Lillian Roy - Polly in New York

Eleanor almost fainted at such a dreadful sacrifice, and would have stood up to offer him the hundred, had not a man in the rear called out “Fifty.”

“Ah, that is better – thank you. Now, fifty, fifty, fifty – who says seventy-five? I want seventy-five – fifty, fifty, fifty, fif – fif-tee, tee, t-e-e – what, no one here willing to pay more than fifty dollars for this bee-u – utiful bit of antique mahogany? Fif-fif-fif – Ah!”

Eleanor swallowed hard, half-stood up, and the auctioneer caught her eye at last. He smiled, acknowledged her expression, and now called:

“Seventy-five! I now have seventy-five, seven, seven, sev-sev-seventy – seventy-fi-ifvvve! I have seventy-five dollars for this wonderful mahogany bed that is really worth seven hundred dollars in any store to-day. And I only have seventy-five dollars bid. Seven-tee – ”

Again Eleanor half-stood up and this time she managed to say “One hundred, please!”

“Thank you, young lady – you certainly understand fine furniture. I am now offered one hundred dollars by one who knows the value of this bed – one hundred, one hundred – hundred – one, h-u-ndred dollars offered – who will give a hundred and ten – only ten more gets it?”

Polly was so amazed when Eleanor said “One hundred dollars” that she giggled hysterically; but not wishing to have her friend brag how “she bid at this auction and her friends were too shy,” Polly looked anxiously at the auctioneer. He saw that look and understood.

“Don’t hesitate, young lady. You know ‘he who hesitates is lost’ – in this case, loses a great bargain. If you wish to bid, never fear competing with a friend. In this business there are no friends – all men are strangers. Shall I say one hundred and ten for you?”

Polly nodded eagerly and smiled broadly at Eleanor. The two girls were so delighted with themselves at daring to speak out so bravely in a city like New York that they failed to realize the auctioneer had knocked down the bed to Polly.

“This young lady in front. I must say she appreciates fine furniture!” declared the suave auctioneer to everyone in general.

“W-h-y, Pol – le-ee! Is that your bed?” gasped Mrs. Stewart.

“I’m sure I don’t know. Is it, Nolla?” laughed Polly.

Just then a brusque voice said: “Name and address please – and twenty-five per cent deposit money.” The girls looked up in bewilderment. Who was the man?

He seemed to read their thoughts, for he smiled. “I am the cashier. Everyone has to pay down a cash deposit on their bids. Everything you buy has to be removed by Saturday, or we are not responsible for it after that.”

“Oh!” Polly and Eleanor looked at each other. They were trying to figure out how much money he wanted.

“Here – I’ll pay the deposit. About thirty dollars, isn’t it?” said Anne, in a business-like tone.

“Yes, thank you. Now name and address, please?”

“What’s the number of our stable, Anne?” laughed Eleanor.

When Anne gave the address the cashier looked surprised. “Oh, have you rented the Studio down the street?”

The girls bowed wonderingly, and he added: “The artist who lived there for a number of years, used to drop in here every week just for the entertainment of picking up curios. In fact, I saw him here a few minutes ago. He told me he would give fifty percent advance to the tenant who leased that place. Here’s a chance for you to make money if you want to give up the Studio.”

“We want a home more than money, mister!” declared Polly.

“You’ve said it, Poll! If we give up this studio we may have to go back and live in our gold mine, because New York hasn’t any homes left, this year,” laughed Eleanor.

The cashier had not missed the mention of “our gold mine” and determined to do his utmost to please these ladies. Hence he whispered: “I’ll look after everything you buy here, and don’t worry about moving it away on Saturday. Next week will do, if you are not ready to get things out this week.”

“Polly, Polly! There goes a high-boy that matches the bed you got!” cried Eleanor, at this moment.

“They are pieces of the same set. Strange to say, they came from the very place you rented. The artist has to sell out because he cannot find an apartment, and there is no storage room for his furniture,” explained the cashier.

So Polly secured the high-boy for sixty dollars and felt very proud of her purchases. Eleanor bought a pair of brass fire-dogs and irons, and Anne bid on a large etching. When it was knocked down to her, she turned to her mother and said: “I really do not want it. What under the sun did I get it for?”

And Mrs. Stewart laughed. “It’s always the way at these vendues. One gets all kinds of things one never needs.”

“Then let’s get out. Girls, I’m going now,” whispered Anne, rising to leave.

The cashier hurried over when he saw the four new customers about to go, and said, “The artist would like very much to meet his successors to the Studio.”

At the same moment, a grey-haired gentleman bowed and smiled, and the group waited expectantly. Anne and Polly smiled also.

“You are the kind friend who advised us, yesterday, when we had to leave the car,” Anne said, pleasantly.

“Yes, but I never dreamed I was directing you right to my front door,” rejoined the artist.

“Well, Mr. Fabian, as long as you’ve met before, I’ll go about my business,” and the cashier hurried away, leaving the five people in the adjoining room.

Anne proceeded to introduce her friends and then added: “It was providential that we went through that street. Now we have a home to our liking.”

“I am delighted that my successors will appreciate the place, but I am still seeking for quarters. Had I choked my anger and swallowed my pride, when the owner refused to keep his word about the stable-doors, I would still be enjoying my cozy Studio.”

Mr. Fabian then told the ladies how he had taken the stable in its raw state and turned it into the lovely dwelling it now was. He had paid for all the hardwood floors, for the partitions on the ground-floor, and for the kitchen plumbing.

“Why, it must have cost you a small fortune,” ventured Anne. “And now it seems too bad that you can’t enjoy it.”

“But I did enjoy it, my dear young lady – for five years. And I only paid sixty dollars a month, during that time, too. When the owner raised me, this year, to ninety I rebelled, because I had spent so much money on beautifying the rooms. I thought he would really relent and say I could have it for about seventy-five a month. I was mistaken.”

“We’re paying a hundred and fifty a month and make all repairs, ourselves,” Anne ventured.

“He took advantage of the unusual conditions. But you have a better bargain, even so, than if you had rented a seven-room apartment, uptown, for two or three thousand a year.”

By this time they were standing on the corner once more, and Mr. Fabian seemed ready to leave them. Then Polly remembered that the cashier had said the bed and high-boy she just bought had come from the Studio.

“Oh, Mr. Fabian, excuse me for speaking of it, but did you really own the four-poster I got at the sale just now?”

“Yes, my dear. It was in the room my little daughter occupied when she was home. She is now in Paris taking an art course.” The girls were deeply interested in this intimate information. “That box-spring with the mattress on the bed was made to order of the best material I could buy. You’ll find the silk-floss in that mattress is so soft you’ll never care to get up, once you rest upon it.”

“But I didn’t know the spring and mattress went with the bed,” Polly said, amazed.