"Eighteen!" followed up young Prescott. He was in a cold perspiration now, lest the fight be forced too far.
To his astonishment, Fred Ripley, an ugly sneer on his face, turned his back on the bidding.
"Are you through, gentlemen?" demanded the auctioneer, after a keen look in the direction of the lawyer's son.
"I am," Ripley growled over his shoulder.
"I am offered eighteen! Eighteen! Eighteen! Who says nineteen? Make it eighteen-fifty! Who says eighteen-fifty? Eighteen and a quarter! Are you through, gentlemen? Then going, going—-gone! Sold to Master Prescott at eighteen dollars. Young man, I congratulate you. Walk right up and pay your money! All, or a deposit?"
Dick, who had been collecting loose change from his chums, now came forward.
"I'll pay a deposit of seven dollars," he announced.
"Hand it here, then. Seven dollars; thank you. Here's your receipt. Now, remember, Prescott, you have until the end of one hour after the sale closes. Then, if you're not here with the other eleven dollars, you must expect to forfeit this deposit."
"I know," Dick nodded.
Then he hurried off to his chums.