The compensation balance, keyless, air-tight, seven-guinea grandee was the next to be put up, and the first bid for him was £1 10s.
“That I should have lived to hear that!” I heard the poor creature gasp.
“And if he’s a teetotaler,” I murmured, by way of encouragement, “that only means £1 8 shillings 6 pence!”
“Scoffer! be silent and leave me to my misery,” said the keyless one, in a solemn tone.
The bidding improved considerably. He was run up to £2, £2 10 shillings, £3, £3 10 shillings, and finally to £4.
“Nothing more for this very magnificent watch?” said the auctioneer; “I positively cannot let him go for a song.”
No answer.
“I wish gentlemen would take the trouble to look at it,” continued the persevering official; “they could not fail to see it was worth twice the money bid.”
Still no answer.
“Did I understand you to bid four five, sir?” said the auctioneer to an innocent-looking stripling near the door. “Thank you.”