“Start as low as you like, gentlemen!  I am offered a miserable fifteen shillings for a genuine, hand-painted—­”

“Sixteen!” this from a long, loose-limbed fellow with a patch over one eye, and another on his cheek.

“A pound!” said Adam, promptly.

“A guinea!” nodded he of the patches.

“Twenty-five shillin’s!” said Adam.

“At twenty-five shillings!” cried the Auctioneer, “any advance?—­a genuine, hand-painted, antique screen,—­going at twenty-five—­at twenty-five,—­going—­going—­gone!  To the large gentleman in the neckcloth, Theodore!”

“Theer be that Job Jagway, sir,” said Adam, leaning across the side-board to impart this information,—­“over yonder, Mr. Belloo sir,—­’im as was bidding for the screen,—­the tall chap wi’ the patches.  Two patches be pretty good, but I do wish as I’d give him a couple more, while I was about it, Mr. Belloo sir.”  Here, the Auctioneer’s voice put an end to Adam’s self-reproaches, and he turned back to the business in hand.

“The next lot I’m going to dispose of, gentlemen, is a fine set of six chairs with carved antique backs, and upholstered in tapestry.  Also two arm-chairs to match,—­wheel ’em out, Theodore!  Now what is your price for these eight fine pieces,—­look ’em over and bid accordingly.”

“Thirty shillings!” Again from the depths of the crowd.

“Ha! ha!—­you joke sir!” laughed the Auctioneer, rubbing his hands in his most jovial manner, “you joke!  I can’t see you, but you joke of course, and I laugh accordingly, ha! ha!  Thirty shillings for eight, fine, antique, tapestried, hand-carved chairs,—­Oh very good,—­excellent, upon my soul!”

“Three pound!” said the fiery-necked Corn-chandler.

“Guineas!” said the rat-eyed Parsons.

“Four pound!” nodded the Corn-chandler.

“Four pound ten!” roared Adam.

“Five!” nodded Grimes, edging away from Adam’s elbow.

“Six pound ten!” cried Adam.

“Seven!”—­from Parsons.

“Eight!” said Grimes.

“Ten!” roared Adam, growing desperate.

“Eleven!” said Grimes, beginning to mop at his neck again.

Adam hesitated; eleven pounds seemed so very much for those chairs, that he had seen Prudence and the rosy-cheeked maids dust regularly every morning, and then,—­it was not his money, after all.  Therefore Adam hesitated, and glanced wistfully towards a certain distant corner.

“At eleven,—­at eleven pounds!—­this fine suite of hand-carved antique chairs, at eleven pounds!—­at eleven!—­at eleven, going—­going!—­”

“Fifteen!” said a voice from the distant corner; whereupon Adam drew a great sigh of relief, while the Corn-chandler contorted himself in his efforts to glare at Bellew round the side-board.

“Fifteen pounds!” chanted the Auctioneer, “I have fifteen,—­I am given fifteen,—­any advance?  These eight antique chairs, going at fifteen!—­going! for the last time,—­going!—­gone!  Sold to the gentleman in the corner behind the side-board, Theodore.”