“If Zeb Fuller’s a boy, whar’d General Jackson git his army. Ten, ten—going at ten—do I hear any more?”
“Eleven!”
“Twelve!” shouted Zeb, and then he added, “Won’t do, Skinner, my boy; I’d never forgive myself if I let you go a boating and get drowned.”
“Thirteen!” exclaimed Skinner.
“Fourteen!” from Zeb.
“Fourteen, goin’ at fourteen——”
“Fourteen and a ’alf!” from Skinner.
“Fifteen!” said Zeb, quickly, but with a shivery sort of feeling that he had got to the end of his rope.
The Rodney attorney was inclined to dally a little, and the auctioneer came very near knocking down the prize to Zeb before that fatal “’alf” was added that carried him out of his depth.
If he had only had time to call for a collection of quarters from among the boys, or to make another pull on old Gershom Todderley.