The auctioneer looked at Wallie, who could not have been paler in his coffin.
"Five twenty-five!"
"Good! Now, sir," to the veterinary.
"Five-fifty!"
He turned to Wallie:
"Am I done, gentlemen?"
Wallie stared at him, his throat too dry to answer.
"Must I give away the best pullin' team in the State for a puny, piddlin' five hundred and fifty dollars?" he pleaded.
"Six hundred!" Wallie cried in desperation.
With the bid Canby raised his hat and ran his fingers through his hair casually and the veterinary stopped bidding.