He looked sharply at the girl, as he tapped the rustling sheets with a blunt, tobacco-stained forefinger. “The sale ’ll have to be made conditional on satisfactory evidence that the highest bidder is an honest, respectable sort of person.
“The’s folks,” he added darkly, “‘at I wouldn’t sell a cat to—if I cared shucks ’bout the cat.”
“I’m not afraid,” said Barbara, “to do any sort of work.”
“Mebbe not,” Mr. Bellows acquiesced dryly. “Wall, guess I’ll wait till I git a good look int’ their faces. I’ll bet,” he added, “‘at I c’n size ’em up all right. An’ I’ll see t’ it ’at the right bidder gits the goods. An’ now I’ll tell you what to do. You set here inside the parlor, same’s if you was the corpse, we’ll say, at a funeral, an’ I’ll let the bidders come in one b’ one an’ kind o’ size you up. ’Course they’ve got to know the general specifications, an’ mebbe they’ll want to ask a few questions. But you’d best let me talk up the article like I know how. That’s m’ business; an’ I won’t make no fool mistakes.”
Barbara drew a deep breath.
“What,” she faltered, “are you going to say?”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry none ’bout what I’ll say. I’ll crack you up sky-high same’s I would a first-class horse. All you’ve got to do is to set right still an’ let me do th’ auctioneerin’. I’ll run you up to fifteen hunderd, if I kin.”
“Tell them I—I’ll work—hard and faithfully,” faltered Barbara.
She choked a little over the last word, her eyes bright with unshed tears.