“You hear the bid, gentlemen. I’m offered a thousand dollars for this very superior article. Only a thousand dollars.”
“Eleven hundred,” said Jarvey, the well-known keeper of a gambling-saloon.
Tibbs glanced angrily at the audacious competitor, then nodded to the auctioneer.
“Eleven hundred and fifty is what I’m offered for Lot Number 5. Gentlemen, bar in mind, that you air servin’ a pious cause in helpin’ me to git the full valoo of this most-er excellent article. Remember the proceeds go to edicate indigent young men for the ministry. Mr. Jarvey, can’t you do su’thin’ for the church?”
“Twelve hundred,” said Jarvey.
“Twelve fifty,” exclaimed Tibbs, abruptly, in a tone sharp with exasperation and malevolence.
Nelly, seeing that the bidding was confined to these two, looked from the one to the other with an expression of deepest solicitude, as if scanning their countenances for some way of hope. Alas! there was not much to choose. To Jarvey, as the less ill-favored, she evidently inclined; but Tibbs had plainly made up his mind to “go his pile” on the purchase, and the article was finally knocked down to him for fifteen hundred dollars.
“You owt to be proud to bring sich a price as that, my gal,” said Ripper, in a tone of congratulation. Nelly made a piteous, frightened attempt at a smile, then burst into tears, and got down from the bale, stumbling in her confusion so as to fall on her hands to the ground, much to the amusement of the spectators.
The lots from six to eleven inclusive did not excite much competition. They were mostly field-hands, coarse and stolid in feature, and showing a cerebral development of the most rudimental kind. They brought prices ranging from seven hundred to nine hundred dollars.
“Now, gentlemen,” said Ripper, “I have one little fancy article to offer you, and then the sale will be closed. Bring on Number 12.”