“That’s price. What do you know?”
The boy looked back at the mowers.
“Same engines on most of them.”
“Good. What usually fails?”
“I don’t know.”
“Parts available?”
“Don’t know.”
“Transport?”
“My uncle has a trailer.”
“Storage?”
A pause.
“Backyard.”
Isaiah smiled slightly.
“That part sounds familiar.”
The boy waited, perhaps expecting permission.
Isaiah did not give it.
“Figure out what question you’re really buying the answer to.”
“What does that mean?”
“If your question is only ‘Can I get them cheap?’ the answer is probably yes. Cheap things go bankrupt every day.”
He pointed toward the mowers.
“What is still good? What fails in common? Who buys the parts? What does it cost to move them? How long can your money sit before you need it back?”
The boy started writing.
Isaiah stopped him.
“Don’t write mine down like they’re magic. Make your own list.”
The young man nodded.
“Thanks.”
He walked away.
Reuben had heard enough of the exchange to be amused.
“You giving away trade secrets?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Granddad gave me most of mine.”
“Fair.”
The auction began.
Callaway Reworks bought selectively again.
A compact tractor with a dead engine but desirable loader frame.
Two machines from a platform the shop already supported.
A pallet of wheels.
Three transmission cores.
They passed on an entire row that sold cheaply because parts support was poor.
Dale bought two of them for scrap.
When bidding ended, Isaiah stood near the checkout window and watched yard workers begin loading equipment.
The memory of his first sale returned with surprising clarity.
The envelope in his jacket.
The auctioneer joking that someone should save him from himself.
Dale saying steel was worth more than parts.