"Thirteen," came again from the corner, and Hugh caught sight of the bidder, a sour-grained fellow, whose wife had ten young children, and so could find use for Sam.
"Thirteen and a half," cried Hugh.
"Fourteen," responded his opponent.
"Leetle more, mas'r, berry leetle," whispered Uncle Sam.
"Fourteen and a quarter," said Hugh, the perspiration starting out about his lips, as he thought how fast his pile was diminishing, and that he could not go beyond it.
"Fourteen and a half," from the corner.
"Leetle more, mas'r," from Uncle Sam.
"Fourteen, seventy-five," from Hugh.
"Fifteen," from the man in the corner, and Hugh groaned aloud.
"That's every dime I've got."