HOW BARGAIN-HUNTERS ARE SWINDLED.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LIII, Issue 265, 18 March 1911, Page 9

HOW BARGAIN-HUNTERS ARE SWINDLED.

Frauds, mv dear sir, nearly all of them —said a detective to a writer in a Home paper; from the destitute widow, who is driven to sacrifice her handsome furs for a trill*, to the newly-fledged bride, who is willing to dispose of her duplicate wedding-presents at a third of thenvalue. Mind. I don't say that all such advertisements are swindles; but 1 will stake my professional reputation that a very large number of them are. Shall I tell you how the swindle originated? In 'the middle 'seventies a London bicycle-dealer wits face to face with bankruptcy. Only a miracle could save him. Then a happy idea Hashed into his brain, and the following advertisement was the result:-"A gentleman, in extreme financial distress, is obliged to dispose of his almost-new bicycle for 25 per cent, less than it cost him only ten days ago." He was deluged with replies from eager purchasers, all addressed to his private house; and his bicycles went off "like hot cakes," each accompanied by a full receipt, made out by himself at the shop. He was not only saved; he found his idea so profitable that he extended it. As a gentleman about to emigrate, he disposed of housefuls of second-hand, low-class furniture at a big profit; as a widow he found purchasers for tons of family plate—and so on, until he was able to retire on quite a substantial fortune, instead of drifting to the workhouse. ■ To-day this ingenious gentleman has his imitators by the score; and no doubt they are all reaping a good harvest through the advertisement columns of the newspapers. You must have seen these seductive announcements many a time, such as this:~"Son of rich banker, obliged to leave England at once for his health, must dispose of the entire furniture of his splendidly-appointed flat, etc. The "gentleman" is no more going abroad than I am. If you go to hu flat T ou will see it, in a judiciously subdued light, full of tempting furniture, all of which he is forced to sacrifice immediately. If you are foolish enough to become a purchaser, you will be inclined to kick yourself for the rest of your life. The "rich banker's son," though he may play the part to perfection, is really the agent of some shady second-hand furniture dealer; and his furniture, which looked so plausible, tricked out in the darkened rooms, is rubbish, dear at any price. The same gentleman, too, has been "going abroad" for years past. His furniture, flatful after flatful, goes; but he tarries. You see, it pays him to stay at home. Then there is the lady (oh, those widows!) who has lost her husband, and is compelled to sacrifice her treasured belongings—her grand piano, her silver, her valuable furs—all at ridiculous prices, just to keep the wolf from the door. Here is a fine chance of combining philanthropy with a good bargain; and you feel tempted. But don't. That widow lives in mourning, and is really very happy in it, though she must, ■ from the time she has worn her weeds, have buried several husbands. Her piano (of which she has sold scores) is foreign, turned out wholesale, and dear at half the price at which she is willing to sacrifice it; the silver is "Brummagem," and worth less than the showy cases that enshrine it; and as for her valuable furs —well, the animals wouldn't know them. The goods are all drawn and replaced from" a neighboring warehouse full of such rubbish. Then there is the lady who "must sell privately two handsome Oriental diamond and ruby rings, 18-carat goldcased,' for a few shillings each, as many shillings as they ought to be pounds. The same advertisement appears hundreds of time in papers all over the country; but the two rings, like the widow's cruse of oil, never fail. Of course, the rings are of the most rubbishy kind of sham jewellery, and the benevolent lady makes' at least 200 per cent, profit on each of them.

I might give you dozens of other examples" from unredeemed pledges, literally thrown away, to the violin said to he "a genuine Str'adivarius, sacrificed for forty" shillings (and really costing a tenth of that sum). They all represent sacrifices—and the buyer is the victim.