bringing to the office of auctioneer the anomaly of choice diction and dignity of manner.
A few of the minor articles were sold, and then two assistants brought forward the image of the Virgin.
Robbins started the bidding at ten dollars. A stout man, in an ecclesiastical garb, went to fifteen. A voice from another part of the crowd raised to twenty. The three bid alternately, raising by bids of five, until the offer was fifty dollars. Then the stout man dropped out, and Robbins, as a sort of coup de main, went to a hundred.
“One hundred and fifty,” said the other voice.
“Two hundred,” bid Robbins, boldly.
“Two-fifty,” called his competitor, promptly.
The reporter hesitated for the space of a lightning flash, estimating how much he could borrow from the boys in the office, and screw from the business manager from his next month’s salary.
“Three hundred,” he offered.
“Three-fifty,” spoke up the other, in a louder voice a voice that sent Robbins diving suddenly through the crowd in its direction, to catch Dumars, its owner, ferociously by the collar.
“You unconverted idiot!” hissed Robbins, close to his ear—‘‘pool!”
“Agreed!” said Dumars, coolly. “I could n’t raise three hundred and fifty dollars with a search-warrant, but I can stand half. What you come bidding against me for?”
“I thought I was the only fool in the crowd,” explained Robbins.
