"Take them out—take them out," yelled the crowd.
Somebody dropped a piece of wood in the box, and there was a pop. The farmer with the plug hat he-hawed at the top of his voice, the miserable owner of the eggs got mad at him, some words ensued, the farmer started after him, the egg owner ran, once outside fired an egg which struck the smooth, shiny tile with a splatter, and the farmer came back into the express office holding his nose, bareheaded, and looking for his rejected straw head-covering.
Some, however, were more fortunate. Bart encouraged and hurried the bidding on a large crate, the contents of which he easily guessed, as did also Tim Hager, the crippled son of a poor widow. Tim got it for two dollars and twenty-five cents, and it turned out to hold a first-class sewing machine.
"Your attention for a few moments, gentlemen," called out Bart as there was a hustle on the part of the audience getting together the mass of stuff they had bought. "All the unclaimed heavy express matter at Pleasantville was burned up in the fire of July third, but some twenty small parcels were in the safe, and those we will now dispose of."
"Money, jewelry, and such, I suppose?" propounded Lawyer Stebbings, who loaned money at a high rate of interest.
"We make no such representations," responded Bart. "I will say this, that no money packages are among the lot. There may be valuable papers, there may be jewelry—in fact, some of the parcels have a given value up to two hundred dollars—but the express company guarantees nothing and you bid at your own risk."
"Good! let's have a sample," demanded Stebbings. "Can I examine? Ah, thanks."
The crowd passed from hand to hand a small well-wrapped package.
"Watch!" hoarsely whispered someone.
"Feels like it!" said a second.