CHAPTER V. THE FIRST SPARK PASSES
“Now, gentlemen,” shouted the auctioneer when he had finished his oration upon the girl's attractions, “what 'tin I bid? Eight hundred?”
Stephen caught his breath. There was a long pause no one cared to start the bidding.
“Come, gentlemen, come! There's my friend Alf Jenkins. He knows what she's worth to a cent. What'll you give, Alf? Is it eight hundred?”
Mr. Jenkins winked at the auction joined in the laugh.
“Three hundred!” he said.
The auctioneer was mortally offended. Then some one cried:—“Three hundred and fifty!”
It was young Colfax. He was recognized at once, by name, evidently as a person of importance.
“Thank you, Mistah Colfax, suh,” said the auctioneer, with a servile wave of the hand in his direction, while the crowd twisted their necks to see him. He stood very straight, very haughty, as if entirely oblivious to his conspicuous position.
“Three seventy-five!”