Dave grinned, and took another.
Dad ran fifteen cows, successively, to three pounds ten shillings.
The men with the beer took a liking to Dave. They came frequently to him, and Dave began to enjoy the sale.
Again Dad stopped bidding at three pounds ten shillings.
Dave began to talk. He left his place beside Dad and, hat in hand, staggered to the middle of the yard. "WOH!" he shouted, and made an awkward attempt to embrace a red cow which was under the hammer.
"SEV'N POUN'—SEV'N POUN'—SEV'N POUN'," shouted the auctioneer, rapidly. "Any advance on sev'n POUN'?"
"WENNY (hic) QUID," Dave said.
"At sev'n poun' she's GOING?"
"Twenny (hic) TWO quid," Dave said.
"You have n't twenty-two PENCE," snorted the auctioneer.