The driver whom Niall and Frederick knew came with just one call. They were already quite familiar with each other. Lately, it had been increasingly difficult to make a living as a taxi driver, so having consistent work—especially involving long-distance trips within the city—was considered pretty good.
The two of them strolled leisurely down the street in front of the university campus. The University of Pittsburgh and Carnegie Mellon University were located across the street from each other. As one of the oldest universities in the United States, the University of Pittsburgh had been established for over a century. Admission to such a school wasn't just about having money—you also needed a recommendation.
It wasn't like any small-town high school principal could just write you a letter and get you in. You had to have a recommendation from a successful alumni parent, or perhaps know a senator from Pennsylvania. In short, you either had to be an insider or someone powerful—recommendations from either camp would do.
Unfortunately, the honorable Judge Edward, who was willing to write a letter for Niall, was a circuit judge in West Virginia—not Pennsylvania. His letter probably wouldn't carry much weight with Pitt.
If Judge Edward someday ran for and won a higher office, then maybe his letter might have some real pull. But judging from the way he was, he didn't exactly seem like someone who could win over voters. That possibility was slim to none.
As they walked slowly along a tree-lined path, they came across a few scattered people and noticed a display board by the road: a Wednesday flea market. Some students were selling things they no longer needed, while small-time vendors had set up booths as well. It wasn't exactly bustling, but there was some life to it.
Flea markets like this weren't common in rural areas. In Brooke County and nearby towns, the population was just too small—there wasn't enough demand. But in big cities like Pittsburgh, there were not only dedicated secondhand markets but also all sorts of community and campus flea markets. After all, there were still more poor people than rich ones these days.
Using secondhand goods wasn't shameful in the slightest. Even into the 21st century, these kinds of markets were still thriving. Some flea markets in American and European cities had even become social media hotspots, with people going just to say they'd been there.
Not bad. A little slice of campus life. Niall gave the scene a casual glance and suddenly spotted something he really needed—a nearly-new bicycle, "used by a girl." Pfft—no, actually, it was a 90% new bike "used by a male college student."
"You want to buy it?" Frederick followed Niall's gaze and saw the bicycle.
"Getting into town from home is such a hassle," Niall replied, not committing, since he was worried the price might be too high. In their current situation, they could only afford something cheap—style, performance, and bells and whistles weren't part of the equation.
"True," Frederick agreed.
They stepped closer to take a better look. On a piece of cardboard attached to the bike was a simple description: bought just last year, originally $40, now asking $20, and price was negotiable. The bike looked practically new. The male student had probably only used it for short trips in the city—hardly any wear and tear.
"Consider it payment for your advice," Frederick said immediately, offering to pay for it, since the price was reasonable.
But Niall, looking at the cardboard sign, suddenly remembered an image from a future history textbook: a well-dressed man in a gentleman's hat trying to sell his Ford car for $100. The car looked fine—new even—but nobody wanted it.
In just a few months, Ford cars would be going for $100. So why spend $20 on a bicycle now? Niall was already starting to feel wary. In just a few months, prices for all industrial goods would collapse like an avalanche.
The market wouldn't be able to absorb the oversupply. In many cases, the cost to ship a product to market would exceed the selling price. Throwing stuff away would be more cost-effective than trying to sell it.
By then, even if Niall didn't want to go fancy and buy a car, he could at least get a motorbike. Who knew—maybe a motorbike would cost just $40 or $50, far more convenient than pedaling a bike. And it could carry two people too. The only downside would be that it didn't protect from the rain.
"No, not for now," Niall said, stopping Frederick, who was already digging into his pocket.
"What's wrong?"
"Prices will drop in a few months," Niall replied.
He shot Frederick a knowing look, and Frederick suddenly got it. Of course! The Great Depression was about to hit. The market would soon crash. Everything would become dirt cheap. There'd be so much surplus that capitalists would slaughter their cattle to fertilize the land, burn corn and wheat as fuel, destroy cotton crops, and pour milk straight into the Mississippi River.
"You might be able to get a Studebaker for $100 then," Niall said, patting Frederick's shoulder.
"For $100? I'll buy one for my old man too! Hahahaha…" Frederick laughed. His father, Barend, was probably at the bank withdrawing money right about now—nothing to worry about.
They left the bike behind, even though it looked like a great deal for the moment, and continued browsing. Actually, flea markets like this sometimes had interesting antiques. Niall looked around but didn't see anything from China.
Maybe those could be found at larger secondhand markets. In a few decades, those big markets would be flooded with Japanese goods, including over a million Japanese swords—many labeled as rare or famous. Many Japanese people in America hunted for such treasures.
As for the countless artworks and antiques taken by Americans as war trophies—well, those were even more plentiful. Many American soldiers' descendants had no idea what those things were worth and sold them for pennies. It's said some Japanese folks made millions of dollars just by treasure-hunting in U.S. flea markets during that era.
The campus path was short and didn't offer much more to see. They had walked quite a bit already, so the two of them decided to head back. When there was no one else around, Frederick casually asked:
"Do you think if I bought gold now, I could sell it for a good price later?"
"That…"
Niall was caught off guard. He vaguely remembered that Roosevelt had once issued an order requiring citizens to sell their gold to the government—and hoarding gold could land you ten years in prison.
But whether the government paid a premium for the gold—Niall honestly couldn't remember. Maybe they did, maybe they didn't. Without the details, Niall was at a complete loss.