It was suspected that the wrecked showman was playing
for sympathy.
"Such a wealth of treasures is here offered," continued the auctioneer,
"that for the first time in my career I confess myself unable
to decide which article or lot to lay before you first."
"You said that last week at Templeton," laughed a man in the crowd.
"Go on!"
Whereupon the auctioneer once more addressed his hearers in a
burst of vocal fireworks.
"I wonder what Prescott and his mucker friends are here to bid
on?" Fred Ripley was asking himself. "Whatever it is, if it's
nothing that I want for myself I'll bid it up as high against
them as I can. For, of course, they've pooled their funds for
whatever they want to get. They can't put in more than a quarter
apiece, so a dollar and a half is all I have to beat. I'll wager
they already suspect that I'm here just to make things come higher
for them. I hope they do suspect!"
It was just after the Fourth of July. The summer sun shone fiercely
down upon the assemblage.
"Perhaps, first of all," announced the auctioneer, after pausing
to take breath, "it will be the proper thing to do to offer the
tent itself. At this point, however, I will say that the foreclosing
creditor of the show himself bids two hundred dollars on the tent.
No bid, unless it be more than two hundred dollars, can be accepted.
Come, now, friends, here is a fine opportunity for a shrewd business
man.
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