"You told me to sell him for what he would fetch. It's too late now to draw back."
"It an't too late," screamed the infuriated woman; "it's my dog, and I sha'n't sell him."
"Oh, you won't," said Mr. Potter. "'The best-laid plans of mice and men aft gang aglee.' Dr. Medjora gets the dog at twenty dollars."
"It's no sale! It's no sale!" cried out Miss Grath. "'T ain't legal to sell my property agin my word."
"Now, look here, Miss Grath," said Mr. Potter; "I'm here to sell, and whatever I sell is sold. That dog's sold, and that settles it. If you dispute it, you jes' say so, right now, and you kin sell the rest of this farm yourself. Now decide quick! Is the sale of that dog all straight?"
Miss Grath, despite her anger, was shrewd enough to see that her interests would be ruined if she suspended the sale. She could never hope to get the crowd together again, and no other auctioneer would obtain such good prices. So she was obliged to yield, though she did so with little grace.
"Oh! I 'spose ef you choose to be ugly 'bout it, I hain't got nothin' more to say. Dr. Medjora kin have the dog, an' much good may it do him. I hope he'll regret buyin' it, some day."
And so, through the cleverness of Mr. Potter, the poet-auctioneer, when Dr. Medjora and Leon started for New York on the following morning the collie went with them.