“And a hundred thousand!” he shouted.
“And a hundred thousand!” Matt Peasley retorted.
“And fifty thousand!” Mann flung back at him.
Matt Peasley eyed his antagonist belligerently.
“That's doing very well for a young fellow,” Searles complimented the last bidder. “Skipper Peasley, are you going to let this landlubber outgame you? He has bid a million and three-quarters. Think of the present high freight rates and speak up, or remain forever silent.”
The bidding had so suddenly and by such prodigious bounds reached the elimination point that every piker present was afraid to open his mouth in the presence of these plungers. Matt Peasley licked his lips and glanced round rather helplessly. He knew he had about reached the limit of his bidding, but he suspected that Mann had reached his also.
“And ten thousand!” he shouted desperately.
“Cheap stuff! Cheap stuff!” the crowd jeered good-naturedly.
Cappy Ricks nudged J. Augustus Redell as Mann waved his hand in token of surrender. “One million seven hundred and sixty thousand I am offered,” the auctioneer intoned. “Any further bids?” He waited a full minute; then resorted to three minutes of cajolery, but in vain. There were no more bids.
Jim Searles raised his hammer.