"He's got his medal of honor for it, but he's not one to carry it around and show it," said Meagher's friend.
Meagher was bidding—some one had said six dollars for the lace. Meagher had said ten, and Mary Riley's violet eyes were glowing. I had five dollars—no more—in my pocket. But there was Twinney with his tens-of-thousands allowance in the year. He always carried plenty of money around with him.
"Twinney," I said, "how much money have you?"
"Oh, a couple of hundred or so," and pulled it out and began to count it.
"I'll bid on the lace piece," I said, "and you pay for it."
"Ten dollars I'm offered for this lovely piece of lace," the auctioneer was drooning. "Do I hear——?"
"Twenty," I said.
Meagher looks over at me and a light comes into his eyes. "Forty," says Meagher.
"Sixty," I said.
"Eighty," says Meagher.