Dodo"s friends laughed heartily at this criticism, but she cared little for them all, because she knew what she had obtained for her money.
The two bed-rooms were so small that few people could get in, so the auctioneer ordered Abner to carry the articles for sale, out on the lawn where everyone could see them. Had it not been for this sensible advice, Polly would never have seen or secured the fine old set of Staffordshire toilet-ware that was knocked down to her for four dollars.
It consisted of ewer in quaint shape, basin deep enough to be a huge punch-bowl, a soap-plate, a mug, and a commode. The rich deep coloring of the design on the china was lovely, and every piece was in good order.
The young man who had told the truth about the eight dishes from the tea-store, congratulated Polly and said: "That set has been in our family for more"n a hundred years. My grandmother used to keep it fer show, er when we had fine comp"ny comin" to see us. That"s how it kept so good."
"Oh, don"t you want to keep it, then?" asked Polly, regretfully.
"Nah, I"m goin" west on the money I git outen this sale, an" I"d ruther see someone what likes it own it, than any old clod-hopper about these parts!"
Polly felt sure the owner had not been lovingly treated by the people he glanced at as he spoke. But she learned, just before leaving the place that afternoon, that he felt so antagonistic against his neighbors because of their frank criticism of his habit of spending his inheritance.
Because of this unwise recklessness, he had had to mortgage the old farm, and when the proceeds of that had been spent, he had to sell out.
"Perhaps his going west, where he would have to work hard for his living, would be his salvation, after this," thought Polly.
Mrs. Fabian allowed the girls to watch the sale until the contents of the house were sold out and then she suggested that they start back home. The bargains were carefully placed between the coverlets purchased, and then the buyers got in the car.
The country-people were all crowding to the barns to bid on stock and farm-utensils when Carl started the engine. With a last look at the little house where they had found their interesting antiques, the collectors left.
CHAPTER IX
POLLY"S HUNT IN "JERSEY
The collectors took several long trips, after the vendue in Westchester County, but found nothing of value at any place.
Still they lived in hopes, and towards the last of October, Polly suggested that they try New Jersey for a change. A girl who attended Art Cla.s.ses told Polly of several very old places within the vicinity of Springfield and Morristown--both old Revolutionary towns of historic fame.
So Carl drove up to the Fabian home early one Sat.u.r.day morning, and Mrs.
Fabian with her party, hurried out with luncheon and wraps, and were soon speeding away for the ferry-boat that would take them across the North River.
The girls had never been in New Jersey, and found much to admire in the picturesque, rolling land of the Jersey Hills. They left Newark behind, and drove along the Union Turnpike road until they reached the Forks.
Here they turned to the left and in a short time, were going through the ancient town of Springfield.
They were already past it, before Mrs. Fabian found what place it was.
Then they laughed, and turned back again to visit a shop on the main street. Mrs. Fabian got out of the car and went in to question the proprietor.
"Do you know of any old houses, near here, where one can secure old bits of furniture, or antique objects?"
The man chuckled. "Say, Madam, if I have one person ask me that same question, I have dozens stop to question me. I tells them all, the same as I tells you now--the only antique I can send them to anywhere about Springfield, is that old church on the corner, where you can see the hole blown in the side by a cannon ball, when the British were here. And over yonder, you will find a burial ground where many old Indians are buried, with their stone arrow-heads and other trophies with them. The crumbling grey-stone slabs and the ancient tombs found there, will give you the dates. Some go as far back as two hundred, or two hundred and fifty years."
Mrs. Fabian thanked him and returned to the girls to repeat the conversation she had had with the shop-keeper. They all declared for a visit to the old church, and then to the cemetery, so Carl drove back and they visited both places.
In the ancient burial ground, they read many queer epitaphs on the head stones, and some of these the girls copied down. Then they got back in the automobile and Carl was told to drive on to Morristown.
This place was found to be so dreadfully modern, that no hope of discovering antiques was left alive in their hearts. But it was noon and they were hungry, so they discussed the advisability of going to a lunch-room, or driving into the country and having the picnic lunch.
"As long as we brought such a nice luncheon with us, why stop at a hotel or restaurant to eat?" asked Polly.
"There really isn"t any sense in doing that, but there certainly isn"t any picnic place in this town," declared Eleanor.
"Well, then let"s start out and find one away from here," suggested Polly.
"I"ll make another proposition, girls," said Mrs. Fabian. "Why not stop at that Public Library we just pa.s.sed, and find out if there are any notable spots in the vicinity of this town, where we might find old houses or old objects?"
"Well, the idea is good, but really, Mrs. Fabian, this town impresses me most emphatically with this fact: that the residents have as much desire for antiques as we have; and most likely, they started in years before we ever were born, to rake over the country-side, which must have been rich with old furniture and other things from Washington"s days here, so as to collect all those things for themselves," was Dodo"s sensible remark.
The others smiled at her practical words, and Mrs. Fabian agreed with her. "But it will do no harm to stop just a moment to ask the attendant at the Library if she knows of any place in New Jersey where we might indulge our craze of collecting."
Carl then turned around and they were soon back at the Library. The girls remained in the car while Mrs. Fabian went indoors to ask questions of the agreeable lady at the desk.
"I"m sure you will find a few old bits, here and there, about the country-side," said the lady, in reply to Mrs. Fabian"s questions. "In fact, my friend furnished her old-fashioned house that she recently bought of an old 1776 family, by driving about through the Mendham country, down through New Vernon and Baskingridge--all famous Revolutionary places, you know--and by visiting places as far away as Bound Brook, Plainfield, and the country about Trenton. I was amazed at the number of old things she managed to secure."
Being given a pencil sketch of what roads to follow to reach Mendham, or Baskingridge, Mrs. Fabian thanked her informer most graciously. Suddenly the lady said:
"Now that you are in town, why not drive down to a little auction room I"ve heard of, just off Washington Street, and see if you can find anything in that Paradise for old stuff?"
"We will! Where is it, and how do we get there?"
"The man"s name is Van Styne, and he used to be a magnet for attracting the oldest pieces to his store-rooms! People used to commission him when they wanted anything in particular, and in some super-natural manner, he used to have it for them in a few days" time. It would have taken ordinary individuals years, with plenty of money and energy, to accomplish the same result."
Again Mrs. Fabian thanked her interested informer, and left the library.
The girls were told of the conversation and they all voted to go to Van Styne"s old auction rooms first, and then try to locate an old farm-house along the road to Mendham, or in the opposite direction, towards Baskingridge.
The building where "Van Styne--Auctioneer and Appraiser" had his sign displayed, for the public"s guidance, was a long low place that had been used as the carriage house of "Liberty Stable" years before. The tiny windows, high up in a row along the front, were stall-marks that told what it had been in the past. Now it was an "Emporium" for all who needed second-hand furniture at a bargain; or for those who sought antiques of any kind, to add to their amateur collections.
Mr. Van Styne was a white-haired, long-whiskered, thin man who sat tilted back in a broken-through rush-bottom chair that had never had a bid at his weekly auctions, hence it was put to some use in his office to pay for storage. His feet were resting on the flat-table-desk in front of him, and he was sweetly snoring when the girls opened the door of the room.
Such an unheard of thing as customers in the early part of the afternoon, caused him to jump up and remove his aged straw hat that had been tilted over his eyes to keep out the sun-light.
"We came to see if we could find anything in your salesroom," began Mrs.
Fabian, noting the dust that lay thick on everything, and the heaped up motley collection of family possessions displayed in the long adjoining stable-room.
"What kind of furniture do you need?" asked he, stifling a yawn.
"Why, anything old enough to be interesting. We heard that you were a wizard in finding antiques for people."
The proprietor disclaimed such power, and said with a grin that displayed several gaps in his yellowed teeth, "You can mosey about, out there, to your heart"s content. If you find anything likely, call me an" I"ll tell you what it"s wuth."
He waved his arm to the long stacked-up storeroom, and then sat down again. In another moment his feet were up on the desk and his hat tipped down over his eyes. His hands were calmly folded over his waist-coat and he settled down to snooze, once more.
The girls giggled aloud and hurried after Mrs. Fabian to keep from laughing outright at the ambitious salesman. They prowled about and pulled out lots of things and examined many other old articles, soiling their gloves and dresses, without finding a thing that was of any value.
Finally Polly dragged out an old walnut chest of drawers to see what was stored back of it, that kept it so far away from the wall. She discovered a group of large, framed pictures standing against the wall, evidently forgotten by the auctioneer, as they were covered with a thick coating of dust.