“What am I offered now for this precious antique?  This hand-made spread?  Everything sold without reserve!  Come, now, don’t let this opportunity slip by.”  He leaned forward confidentially and persuasively:  “Fellah citizens, styles change and fashions pass away, but things made like these, good lines, strong material, honest work, they never grow old....”

Here the Shadowy Auctioneer broke in again and lifted me out of that limited moment.

“A true word!” he was saying.  “Styles change and fashions pass away, and only those things that are well made, and made for service the beautiful things remain.  I am offering to-day, without reservation, another precious antique.  What will you give for such a religious faith as that of John Templeton?  Worn for a lifetime and sound to the end.  He read the Bible every Sunday morning of his life, went to church, and did his religious duty by his children.  Do you remember young Joe Templeton?  Wouldn’t learn his chapter one Sunday, and the old gentleman prayed about it and then beat him with a hitching strap.  Joe ran away from home and made his fortune in Minnesota.  Nearly broke the mother’s heart, and old John’s, too; but he thought it right, and never repented it.  Gentlemen, an honest man who feared God and lived righteously all his days!  What am I offered for this durable antique, this characteristic product of New England?  Do I hear a bid?”

At this I felt coming over me that strange urge of the auction, to bid and to buy.  A rare possession indeed, not without a high, stern kind of beauty!  It would be wonderful to possess such a faith; but what had I to offer that Shadowy Auctioneer?  What coin that would redeem past times and departed beliefs?

It was curious how the words of Mr. Harpworth fitted into the fabric of my imaginings.  When he next attracted my attention he was throwing up his hands in a fine semblance of despair.  We were such obtuse purchasers!

“I think,” said Mr. Harpworth, “that this crowd came here to-day only to eat Julia Templeton’s auction luncheon.  What’s the matter with this here generation?  You don’t want things that are well made and durable, but only things that are cheap and flashy.  Put ’er aside, Jake.  We’ll sell ’er yet to some historical museum devoted to the habits and customs of the early Americans.”

He was plainly disgusted with us, and we felt it keenly, and were glad and pleased when, a moment later, he gave evidence of being willing to go on with us, paltry as we were.

“Jake, pass up that next treasure.”

His spirits were returning; his eyes gleamed approvingly upon the newly presented antique.  He looked at us with fresh confidence; he was still hopeful that we would rise to his former good opinion of us.

“And now before I sell the hail clock by Willard, date of 1822, I am going to offer what is possibly the best single piece in this sale....”