“Going—once!” he called—and waited. “Going—twice!” Another pause. “Going—”
“Two million dollars!” cried J. Augustus Redell; and a sigh went up from the excited onlookers.
“Ah! Mr. Redell is a sport, after all! Two million, flat!” Searles looked down on Matt Peasley. “Die, dog, or eat the meat ax!” he warned the unhappy young man.
“Let him have her,” Matt growled; and, very red of face, he commenced to shoulder his way through the crowd.
“Beat it, Cappy; he's coming!” Redell warned the president emeritus.
Cappy Ricks, dodging round the flank of the crowd, fled through the side entrance of the Merchants' Exchange; and he was tranquilly smoking a cigar in his private office when Matt Peasley dropped in on him an hour later. Cappy eyed him coldly.
“Is Skinner back from luncheon?” he demanded. Matt nodded. “Tell him to come in here. I want to see him,” Cappy continued ominously. “And you might stick round yourself.”
Mr. Skinner made his appearance.
{Illustration: “Two million dollars'” cried J Augustus Redell.}
“Close the door,” Cappy commanded.