" snarled Moss.

"Ten tollars," p.r.o.nounced the other, pulling out a fat pocketbook.

"Gentlemen," said Frank. "I have made up my mind. You must start your real bids at double that, or I cannot entertain an offer."

"Yesh," cried Moss eagerly--"twenty tollars."

"Und a kee-varter!" howled his rival.

"Un a hal-luf!"

"Tage it!" roared Moss, waving his cane in impotent rage, and turned away disgusted.

"Of course you gif me four per cent. discount for cash?" demanded the successful bidder.

"Of course I shall not," dissented Frank. "Shall I call back Mr. Moss?

No? Thanks,--that is correct, twenty dollars and fifty cents. Here is a receipt."

Frank felt that he had closed an exceptionally good sale. Within half-an-hour the wagons were started on their way for Greenville.

CHAPTER VIII

A STEP FORWARD