The auctioneer eyed him suspiciously and relighted his cigar before speaking.
“If I were you,” he squinted, “I’d try the clerk of the court.”
“Where is he?”
“Haven’t you seen him?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“There was no occasion.”
The auctioneer could not stand anything so opaque. It made him sarcastic.
“If you have been playing booby horse with me and the court,—if you h-a-v-e! Does anybody around here know your figger to look at it?”
“This is a public auction, isn’t it?” John asked.