"Seven-ten!"
"Ten pounds!"
Mr. Absolom, who so far had held his own, hesitated at the last bid. A gray-haired old gentleman looked around him fiercely. The gentleman was seemingly opulent and Mr. Absolom withdrew with a sigh. Mr. Waddington eyed the prospective buyer sorrowfully.
"You are quite sure that you mean it, sir?" he asked. "The chest is not worth the money, you know."
"You attend to your business and I'll attend to mine!" the old gentleman answered, savagely. "Most improper behavior, I call it, trying to buy in your own goods in this bare-faced manner. My name is Stephen Hammonde, and the money's in my pocket for this or anything else I care to buy."
Mr. Waddington raised his hammer and struck the desk in front of him.
As his clerk entered the sale, the auctioneer looked up and caught
Burton's eye. He beckoned to him eagerly. Burton came up to the
rostrum.
"Burton," Mr. Waddington exclaimed, "I want to talk to you! You see what's happened to me?" he went on, mopping his forehead with his handkerchief.
"Yes, I see!
"It's that d—d bean!" Mr. Waddington declared. "But look here,
Burton, can you tell me what's happened to the other people?"
"I cannot," Burton confessed. "I am beginning to get an idea, perhaps."