Chapter Twenty Two.
To be Sold by Auction.
“Sale now on,” was stuck upon the door-posts of a good-sized house that I was passing the other day—a house that an agent would call “a genteel family mansion;” for the agent, taught by his trade, knows that it is not always expedient to call a spade a spade, so he tickles the taste of his customers by talking of “villas, cottages ornées, snug boxes, delightful residences,” etcetera; in short, anything but what a plain, matter-of-fact person would bring forth to dub the home wherein he passed his hours of rest. “Sale now on,” in black letters six inches high. There were bills in the windows bearing the name of a well-known auctioneer, which was in itself sufficient to guarantee that it was a genuine sale; a large hearthrug was swung, banner fashion, out of the first-floor window, bearing also a bill, enumerating the valuable household furniture, and about the door were several snuffy-looking men in carpet caps, some with very Israelitish aspects, but all looking very fleecy and fluffy, and wearing the appearance of buying a secondhand suit of clothes once in a year, putting it on, and keeping it on until it dropped off of its own accord.
Being something of a saunterer, auction sales very frequently come under my notice, and possess something of an attraction for me; not that I go as a bargain hunter, for it is only on very, very rare occasions that I make a purchase; but I like to see how my fellow-man and woman buy their bargains, and also to moralise, in my own small way, upon the changes that may have taken place in the house before the “whole of the valuable and modern household furniture” was placed in the hands of the “going, going, gone” man, to dispose of without reserve. I have been in some strange places in my travels, and seen some strange auctions, especially those in the electro-plate line at a shop in a leading thoroughfare; but the touter at the door never asks me in now, and the gentleman in the rostrum never seeks to catch my eye for another bid. My impression is that they do not want me, but look upon me as a rogue towards them; and verily I believe that I am, if they occupy the standard position of honest men. I could fill some pages with the reflections I have made upon different auctions at which I have been present—of the struggling, failing tradesman, turned out of house and home, watching with bitterness his household gods sacrificed upon the altar of Mammon—of the recklessly furnished house of the bankrupt speculator—of the little four-roomed house in the suburbs—all have their own especial history; but upon this occasion I am writing of the buyers more especially, and of the especial house spoken of at the head of this paper.
“Sale now on; fuss floor, sir,” said one of the grubby individuals before referred to; and as I ascended the stairs, which showed plainly where the rich velvet pile carpet, lot 94 in the catalogue, had lain, I was attacked on both flanks by a couple of gentlemen of very seedy, but decidedly not ripened appearance, who were very desirous of executing any little commissions for me. “Was there anything I had marked in the catalogue?” One of these gents soon gave me up, but the other seemed determined that if he failed in hooking a gudgeon, it should not be for want of perseverance; so he followed me up most pertinaciously, and on reaching the sale room—the three drawing-rooms thrown into one—began to expatiate upon everything which seemed to have attracted my eye. The pianoforte was the very one that would suit me, and he could tell me the figure to a T that I ought to give for it, which was not the strict letter of the truth.
It was of no avail that I tried to get rid of him, so I sat down in a corner near the auctioneer, and watched the progress of the sale and the countenances of the buyers.
“Going at three ten; going at three ten; going at three ten—”
“Tap” went the hammer, and a Mr Cohen became the owner of a rosewood loo table.
Several more lots were disposed of, when a large feather-bed was placed by the porters upon the table. It might have been stuffed with feathers of gold from the way in which it was immediately attacked and punched. I was almost knocked over in the rush; and for a moment it appeared as though the twelve tribes of Israel had resolved, to a man, upon thrusting their arms right up to the elbow in the soft and yielding bed.
“Bargain at a fi-pun note, sir; let me bid for you. Be a sin to let such a chance go. Better let me bid, or them Jews ’ll run it up.”
In spite of myself I could not refrain from turning round and gazing upon my tormentor’s profile, which was as thoroughly Israelitish as ever spoke of race or told of Eastern origin. But for a very peremptory negative I should undoubtedly have become the possessor of the capital feather-bed; which, however, became the property of a Mr Moss.
In fact, the richly historical names that were given in after almost every purchase showed how very little there was of the Christian element in the sale: Lazarus, Abrahams, Marks, Levy, Solomon, and the refined Sloman—Moss, a capital name for a money grubber, and far preferable, no doubt, to the more familiar Moses—such names as these seemed of the most familiar, while Brown, Jones, Robinson, or Smith only occurred at long intervals.
I stayed some two hours, and watched the greed and avarice displayed by the bidders; and came away with the full determination not to buy at sales, for I could see one thing very plainly, and that was, that there was no fear of an article being sold for less than its value, as there were plenty of experienced men waiting to close at once upon a bargain; and therefore these brokers would, amongst them, run every lot up to nearly its full worth; the consequence being, that if you did not give the real value for an article that you were almost buying in the dark as to its quality, you would give for it perhaps considerably more than it was worth—buying blindly—every lot being knocked down to the buyer with all its defects and failings.
I am not going to say that bargains are not to be picked up at sales, for no doubt many are to be come at in this way; but it seems to me to be absolutely necessary that the purchaser should possess a shrewd business perception and keen business capabilities, or the chances are that he will be greatly disappointed when he pays his money and has his goods delivered to him. And this is what I thought as I watched the different little “dodges” employed by the initiated to give the auctioneer notice when they bid. One man scratched his head; another winked his right eye; another winked his left; one thrust his tongue into his cheek; another raised his eyebrows; others rubbed their noses, tapped their teeth, coughed, pulled their whiskers; while the most expert seemed to do it with a look.
“Said I then to myself, here’s a lesson for me,” though I do not know with what favour Dr Watts would have looked upon such a misappropriation of his ode, and I then rose to leave the room, closely followed by my broker friend, who was strongly of opinion, when we reached the staircase, that he ought to drink my health. However, I did not agree with him, being so unimaginative as to consider that my health would not be in the slightest degree improved by being drunk, while that of my companion would decidedly suffer by potations such as are supplied in our London public-houses.