Merry took to bidding union price at the very start. “Seventy-five!” she shouted again and again, but each time the throng behind went far above her.
“Pipe down!” Weston shouted back at them. “Give the little girl a chance!”
Not a chance did they give her.
So the day wore on. The pile behind the counter had dwindled very low when two modest sized packages, one with a foreign label on it, were put up.
“See!” hissed Jeanne in sudden excitement. “That one came from France. There are French words on the label. We must have it!”
“Sh! Be still!” Merry squeezed her hand.
Weston bid a quarter. Fisheim, a second member of the union, went to half a dollar.
“Seventy-five!” screamed Merry.
“Seventy-five, and sold!” shouted the auctioneer.
Merry thanked him with her laughing Irish eyes. She understood it all. She had been saving him breath by bidding high at the start. Now she was repaid.