"Four pound ten!" roared Adam.
"Five!" nodded Grimes, edging away from Adam's elbow.
"Six pound ten!" cried Adam.
"Seven!"—from Parsons.
"Eight!" said Grimes.
"Ten!" roared Adam, growing desperate.
"Eleven!" said Grimes, beginning to mop at his neck again.
Adam hesitated; eleven pounds seemed so very much for those chairs, that he had seen Prudence and the rosy-cheeked maids dust regularly every morning, and then,—it was not his money, after all. Therefore Adam hesitated, and glanced wistfully towards a certain distant corner.
"At eleven,—at eleven pounds!—this fine suite of hand-carved antique chairs, at eleven pounds!—at eleven!—at eleven, going—going!—"
"Fifteen!" said a voice from the distant corner; whereupon Adam drew a great sigh of relief, while the Corn-chandler contorted himself in his efforts to glare at Bellew round the side-board.