"What are you going to do if Wecks says you really had the shoes?" questioned the son of the real estate dealer, when they were on the way to the shoe store. "But how can he say that when I haven't been near the place, Ben?" returned Dave. "I don't know. But I do know that people have sometimes had things charged to them at the stores which other people got." "Humph! Well, I sha'n't pay for any shoes that I did not get," answered our hero, simply. Mr. Wecks's establishment was at the far end of the main street of Coburntown; so the lads had half a dozen blocks to cover before they reached the place. "Hello, it's closed!" exclaimed Ben, as they came in sight of the store; and he nodded in the direction of the show window, the curtain of which was drawn down. The curtain on the door was also down, and on the glass was pasted a sheet of note paper. "Some sort of notice. I'll see what it is," answered Dave, and, throwing the reins to Ben, he left the sleigh. Soon he was reading what was written on the sheet of paper: _Closed on account of death in the family._ WILLIAM WECKS. "Somebody dead. That's too bad!" mused Dave. "I wonder who it can be?" and then he passed into a barber shop next door to find out. "It's Mr. Wecks's father--a very old man who lived back in the country from here," explained the barber. "Mr. Wecks went up there last night, and he doesn't expect to come back until after the funeral, which will probably be day after to-morrow." "I don't suppose his clerk is around?" questioned Dave. "No. The funeral gave him a holiday, and he was glad of it. He's out of town, too;" and having thus expressed himself, the barber turned to wait upon a customer who had just come in, and Dave returned to the sleigh. "If that's the case, you'll have to let the matter rest until the next time you come to Coburntown, or else you'll have to write to Mr. Wecks," said Ben. "I'll be coming over again before very long," answered Dave. "But, just the same, I'd like to have this matter settled." While Dave was speaking to his chum a man passed him on the sidewalk, looking at him rather fixedly. This man was Mr. Asa Dickley, the proprietor of the largest gentlemen's furnishing establishment of which Coburntown boasted. Our hero knew the man fairly well, having purchased a number of things at his place from time to time, and so he nodded pleasantly. Mr. Asa Dickley nodded in return, but with a rather sour expression on his face. Then he glanced at Ben, and at the handsome sleigh and still more stylish team of horses, and passed on muttering something to himself. "Mr. Dickley didn't look very happy," was Dave's comment, as he and Ben entered the sleigh. "I don't think he likes my father very much," answered the son of the real estate dealer. "He wanted to get a piece of property here very cheap, and my father found another customer for the place at five hundred dollars more."