Ventimore had done his best, and failed; there was no reason now why he should stay a moment longer—and yet he sat on, from sheer fatigue and disinclination to move.
"Now we come to Lot 254, gentlemen," he heard the auctioneer saying, mechanically; "a capital Egyptian mummy-case in fine con—— No, I beg pardon, I'm wrong. This is an article which by some mistake has been omitted from the catalogue, though it ought to have been in it. Everything on sale to-day, gentlemen, belonged to the late General Collingham. We'll call this No. 253a. Antique brass bottle. Very curious."
One of the porters carried the bottle in between the tables, and set it down before the dealers at the farther end with a tired nonchalance.
It was an old, squat, pot-bellied vessel, about two feet high, with a long thick neck, the mouth of which was closed by a sort of metal stopper or cap; there was no visible decoration on its sides, which were rough and pitted by some incrustation that had formed on them, and been partially scraped off. As a piece of bric-à-brac it certainly possessed few attractions, and there was a marked tendency to "guy" it among the more frivolous brethren.
"What do you call this, sir?" inquired one of the auctioneer, with the manner of a cheeky boy trying to get a rise out of his form-master. "Is it as 'unique' as the others?"
"You're as well able to judge as I am," was the guarded reply. "Any one can see for himself it's not modern rubbish."
"Make a pretty little ornament for the mantelpiece!" remarked a wag.
"Is the top made to unscrew, or what, sir?" asked a third. "Seems fixed on pretty tight."
"I can't say. Probably it has not been removed for some time."
"It's a goodish weight," said the chief humorist, after handling it. "What's inside of it, sir—sardines?"