“What’ll we auction off?” I asked Mark.

“That,” says he, “is what we’ve g-got to find out.”

“Let’s auction everything,” says Binney.

Mark just looked at him. It was enough. You could see how disgusted he was, and I can tell you Binney kept pretty quiet after that.

“We’ll auction old stuff,” says Mark. “There’s l-l-lots of things here nobody could sell any other way. Whatever we get out of them ’ll be clear gain.”

So we went to rummaging, and the mess of things we found was enough to make you blink. We took all the rest of the day for that. Next morning Mark had us clean tables up in front. About eleven o’clock we got that part pretty well done.

“Now,” says Mark, “we got to advertise.”

“How?” says I. “We hain’t got money to spend in the paper, and, besides, it don’t come out till the auction’s over.”

“L-lots of ways,” says Mark. “Binney, can you get your pa’s horse?”

“I guess so,” says Binney.

“And the spring wagon?”

“Sure.”

“All right, then. Now come on.”

He led us to the storeroom back of the Bazar and set us to work making a frame. This didn’t take long. The frame was shaped like a tent. When it was done we tacked some white cloth on the sides so it was tight and smooth, and Mark got the lampblack and the brush and began to paint signs on it. He could make letters as good as a regular sign-painter, too, and that fast you wouldn’t believe it. The same sign was on both sides of the tent. It said:

“Now,” says Mark, “f-fetch down your horse and wagon, Binney. We’ll set this sign on the wagon. You can drive, and Tallow ’ll sit inside and bang on this drum.”

“Where’ll we go?”

“Out in the c-country this afternoon. To-morrow you’ll ride around town.”

As soon as they had their dinner they started off, and Mark and I were left in the store.

“F-first thing’s to fix the windows,” says he.

We picked out the showiest things and put them where folks could see them—and there was everything from a patent churn to a toy duck that waggled its head. One window was like that—just everything put in so folks could get an idea what was going to be sold. The other window Mark fixed up like a town. He used a lot of toys to do it, but we had a lot to do it with. When we were through it was a regular sight, and I’ll bet nobody in Wicksville ever saw anything like it before. There were streets and houses and horses and wagons driving along, and a train coming into the depot, and a band playing in the square, and a fire-engine going to a fire that Mark fixed in a house with yellow paper for flames. It looked pretty real. There were churches and stores, and folks shopping, and kids playing. It was pretty fine.

Next Mark made some more signs—one great big one to stretch across the front of the store, and others on stiff paper to tack upon fences around town. We were to do that after we closed up at night.

All this time we didn’t see a thing of Jehoshaphat P. Skip, but we found out he’d gone to the city about some of his stock that was slow coming. We were just as glad, because he’d be more surprised than anybody when he saw what we were up to.

“Bet Mr. Skip ’ll most strangle all the way down his neck,” I says, “when he sees what’s goin’ on.”

Mark’s little eyes got bright and twinkly, but he didn’t say a word.

Next day was Friday, and we spent that arranging stock. Mark had tables moved to the middle of the store, and we covered them with all sorts of things. This wasn’t for the auction, but for regular business. The first table was a five-cent one, the next was a ten-cent one, and so on. You didn’t have to ask the price of a thing. That made it handy for us and for customers.

“L-lots of folks’ll buy things they hain’t got any use for,” says Mark, “just because they look cheap.”

“Shouldn’t think so,” says I.

“Wait,” says he. “Let ’em rummage around and see things all marked plain. Right off they’ll b-begin wantin’ things. And they’ll buy. You see.”

And I did see, Saturday. Those signs and windows got folks all riled up with curiosity, and they began droppin’ in to see what kind of a mess we were making of it. Everybody acted like they thought it was a big joke for Mark and us to be keeping store, but we didn’t care. Mark said that was a good thing, because good-natured folks buy more than folks that don’t think they’ve got something to laugh at.

We had more folks in the store that day than we ever had before, I believe, unless maybe nights before Christmas. We let them joke us all they wanted and didn’t try to sell them things. What we wanted them to do was walk around and sell things to themselves. That was Mark’s idea. You haven’t any idea how people like to poke around by themselves and stick their noses into things. They right down enjoy it. The more they poked the more they bought. It kept Mark and me busy, and we wished a lot of times that Binney and Tallow were there to help us. But we did the best we could, and they were there after supper, of course. We kept open till ten o’clock, and anybody’d have thought we were running a free show to see how the place was jammed.

Mark got the idea of setting a phonograph going, and we had music all the while.

Along about nine o’clock we saw Mr. Long Neck come pussy-footing in. He stood in the door a minute and scowled and then walked all around slow, and slinking, to see what we were doing and how we were doing it. Mark said to let on we didn’t know him, and then went up to him like he thought he was a customer, and says:

“Anythin’ s-s-special you was lookin’ for, sir?”

Mr. Skip was like to have swelled up so he cracked his long neck right there, and the way he woggled his nose back and forth was enough to have put it out of joint.

“You’re a-havin’ that auction Monday just to interfere with my Grand Openin’,” he says, savage-like.

“Was you havin’ a Grand Openin’, Monday?” asks Mark, innocent as could be.

“You know I be,” says Mr. Skip.

“N-now hain’t that too bad!” says Mark, still looking as serious as a wall-eyed pike. “I hope it won’t draw away from your crowd any.”

“You better mark my word, young feller,” says Mr. Long Neck, “and put it off. I won’t have no interferin’ with my plans.”

“Um!” says Mark.

“And these here five-and-ten-cent tables,” says Mr. Skip. “You got to do away with ’em.”

“We’re doin’ away with ’em now,” says Mark, with just the beginning of a grin, and he pointed at the tables that were surrounded by folks like flies on a lump of sugar. “Don’t look like there’d be much l-left, does it?”

“You’re a young smart Alec,” says Mr. Skip, and then he hurried out like he was afraid he’d burn up if he stayed.

Mark turned and winked at me.

Everybody was interested in the auction and we were answering questions about it all day. You could see folks picking out things they figured on bidding for and making memorandums of them, and that pleased us a good deal and made me feel a whole heap better about our chances of making a showing against Mr. Skip.

When everybody was gone we counted the money we had taken in, and it was a hundred and sixty-two dollars and ninety-five cents. Once I heard pa say a hundred and forty-five was the biggest day he ever had. I tell you we were tickled. And the best of it was everything we sold was at regular prices. Yes, sir. We didn’t reduce a cent.

Before we left the store I wrote mother a long letter and told her about it all and bragged considerable, and let on I guessed we were going to get as rich as Mark Tidd’s father had out of the turbine-engine he invented. Then we all signed it and sent it off. I was pretty proud, but when you come to think of it, there wasn’t anything for me to be very stuck up about. Mark was the fellow who had a right to think he was some pumpkins, but he didn’t act like he’d done anything out of the ordinary. That was the way with him. If he was to be elected President of the United States to-morrow, it wouldn’t even make him blink. He’d just go ahead and be President like he was used to it all his life. Sometimes it made me mad to see how cool he took things. But he says you can think a lot better when you’re calm-like than you can when you’re all het up and flabbergasted. I guess he’s right about it, too.