“What is it, Zeb? Come here,” replied the miller. “Do you want to buy?”
“Only to keep Puff Evans from drowning himself,” said Zeb. “It’s only fifteen dollars, and the boat’s worth four times that much. I’ve got three.”
“I’ll lend you the other twelve!” exclaimed Gershom Todderley, pulling out his wallet, “and you and I can own the boat together till you can pay me. We can let Puff use it, can’t we?”
“The very thing!” exclaimed Zeb. “You’re an honor to Ogleport, Brother Todderley.”
Gershom looked at the incorrigible youngster with a very dignified sort of wheeze, but Zeb went back to the crowd feeling like a Rothschild.
In a moment more the customary and monotonous, “How much’m I offered,” was responded to by a bid of five dollars from the Rodney attorney, who had “come for that boat.”
“Five, goin’ at five—five—do I hear any more?”
“Ten,” responded Zeb.
The Rodney man started and looked hard at Zeb.
“No bids from boys,” he began, but the auctioneer promptly responded: