"Three hundred!" shouted Dalny.
Again the clerk nodded:
"Four—four!"
"Five!" shouted Dalny. This was all the money he would get in the morning excepting fifty dollars—and that he owed for his rent.
"Five—five—five!—third and last call! SOLD! and to you, Mr. Dalny! Gentlemen, you seem to have been asleep. One of the most distinguished painters of our time is the possessor of this picture, which only shows that it takes an artist to pick out a good thing!"
She was waiting for him in her room, her own door ajar this time. He had promised to come back, and she was then to go to the hospital and tell the good news to her brother.
With his heart aglow with the pleasure in store for her, he bounded up the stairs, both hands held out, his face beaming:
"Wonderful success! Bought by a distinguished connoisseur who won't let the auctioneer give his name."
"Oh, I am so happy!" she answered. "That is really better than the money; and for how much, dear Mr. Dalny?"
"Five hundred dollars!"