"— when she yelped, and everybody looked round, I felt about two inches high with embarrassment Then I took one look at H.M., and I felt about nine feet high. There's something about the old ba… the old boy's personality. It's like an electric current."
The gentleman in question, having detached himself from the spectators, was now lumbering towards them in the aisle between bidders and wall From the arms-room he had retrieved his, Panama hat He carried the guisarme like a mighty man of war, thumping down its shaft at every step. But, when an attendant took it from him, it was with such a deferential, "If you please, sir," that H.M. only scowled. Then he surveyed Martin and Jenny.
"Not for the world," he said querulously, "would I show any curiosity. Oh, no. But burn me, I'd like to have some idea of what it is I paid two hundred quid for. They say it's back mere somewhere," he nodded towards the rear of the room, "and I can't get it till the end of the sale."
"Please," urged Jenny. "Lower your voice. I can tell you what it is."
"So?"
"It's a dock. A grandfather clock."
"Well… now!" muttered the great man, and scratched his chin. A vast load seemed lifted from him. "That's not bad. That’s not bad at all. I was sort of picturing myself goin' home with a fine big bit of needlework labelled, 'Jesus give you sleep.'"
"The clock," Jenny explained, "hasn't got any works inside it. There's only a skeleton, fastened upright to the back, with its skull looking out through the glass clock-dial"
The effect of this remark was curious.
Instead of showing surprise or even sarcasm, H.M.'s big face smoothed itself out to utter expressionlessness. His small, sharp eyes fastened on Jenny in a way that evidently disconcerted her. He did not even seem to breathe. The thin voice of the auctioneer sounded far away.