It was Samson Newell who spoke.
"'M offered fifteen," cried the White Bear, pricking up his ears; "goin' to the tahvern at fifteen; who says fifteen 'n' arf?"
"I do!" from a pursy passenger with a double chin and a heavy fob-chain.
He glanced round a little savagely, having made his bid, as who should say, "And I should like to see the man who will raise it!"
"'N' 'arf! 'n' 'arf! 'n' 'arf! 'n' 'arf!" cried the White Bear, growing much excited,—"an' who says sixteen?"
Samson Newell nodded.
"Sixteen dollars! sixteen! sixteen! We can't tarry, gentlemen!"
The White Bear proved the truth of this latter assertion by suddenly disappearing beneath the snow. He reappeared in an instant and resumed his outcry.
"I see the gentleman's sixteen," quoth the man who had called the White
Bear "Sheep-Shanks," "and go fifty cents better!"
"I see you," replied the auctioneer, "an' don't take your bid! Who says sixteen 'n' 'arf?"