It was a lovely late Fall day when Carl brought Mr. Dalken’s car around to the Fabian’s residence to drive the girls to the Parsippany sale. Jack Baxter was seated beside Carl and announced to the girls as they came out with Mrs. Fabian: “I’m invited to go with you.”

“Who asked you?” was the rejoinder from both girls.

“Carl did. He gets tired of chauffing for hours without rest. So I offered to help him out.”

Of course, Carl’s uncomfortable flush showed that Jack was joking, but he was a welcome addition to the small party, so they started off, a merry quartette.

As there had been no time to drive out, so far, to inspect the household goods for sale, it had been postponed until the day of the sale. Mrs. Fabian said that should there be nothing desirable at the old house, they could go on and have another hunt about the country.

But the sale promised to be an interesting one, for the moment the girls found out that the house they were looking for was an old Colonial two-story farm-house, with wings at each side, they felt sure of its contents being worth-while.

They parked the car out in a large carriage-house and walked over to the front door. It was a true type, with sunburst window over the door, and a wonderful old knocker on the front panel of the door. A narrow high window at each side had diamond panes in them. There was a dear little hood over the doorway that someone called a “rain-shed.” And on each side of the “stoop” which was reached by three steps, was a high-backed wooden seat, with funny low arms at the outer ends.

The windows of the entire house were filled with small-paned sash, the glass being green and wavy in some panes, and as cloudy as mist in others. Then again other panes were of really clear white glass. The city visitors found later, that these old panes were the original old glass set in by the first owner.

But they did not come to admire the outside, so they all went indoors to look about. They entered upon a tiny entry.

The front parlor was a small band-box-like room with a chimney piece at one side, and a stove-pipe hole in it for winter use. Alongside the chimney was a narrow cupboard that was meant to hold books, or other things, to keep the parlor from being “cluttered up.”

Directly opposite the chimney was a long, high-backed settee, with haircloth covering. The frame was old mahogany and the shape hinted at Chippendale, with its six feet having beautiful lines, and the side arms curving graciously out to invite one to be seated.

In this best room were, also, several rush-bottomed stencilled chairs, and a Boston Rocker. An inlaid Hepplewhite table stood against the wall between the two front windows, with its drop-leaf raised against the wall. A number of old pieces of brass and pewter stood on the table. Over it hung an early Georgian mirror but the reflection one got when gazing into it was terrifying.

From the parlor, the collectors went to the long living-room that occupied one wing of the house. Here was a great open fire-place with crane, and everything used in olden times for keeping a fire in good order. Over the mantel hung a wonderful old mirror with a colored picture of Washington crossing the Delaware in its upper panel.

A rare Empire table with both leaves up, stood in the middle of the room, and Polly instantly made up her mind to own that table, if nothing more that day.

As they went about admiring the antiques, Jack said: “Gee! But I’m sorry we furnished the apartment so soon. What a lot of fine things we might have had at this sale.”

And Eleanor laughingly remarked: “Sell your flat out like so many New Yorkers do, and start in again on another.”

In the low-ceiled, wide dining-room, they found the typical round mahogany table with twelve chairs—two arm and ten side chairs. The seats were covered with rep, but must have had haircloth on them at one time. The backs were very low and curved away from the small of the back in a frightened manner. There was but one cross-piece in the back and that was curved also.

The side-board was nearly eight feet long, with six claw feet, and a high top. On it stood a tea-caddy of mahogany, a knife-box, and several silver boxes. All of them must have been over a hundred years old. Very old china and glassware stood on the large table, ready to be sold. The collectors saw many desirable pieces there, but they were too anxious to visit the upstairs to stop, then, and examine the plates and other pieces.

There were four large square rooms on the second floor and in each one, stood a wonderful four-poster bed—two with canopy-tops and two without. Empire work-tables were in two rooms, and besides the high chests of mahogany drawers, and low dressing-tables with tiny front drawers to hold the comb and brush, there were also ottomans, foot-stools, and ornamental pieces. Mirrors hung over each mantel, and old-fashioned prints and paintings were on the walls.

By the time Mrs. Fabian and the girls went downstairs again, they were dumbfounded to find that a farm-house so near to Morristown and railroad stations, should have preserved such a wonderful lot of old mahogany furniture without having been discovered by collectors. But being strangers to the other people now gathering for the sale, they did not speak of their wonderment.

Mr. Van Styne was late, and as soon as he arrived he began in the kitchen, without any greeting to his followers. There seemed to be a far different type of buyer at this sale, than the girls had found at any of the little sales in Westchester; and once the auctioneer began on the antique pieces, the prices ran up alarmingly.

“That man standing over there just paid a hundred and sixty dollars for that Colonial secretary,” whispered Polly, annoyance expressed in her tone for she had been bidding on the same piece.

“He doesn’t look as if he had sixty cents in his purse,” said Eleanor, scornfully.

A lady standing beside her, looked at the buyer and smiled. “That man is one of the buyers of one of the largest antique collectors in New York.”

“He is!” gasped Eleanor.

“Who is the collector?” asked Polly, but the woman saw a little Toby put up for sale, just then, and she wanted to bid on it, so Polly never heard.

Anything that could boast of being a hundred years old, or more, brought fabulous prices, and the girls were amazed to hear names that they had read of in the columns of the New York papers, called out by the cashier, but never dreamed they would come face to face with the owners thereof.

Jack Baxter spied a woman he knew, and finally brought her over to meet Mrs. Fabian and the girls. This lady was a social leader in the City, and furnished much interesting information to her new acquaintances, about others present who were buying.

That sale taught Polly that it was not always the farm-houses that furnished the rarest bargains at a sale, especially when that farm was in proximity to a well-known residential suburb. But she also found that not everyone who attends a public sale, and bids anxiously, knows the value of what they are bidding on.

Thus it transpired, that she secured several of the finest antiques in the house, because others knew nothing of their true records or had overlooked the objects because of their unattractive finish or form.

Jack furnished much amusement to his friends by bidding on everything the girls did not want. And the most amusing part of it was, he seldom secured a thing he bid on. He finally grew so desperate in his bidding, because Polly laughed at his luck, that the people frowned upon him as being a “professional capper.”

Mr. Van Styne overheard that remark and was furious.

“I want you all to know that I am an honest auctioneer! I never had a booster in my life, and I’ve sold for nigh onto fifty years. That nice-looking young man you call a ‘capper’ is a friend of some friends of mine from New York, out here to buy antiques. To prove it to you-all, that young lady there, next the young man, is the one who gave the ‘Metropolitan’ the rare print she found in my shop. So there! I reckon that will hold you, for a time!”

The surprise felt by the buyers at this news about Polly, was instantly followed by a general laugh at the auctioneer’s final remark to them. Baxter laughed at the interruption, but Polly felt very uncomfortable with so many eyes turned her way. Mr. Van Styne, never dreaming of having made personal remarks, now continued his sale.

The antique furniture in the upstairs chambers brought higher prices than Polly had seen similar pieces on sale at the antique shops in New York, and she wondered still more that a country auction should bring forth buyers who were willing to pay such high prices.

Finally, feeling sure that there were no more bargains for them that day, Polly led the way downstairs. Young Baxter tried to persuade her to remain and try for a high-boy she had admired, but she refused to give the high bids demanded. So Jack stayed when the others left the room.

Down on the side-porch, while waiting for Carl to come from the carriage sheds, a well-dressed lady accosted Polly.

“I heard the auctioneer say you presented a rare print to the Museum in New York City. I should be pleased to hear about it.”

She handed Polly a card. Upon reading the name of one of the best known amateur collectors in New York, Polly forgot to reply. Mrs. Fabian smiled and spoke for her, to give her time to recover from her surprise. After introducing the girls, Mrs. Fabian mentioned the fact that Polly and Eleanor took advantage of every sale in or about the City, in order to familiarize themselves with such articles as they would need in their profession.

“Oh, are you studying this line of work?” asked the lady, deeply interested at once.

“Yes, we have given several years to the study, already, and last Summer we went abroad to visit the best known places where antiques and collections were to be seen,” replied Polly.

“Well then, my dears, this is my lucky day. I want someone to do this sort of work for me, but I want only such interested individuals who love the collecting for itself, and not alone for wages. Also, I want someone who can tell a Sheraton piece from Empire. If you girls will accept a proposition from me, I will be glad to talk it over, some morning, with you.”

Polly smiled and said: “If your orders do not interfere with our studies and other work, we will gladly accept the work.”

So, by the time Jack Baxter hurried down the stairs, Polly and Eleanor had made a new connection with one of New York’s social leaders. Jack looked about for his friends, for a moment, and then smiled in surprise as he rushed forward.

“Why, Mrs. Courtney! I am delighted to see you here. Did you just arrive?”

“Well, if it isn’t Jack Baxter! No, my boy, I came out this morning thinking this was a bona fide antique sale. To my disgust, I found it was ‘fixed’ by a clever dealer from the city, who chooses just such suburban towns as are famous for its millionaire residents, then he plans a campaign. He was wise enough, this time, to engage Mr. Van Styne to do the selling for him, as the old man is so popular with the people of his town, and he is a splendid auctioneer, at the same time.”

Polly was dumbfounded. “Do you mean to say that anyone would take the trouble to ship out all these antiques, so far from the city, just to catch a lot of buyers?”

Mrs. Courtney laughed. “Of course, my dear. People will take any amount of trouble to make a few extra dollars. This dealer owns his own trucks, and why not let them put in a day’s work carting a load of furniture here, if he can get twice as much for his goods as in New York? All he has to do, is to find the right type of old house conveniently near the city for motoring and large enough to show off his wares to the best advantage. This man is clever enough, too, to select only such places as are rich with Revolutionary lore, and near enough to the estates of the rich to be an attraction to owners to come. Then he mails announcements to his city clientele, also. That is how I heard of the sale.”

Jack frowned angrily. “I suppose that darned old high-boy I just bought for a top-notch figure, could have been purchased at this man’s city shop for half the price! Now I have to pay to have it crated and shipped back to New York.”

“Oh, this ‘fixer’ will move it back in his trucks for a neat sum,” said Eleanor.

Her companions laughed. Polly then reminded him: “I said not to bid on it! I knew it would go too high for us to bother with.”

Carl now drove up to the house, and Mrs. Courtney bid them good-day, having reminded Polly that she and Eleanor were to telephone her at their first opportunity.

Polly could not help speaking of the “fixed” sale of antiques, and Eleanor said: “That is why everything brought such awfully high prices. The articles must have had a set price on them to begin with, and when Mr. Van Styne offered a thing, the dealer was there to run it to a figure beyond the given price on the books. I am surprised that the old auctioneer would do such a thing.”

“I don’t believe he knew the sale was what we call ‘padded’; for he seems too conscientious a man to lend himself to such a deception,” remarked Mrs. Fabian.

“If he was just hired to sell the stuff, regardless of how it got out to Parsippany, and told to follow book-orders, he had no choice, had he?” asked Polly.

“He looks such an honest old fellow, I don’t believe he even knew the goods came from a New York dealer. Just because he is so honest, is one reason why people who knew him will listen to his advice and for the same reason a clever New York dealer would hire him. I wouldn’t be surprised, if you girls hear from him, some day, to the effect that he is shocked to learn that this sale was not on the level as far as the yarn went,” said Jack.

“Well, I’d feel better if he did. I really feel hurt, now, to think he might be as tricky as that other dealer,” said Polly.

“But it would not be called ‘tricky,’ Polly, in clever business circles,” said Mrs. Fabian.

“Maybe not, but to me it looks a lot like selling goods under false representations. I’d rather not sell anything than have to sell that way.”

“When you come right down to ‘brass tacks’ and study out the whole scheme of things, Polly, we might be accused of tricky works, too,” remarked Eleanor.

“What do you mean?” demanded Polly, astonished.

“Well, when you think of how we got that pair of old candle-sticks in exchange for a brass lamp! We had no lamp to exchange, but Mrs. Fabian rushed off to a store and got one. Then there were those old pictures at Van Styne’s. We were afraid he’d suspect them of being valuable, so we dusted them well again, as they had been originally, and placed them with two others to make a ‘job lot’ of them, to hide the facts about them.”

“But,” remonstrated Polly, “the lady who had no use for the candle-sticks did want a brass lamp the worst way. And Sally Dolan, who never appreciated the pictures when she had them, did appreciate the money we paid for them—while we appreciated the old things other folks failed to value.”

“Polly is right, there, Nolla,” added Mrs. Fabian. “I do not see a trick in giving a person exactly what they ask for a thing—whether they realize the true value of it, or not. That is their affair. In Law, the Judge says there is no excuse or cause, for mitigating a sentence because the prisoner claims he was ignorant of consequences of a deed. So it is in other lines: Ignorance can never claim excuse from consequences—whether it be a sale of a candle-stick or a piece of old land that turns out to have gold on it.”

“Then I should say, ignorance on the part of the buyers at this vendue, exonerates the dealer from all blame,” said Eleanor.

“Legally it does, but we were thinking of the moral,” explained Mrs. Fabian.

When the collectors reached the Fabian house, Jack seemed loath to go on, so Mrs. Fabian invited him in to have a bite with them at an informal dinner.

It had been plainly evident for some time, that the only interest Jack Baxter had taken in furnishing his apartment, or in going about to hunt out old antiques, was because it gave him plenty of opportunities to be with Polly. And as is often the case, when one is completely absorbed in a pursuit, Polly was the last one to suspect the truth of this.

But he forgot discretion that evening, at dinner, and permitted too much of his attention to be directed Polly’s way. Even this might have been overlooked had not an interruption occurred while at the table.

The telephone bell was heard, and shortly afterward, the maid came around to Polly’s side and said:

“A Mr. Latimer on the wire, Miss Polly.”

Eleanor was all interest at once: “Can it be Jim, or Tom, I wonder?”

Polly was excusing herself at the moment, but turned to add: “You know very well that Tom has his hands full at the mines.”

Eleanor flushed, for she had almost given away a secret that Paul had told her in his last letter. Thus far she had kept quiet about the confidence.

Polly ran from the room, and Jack Baxter scowled at his plate. Mr. Fabian smiled at his face and tried to engage him in conversation. But Polly’s continued absence annoyed the youth, so that he lost his appetite, and, in fact, all interest in any subject started.

Polly skipped back after a time, her face wreathed in smiles. “You will never guess who I was talking to?”

Everyone but Jack pretended not to know, but he blurted out: “When I was out at the ranch, that Tom Latimer said something about coming East for the Winter months—as long as Alexander proposed to stay out there and take a hand in the work.”

“Why, this is the first word you’ve said about it,” said Polly, amazed.

“Had I known you were so deeply interested in the plans of young Latimer, I would have told you immediately,” said Jack, with sarcasm born of jealousy in his voice.

Polly refused to answer him, and immediately asked Mrs. Fabian to excuse her from dinner as she wished to dress for the evening.

The rest of the family finished the meal with the uncomfortable sense of Jack’s having lost caste in Polly’s estimation. He felt it himself, and it certainly did not tend to make him more agreeable that evening.

As soon after dinner as could be politely managed, Jack spoke of a theatre engagement and excused himself. His hostesses felt easier when the door slammed upon him, for they dreaded having Tom announced while his rival was there, and then have the whole evening spoiled by both young men glowering at each other.

While Eleanor and Nancy ran upstairs to dress for the evening, the former whispered: “If Tom remains in New York all this winter, I bet he’ll get Polly before he goes back to the mines, or else he’ll ‘cook his goose’ for all time!”

Nancy laughed merrily, and said: “No goose will be cooked if Polly knows it! But I’ll wager you a box of candy, Nolla, that Tom will not get his girl before he goes back to the mines.”

“All right, Nanc! That’s a wager; a five-pound box of the best bon bons, that Tom and Polly will be engaged before the end of this winter season!”