Time Travel Adventures of the 1800 Club. Book III by Robert P McAuley

Author:Robert P McAuley [McAuley, Robert P]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: New Orleans, History, Scotland, Science Fiction, sailing, Time Travel, ronald reagan, cold war, old south, mark twain, time machine, samuel clemens, 1800s, mississippi river, steam engine, highlanders, high seas adventure, steamboat, robert p mcauley, historically accurate, british admiral h nelson, british man o war, british press gangs
Publisher: Robert P. McAuley
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

“Bill, ya gotta believe me, it’s all profit! People want to get rid of their junk, not keep it. Believe me, I know. I mean we even pick it up from them. I give ‘em one penny for every five pounds of metal I remove from their houses and I resell it after I heat and mallet it into slabs. The shipbuilders down in the Brooklyn Navy Yard buy it from me for ten cents every five pounds. It’s a killing! And it’s not like I have to lug the stuff myself. I have a team of guys that meet every morning and if I have work, they come with me. See? No overhead, just the yard and a little shack for when it rains. Now does that change your mind?”

Bill smiled at the big man who smiled back after trying to sell him on the advantages of the junkyard trade. Bill shook his head no and said, ”Fats, believe me, there’s going to be more money in that old stuff later on as antiques. I have an idea. Why not save one item for every six or seven that you melt down? Put it in a shed and let it stay there for about twenty-five years.”

“Twenty-five years!” Fats almost dropped his beer. “Are you crazy? What am I gonna do with all that stuff in twenty-five years?”

Bill laughed and responded, “Put your kids through college.”

Fats slapped Bill’s back, as he laughed. “Ha! Do ya really think they need college ta run my business when I decide to relax? Bill ya really are something else. Boy, I just love walking by and seeing you in here. You make me think in ways nobody else does.” He took a sip of his beer. “Old stuff! Ha, imagine people wanting that.”

He put down his glass and looked out the window at a fruit wagon being pulled by a gray and white speckled horse. The driver walked beside it as he bagged fruit and gave it to a woman who had come up to make a purchase. Fats turned back to Bill and said, “Tell ya what. Ya made me think that maybe I’ll do just that. Keep one out of five and stick it in the shack till my kids want to melt it down, or whatever they want to do with it. I’ll be too old to give a hoot anyway.”

He drained his glass as a short man in a two-piece tan-and-dark-brown-striped suit tapped on the window. They both turned to look at him, and Bill said to the big man, “Got to go, Fats, that’s a business contact who wants to talk to me.” He put his hand out and they shook hands.

“I look forward to seeing ya again,” said Fats. “You’re one of the few guys, who doesn’t give a darn that I lug junk around for a living.”

Bill walked outside into the beginning of a light drizzle of rain. The short man opened an umbrella and held it up to shield both of them.

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