“Mishter, Mishter,” he called, “it is Ezekiels Isaacs. I vill puy de goods. How mooch is offered?”
“Five dollars so far,” repeated Frank tranquilly.
“Six,” instantly bolted out the newcomer.
“Seven!” snarled Moss.
“Ten tollars,” pronounced the other, pulling out a fat pocketbook.
“Gentlemen,” said Frank. “I have made up my mind. You must start your real bids at double that, or I cannot entertain an offer.”
“Yesh,” cried Moss eagerly—“twenty tollars.”
“Und a kee-varter!” howled his rival.
“Un a hal-luf!”