The package Bart tendered was thin and flat. Two tough pieces of cardboard held it stiff and straight. It seemed to contain papers of some kind, and so many bidders had bought old deeds, contracts, plans, manuscripts and the like, utterly valueless to them, that the lot hung at twenty-five cents for several minutes.
"Come, come, gentlemen!" urged Bart—"the last may be the best. The charges are sixty-five cents. Sender's name not given. Directed to 'A.A. Adams, Pleasantville'—not found."
"Hoo! S—s—say!"
Bart experienced something of a shock.
The familiar cry of the ex-roustabout, Mr. Baker, rang out sharp and sudden.
Glancing at him, Bart saw that he had arisen to his feet.
His face was bloodless and twitching, his whole frame a-quake. His eyes were snapping wildly. He was like a man who could hardly speak or stand, and fairly on the verge of a fit.
A wavering finger he pointed at the young auctioneer, and gasped out.
"One dollar—two—three!"