The other thing that happened was Bill Saltmarsh's arriving in port. Bill is an “antiquer” for revenue only. He runs an antique store over at Ostable and the prices he charges are enough to convict him without hearing the evidence. I knew he'd come.
Saltmarsh busts through the crowd and makes for the pulpit. He nods to Peter T. and picks up one of the plates. He looks at it first ruther casual; then more and more careful, turning it over and taking up another.
“Hold on a minute, Brown,” says he. “Are THESE the dishes you're selling?”
“Sure thing,” comes back Peter. “Think we're serving free lunch? No, sir! Those are the genuine articles, Mr. Saltmarsh, and you're cheating the widders and orphans if you don't put in a bid quick. One thirty-two fifty, I'm bid. Now, Saltmarsh!”
But Bill only laughed. Then he picks up another plate, looks at it, and laughs again.
“Good day, Brown,” says he. “Sorry I can't stop.” And off he puts towards his horse and buggy.
Eddie Small was watching him. Milo, being on the other side of the pulpit, hadn't noticed so partic'lar.
“Who's that?” asks Eddie, suspicious. “Does he know antiques?”
I remarked that if Bill didn't, then nobody did.
“Look here, Saltmarsh!” says Small, catching Bill by the arm as he shoved through the crowd. “What's the matter with those dishes—anything?”