"Three thousand one hundred," came suddenly from Parson John.
An earthquake shock could hardly have startled the men more than this bid from such an unexpected quarter.
Farrington's face reddened, and he moved a step nearer to be sure that he had not been mistaken.
"Did I hear aright?" he gasped. "Did the parson add one hundred to my bid?"
"Three thousand one hundred dollars from Parson Westmore," shouted the auctioneer. "Any advance on three thousand one hundred dollars?"
"Another hundred, then, damn it," and Farrington thrust his hands deeper into his pockets, while his eyes gleamed with an angry light.
"Three thousand five hundred," came the quiet response.
Silence followed this last bid, which plainly proved that Farrington, too, was weakening. He looked around as if uncertain what to do, and his eyes rested upon Mrs. Frenelle. In her eagerness she had moved from the door, and was standing near the group of men with her eyes fixed full upon the clergyman. The expression upon her face was that of a drowning person, who, when all hope has been abandoned, sees a rescuer suddenly at hand. It was this look more than the half-suppressed laugh that passed among the men, which caused him to fling another one hundred dollars at the auctioneer.
"Four thousand," again came strong and clear from Parson John without the slightest hesitation.
The auctioneer waited for Farrington to increase his bid. The men almost held their breath in the excitement of the moment, and Mrs. Frenelle moved a step nearer with her hands firmly clasped before her.