This
new bidder thought he saw a chance to get the pony, then later
to force Fred to pay a still higher price for the animal.
"Thirty!" called Ripley, with a sidelong glance at Dick & Co.
"Did I hear you offer thirty-five?" queried the auctioneer, singling
out Dick Prescott.
But Dick remained mute. However, in the next instant Greg Holmes,
ere Prescott could stop him, blurted out with:
"Thirty-two!"
"Thirty-four!" called Ripley briskly.
Greg opened his mouth, but Dick nudged him. "Don't bid, Greg.
You'd feel cheap if you had to take the pony and couldn't produce
the money," Dick admonished him.
"Thirty-five!" called the man who had raised the bidding before.
"Thirty-six," from Ripley.
"Thirty-eight!" called the man.
"Thirty-nine!" offered Fred, though he was beginning to perspire
freely.
"Forty!" promptly offered the man.
"Forty-one!" said Fred.
And there it hung. After three minutes more of hard work on the
auctioneer's part the pony went to Ripley at forty-one dollars.
"I don't know what my father will say to me for this," groaned
the lawyer's son. "But, anyway, Prescott and his crew didn't
get the chestnut pony, and this is the last piece of live stock,
so there's none left for them."
He cast a triumphant look in the direction of those whom he termed
"the mucker boys."
"Rip was bidding to keep us from getting a look-in!" whispered
Tom Reade gleefully.
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