The Argosy, Vol. 82, No. 3 — page 193: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

OL! “ Richmond! Well, this Richmond, Werginia, is in the United States, ain’t it?” ‘Of course; and if the Confederates had won the war this money maybe would be worth something to-day,” the teller ex- plains. “ But as it is, it isn’t worth any- thing.” Asa holds his head. “Oi, oi, oi!’? hé moans. nothing?” ‘“ Hurry, please,” says the teller. “‘ Other people is waiting.” Wolfinger takes back the bills and goes out to the street, feeling werry sick in the head. He goes to a saloon and sits there for three hours, thinking how bad he burnt his fingers. Hartmann has his note for a hundred and one dollars, and he has a clock which ain’t no use to him. The seven hundred and fourteen dollars has gone up in the air, but maybe he can find a sucker to take that clock off him for something over what he paid for it. After a while he goes home. When Ma Wolfinger sees him coming up the drive- way, she opens the door and says: “ Pa, there’s a wisitor in the parlor what wants to see you.” ~ “Who ist?’ he grumbles. “One of them relic-hunters,” she tells him. “ He wants to look at that grand- father clock. I hope you sell it to him. What a foolishness to buy it!” “You betcha I sell it to him if he pays my price,” Wolfinger says, and almost runs to the parlor. “My name is Schwartz,” the wisitor says. ‘‘I saw in the paper this morn- ing that you bought a grandfather clock. I wondered if you would care to sell it again.” “ Well, Mr. Schwartz, I don’t know that * Tt ain’t worth I do,” Asa lies. ‘ It’s a werry old clock, and I didn’t buy it to sell. Come and look at it Schwartz looks all over the clock. Then he turns to Wolfinger smiling and says: ““ How old did you say it is?” “ T didn’t say, but maybe it is a hunderd und fifty years old.” Schwartz he laughs right out loud and says: “Look at this, Mr. Wolfinger,” and points to some writing on the works. “What does it say?” Wolfinger asks. “T don’t read it American.” “ Why, it says, ‘The Waterbury Time- piece Company!’ ” OI! ! OI!!! 567 And then: “Look here again.” And Schwartz points to a little piece of printed paper pasted on the inside of the door. “That says, ‘ Republic Furniture Com- pany, Grand Rapids, Michigan.’ “This ain’t no genuine grandfather clock, Mr. Wolfinger,” Schwartz goes on. “It’s an imitation, with the works made in Connecticut and the case made in Mich- igan. It’s worth, I should say, about forty dollars, and ain’t worth nothing at all as an antique. Maybe it is twenty years old, and maybe only ten.” “ But didn’t you offer Mr. Hartmann eighty dollars for it?” “No. I don’t know Mr. Did he sell you this clock?” But Wolfinger, he ain’t answering. He sits down on the stairs and looks at the carpet like he was in a dream, wondering if Hartmann knew how young that clock was. That night while he is at the Red Heifer, Hartmann comes in the bar. “ Wie geht’s, Asa?” he says. ‘“‘ Did you sold that Con- federate money yet?”’ ‘Confederate money? What do you mean, Mr, Hartmann?” Wolfinger says. Hartmann he lets out a roar. “What did you go to the city for to- day, Asa? You should learn to read American, Asa; then you would know when money was goot and when it was bad.” “You did me a wrong, Hartmann,” Asa whines. ‘‘ You misrepresented that clock.” “Nem. I told you I didn’t know how old that clock was, and that it was michts goot. It was you, Asa, who misrepresent- ed the grandfather clock and the Confed- erate money.” ‘““ Anyway, you should give me back that note, Hartmann, and I will give you an- other for the walue of the clock,” Asa says. “See here, Wolfinger,’” Hartmann snaps, “T paid forty-four dollars for that clock. You trimmed me from fifty-seven for team- ing on your land. . Forty-four and fifty- seven makes one hundred and one, just what vou paid me. So we are square.” So I says to Aaron Schlissler one day: “Ts Wolfinger still looking for suckers, Aaron?” % “ Nein,’ he says. “The trimmer got trimmed, Phares. I think he’s had it enough of stinging his friends.” Hartmann. eOnnicloooks (E@)