‘Ten pound,’ said the boy, taking a step forward.
There was a pause, and the auctioneer held up his crook.
‘Ten pounds!’ he cried. ‘He’s awa at ten pounds! Ane, twa——’
‘Ten pound ten!’ shouted Davie MacLunder.
Jimmy Stirk turned away, bitter disappointment in his face. In spite of his nineteen years and strong hands, his eyes were filling. No one knew how earnestly he had longed for the little horse.
‘Eleven,’ said Gilbert.
‘Eleven ten!’
‘Twelve.’
The auctioneer raised his crook again, and threw a searching glance round.
‘Twelve pound! Twelve pound! Twelve pound for the last time! Ane, twa, three——’