At length Mona’s anger becomes ungovernable. It is conspiracy, collusion! John Corlett has bought up all competitors! She rises from her seat by the fire with the intention of throwing up the window and shouting her protest. But while her hand is on the sash she sees Oskar at the other side of the barbed wire, striding hastily away, and she returns to her seat.
The auction goes on for an hour longer. Mona does not look out again, but she hears everything that is said outside, every word, almost every whisper.
The farmers are beginning to laugh at the monotony of the proceedings. At length there is a murmur of conversation between the auctioneer and the Advocate, and the auctioneer says, “Very well, if you wish, sir,” whereupon the Advocate raises his voice and cries:
“Gentlemen, this is going too far. If I hadn’t announced that the sale would be without reserve I should stop it on my own responsibility. Come now, be Manxmen. What’s doing on you anyway? Is it the war—or what? Men, we all knew old Robert Craine. He is dead. Let us be fair to his only daughter.”
After that there is no more laughter, but there is less bidding and the results are the same. The sale, which was expected to last until evening, is over by lunch-time.
“Gentlemen,” says the auctioneer, “I thank you for your attendance. It’s just as I expected—John Corlett has bought in all the stock on the farm.”
“And much good may it do him,” says the Advocate.
“I might have given her more for it without the auction, sir,” says John Corlett.
“And so you might, or you should have been d—— well ashamed of yourself.”