"I don't represent it as having anything inside it," said the auctioneer. "If you want to know my opinion, I think there's money in it."
"'Ow much?"
"Don't misunderstand me, gentlemen. When I say I consider there's money in it, I'm not alluding to its contents. I've no reason to believe that it contains anything. I'm merely suggesting the thing itself may be worth more than it looks."
"Ah, it might be that without 'urting itself!"
"Well, well, don't let us waste time. Look upon it as a pure speculation, and make me an offer for it, some of you. Come."
"Tuppence-'ap'ny!" cried the comic man, affecting to brace himself for a mighty effort.
"Pray be serious, gentlemen. We want to get on, you know. Anything to make a start. Five shillings? It's not the value of the metal, but I'll take the bid. Six. Look at it well. It's not an article you come across every day of your lives."
The bottle was still being passed round with disrespectful raps and slaps, and it had now come to Ventimore's right-hand neighbour, who scrutinised it carefully, but made no bid.
"That's all right, you know," he whispered in Horace's ear. "That's good stuff, that is. If I was you, I'd 'ave that."