“They’ll bid aw t’ same.  When you canna stir their generosity, you can try their pride.  If you look at it one way, the thing’s humorsome.  They dinna want to help me, but they will.”

“It’s possible,” Kit agreed.  “I don’t know if the plan’s above suspicion, but you need the money.”

“It will be weel spent.  Hooiver, I must be off and see the band dinna get ower much to drink.”

Drysdale went away and soon afterwards a strange procession headed by the band and guarded by children, entered the field.  A row of geese, waddling solemnly in single file, came first, and then turkeys stalked among their broods; a boy led a handsome goat and long-legged calf, and in the rear straggled a flock of sheep.  When all were driven into pens the sale began and the crowd laughed and bantered the men who bid.  In the meantime, Kit examined the sheep.  Some had faults and the ram had obviously suffered from its accident.  It was clear, though, that it sprang from a famous stock, and Kit knew an animal transmits to its offspring inherited qualities and not acquired defects.  He recognized the stamp of breeding and resolved to buy the sheep.  The ram was worth much more than he imagined the shepherds thought.

He went back to the stand and by and by the auctioneer praised the flock.  When he stopped, there was silence for a few moments until Osborn nodded.

“A cautious beginning often makes a good ending, but we’ve a long way to go yet,” the auctioneer remarked.  “Who’ll say five pounds more?”

Thorn made a sign, and the auctioneer raised his hammer.  “We’ve got a start, but you must keep it up.  The opportunity’s what folks call unique; you’ll save money by buying, and help a good cause.  Don’t know which will appeal to you, but you can pay your money, and take your choice.”

He looked about while the crowd laughed, and after two or three flockmasters advanced the price, caught Kit’s eye.  “Mr. Askew’s a judge of sheep.  We’ll call it ten pounds rise!”

Kit nodded, and Osborn glanced at Thorn, who shrugged.  The latter had helped to start the bidding, which was all he meant to do, and Osborn would have tried to draw out after making another offer, had he not seen Kit.  He did not want the sheep, although he was willing to buy them at something above their proper price.  Now, however, Askew was his antagonist, the fellow must be beaten.

“We must finish the sale before the driving-matches,” he said.  “Go up twenty pounds.”

“They’d not sell near it if you sent them to the market,” a farmer remarked.

“Do you sell pedigree stock to butchers?  The ram’s worth the money,” the auctioneer rejoined.

On the whole, Kit agreed, although he saw that others did not.  Moreover he was willing to run some risk by helping Drysdale, whom he liked, and he signed to the auctioneer.  The farmers stopped, but Osborn went on.  He had not liked Peter Askew and liked Kit worse.  Father and son had opposed him, and now the young upstart was proud of the money he had, no doubt, got by doubtful means.  He would not let the fellow balk him, and his face got red as he answered the auctioneer’s inquiring glance.  Presently he turned with a frown as Hayes touched his arm.