"Look here, Dredlinton," Sir Frederick expostulated, "you are spoiling my party. You don't want to quarrel with me, do you?"
"Quarrel with you, Freddy?" Dredlinton replied, patting him on the back affectionately. "Not I! I'm too fond of you, old dear. You give too nice parties. Always the right sort of people—except for that bounder over there," he went on, nodding his head towards Wingate.
"Then sit down and don't make an ass of yourself," his host begged.
"You're spoiling every one's enjoyment, making a disturbance like this."
"Spoiling their enjoyment be hanged!" Dredlinton scoffed. "Tell you what, I'm going to make the party go. I'm going to have a bit of fun. What about an auction, eh?—-an auction with two bidders only—both millionaires—one's a pal and the other isn't. Both want the same thing—happens to be mine. Damn! I never thought it was worth anything, but here goes. What'll you bid, Phipps?"
Phipps apprised the situation and decided upon his rôle. He had a very correct intuition as to what was likely to happen.
"Sit down and don't be an ass, Dredlinton," he laughed. "Don't take the fellow seriously," he went on, speaking generally. "He's all right as long as you let him alone. You're all right, aren't you, Dredlinton?"
"Right as rain," was the confident reply. "But let's hear your bid, if you're going to make one."
"Bid? You've got nothing to sell," Phipps declared good humouredly, with a covert glance towards Wingate. "What are you getting rid of, eh? Your household goods?"
"Come on, Phipps," Dredlinton persisted. "You're not going to fade away like that. You've given me the straight tip. You were the only man in the running. Clear course. No jealousy. Up to you to step in and win. You've got a rival, I tell you. You'll have to bid or lose her. Open your mouth wide, man. Start it with ten thou."
"Sit down, you blithering jackass!" Phipps roared. "Give him a drink, some one, and keep him quiet."