“By what right?” demanded the auctioneer.
“Because I was bidding on it against this young lady, and you did not cry it three times as you should have done.”
“I asked you, and you shook your head. Then I told you it was worth higher bidding, but you denied going higher—a shake of the head is as legal a denial as a spoken word, in this case. I have witnesses that you refused to go higher, so I sold it to the young lady.”
The man who was a dealer and had a customer for such a chair, was furious at having lost it to a mere girl. He began an argument, but the auctioneer calmly remarked: “This is a public sale, and as such, order must be maintained. I shall have to ask anyone creating a disturbance to leave the premises.”
That quieted the disputant, and Polly kept her chair. Her companions congratulated her on securing it, but Mr. Fabian wished to know why she took such a sudden fancy for the piece of furniture, when there were other fine pieces that might appeal to a girl.
“Because, the moment I saw that chair tapestry it reminded me of my home at Pebbly Pit. We have just such wonderful sunsets as that chair covering represents. Glorious colors that flare in points at some places, and then fade away in the western sky like misty violets in a rivulet; or like the gray of twilight before night falls,” explained Polly, reminiscently.
“Oh yes, Polly,” assented Eleanor. “Just like we saw over Rainbow Cliffs, so many times.”
“Miss Polly is some artiste natural born, I think,” said the Count, who had been deeply impressed by the girl’s remark.
“Polly’s a poet and doesn’t know it!” declared Dodo, fervently. “If I ever could say such a lovely thing in words about an old chair, I’d begin to believe I had escaped Ma’s plans for a title in the family.”
Of course her companions laughed at her unconscious rhyme and, also, at her quaint expression of face, but the Count wondered what she meant by “a title in the family.”