“Dollar ’leven,” added the negro.
“Consider, gentlemen, the situation of the unfortunate man whose interest in this property I am selling.”
“Dollar fifteen,” said the colonel.
“Dollar fifteen and a half,” persisted the negro, amid roars of laughter.
“One thousand dollars,” said some one in the rear of the crowd, in a loud, clear tone.
If the explosion of the honest skipper’s canal boat, which had been the indirect cause of the present gathering, had taken place in the midst of the crowd, it could not have produced greater amazement and consternation than the liberal bid of the gentleman on the outskirts of the assemblage. It was a bombshell of the first magnitude which burst upon the hilarious people of Centreport, met, as it seemed to me, for the sole purpose of sacrificing my poor father. I recognized the voice of the bidder.
It was Major Toppleton.
I had not seen him before. I did not know he was present. I afterwards learned that he arrived only a moment before he made the bid, and only had time to perceive the nature of the farce which was transpiring before he turned it into a tragedy.
“Dollar fifteen and a half,” repeated the auctioneer, so startled that he chose not to take the astounding bid of the magnate of Middleport.
“I bid one thousand dollars,” shouted Major Toppleton, angrily, as he forced his way through the crowd to the foot of the steps where the auctioneer stood.