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“And now,” said our young entrepreneur, after handing out his three cost price bicycles to his three associates, “I’ve only got to sell the other three at the market rate and I stand in to make. . . . ”
There were complications in the reckoning; the stationery and so forth had to be paid for. And there was a difficulty he had not anticipated in finding just the particular people in Camden Town who were disposed to buy a bicycle in a hurry at the market rate. He persuaded the newsagent to put one of the unsold machines into the shop, and marked it at a ten per cent reduction as “A bargain. Slightly shop — soiled”, but after a couple of days the newsagent insisted upon its removal because customers coming in for papers and cigarettes barked their shins against the treadle and swore something dreadful.
Buffin became almost wistful in his inquiries, ‘e You don’t happen to know anyone who wants a brand new bicycle in splendid condition at very little over cost price?” He went about reading the faces of passers-by for the bicycle-buying look. Intimations of a transitory failure, of a lesson that would finally redound to his credit, came into his speeches. “It’s not such a good thing as I thought. This. I started undercapitalised. If it wasn’t for having to go to Mottiscombe I’d risk it now. I’d ask for three months’ credit on twelve more bicycles, twelve, mind you, hire a shop-window and make a splash. And when the credit was up I’d pay upon what I’d sold and have credit extended for more. They’d do it if I talked to them. I’m getting the hang of it. . . . Well, let me tell you a day will come when all you timid snipe will remember how Buffin bought his first experience for forty pounds — maybe it will come to that, s’much as that — bought it for forty pounds and sold it for a million.”
“And suppose ‘e doesn’t sell his bicycles,” said Edward Albert, whistling after his fashion. “Suppose they don’t pay him at Mottiscombe. Nice ‘ole ‘e’ll be in.”
Which indeed was precisely what happened. Buffin went off to Mottiscombe and never more did the star of the Burleybanks rise above Edward Albert’s horizon. Anything may have happened to them except success. Maybe Burleybank and Son went in too deep for second-hand cars before they heard of the use of gauges in mass production.
Edward Albert watched this burst of enterprise with envious disapproval when, first of all, he felt it might succeed, and then with that “told you so” feeling which is one of our subtler pleasures in this vale of tears.
But Mr Myame’s transitory appreciation of Buffin’s cleverness wounded our hero profoundly. There was an element of worldliness about it. He had expected more other-worldliness from Mr Myame. He anyhow had got out of it very well, he and Nuts. . . . It set one thinking.