"Two-fifty!" bawled the auctioneer. "Two-fifty? Going—any more? Going—going—" he brought his big hands together with a slap, "Gone! at two dollars and fifty cents, to—who's the party, Ben?"
Ben, harassed, pencil in mouth, professed ignorance.
"Kirkleigh Sturgis," said the owner of the musical instrument, "Winterbottom Road."
"Mister Sturgis," said the auctioneer, while Ben scribbled. "Step right up, young man. Give Ben your money and put your pianner in your pocket. Now folks, the next article—"
Kirk and Felicia, not to speak of the organ, two chairs, a wash-basin, a frying-pan, two boxes of candles, a good mop, and a pot of soft soap, were all carted home by the invaluable Hop. They met Ken, in from his second trip, in the middle of Winterbottom Hill, and they gave him a lift.
"Oh, if you knew what you're sitting on!" Phil chuckled.
"Good heavens! Will it go off?" cried Ken, squirming around to look down at his seat. "I thought it was a chist, or something."
"It's—a melodeon!" Phil said weakly.
