“Ten thousand dollars!” echoed the sheriff, then, glancing at the lawyer; “It’s against you, Mr. Ricketts.”
The lawyer hesitated.
“Eleven thousand!” he said at last.
“Fifteen thousand,” bid Stranleigh, promptly.
There were two anxious men in that hall. Stranleigh was wishing he had sent for a hundred thousand dollars. It was evident that Ricketts possessed good backing, but he had no means of knowing whether or not these men had the necessary money actually in hand. Ricketts was the second anxious man, and he was now gazing with apprehension at the door through which his companion had disappeared. He was called to attention by the strident voice of the sheriff.
“Fifteen thousand dollars is the last bid. Going at fifteen thousand once; going at fifteen thousand twice——”
“Wait a moment, Mr. Sheriff: there’s no hurry.”
“The sale must go on, Mr. Ricketts.”
“Certainly,” replied the lawyer, “but it’s your duty to get as much as you can for the property. We all sympathise very much with our neighbour, Mr. Armstrong, and whatever is paid over and above his debt to me, goes to him.”
“I am aware of that, Mr. Ricketts, and your compassion for Mr. Armstrong does you credit. Still, as I have said before, the sale must go on, and unless there is another bid, I am compelled to knock the property down to the last offer. Fifteen thousand dollars I am bid, and for the third time——”