“I’m glad I’m living now, instead of in those days,” called a man from the crowd, raising a laugh.

“Gentlemen, before you are through,” suggested the auctioneer, “one of you will be the proud and happy possessor of this magnificent war canoe.  It is a priceless gem, especially when considered in the light of good old American history.  Now, who will start the bidding?  Who will say, clearly and distinctly, thirty dollars?”

“We’re not brave enough in these days!” called a voice from the crowd.

“That’s right, friends—–­have fun with me,” retorted the perspiring auctioneer.  “But don’t let this valuable, beautiful trophy get away from you.”

Yet, though the auctioneer labored for a full five minutes he couldn’t raise a bid.

“Take it away!  Take it back!” ordered the auctioneer wearily.  “I was in hopes it would appeal to the artistic sense of this town, but it doesn’t!  Take it away.”

“If no one else wants it,” drawled Dick Prescott, “I’ll offer two dollars.”

“Thank you for good intentions, anyway,” replied the salesman on the platform.  “Two dollars I’m bid.  Who says ten?  Now, do wake up, friends!”

But the bidding lagged.

“This beautiful war canoe!” cried the auctioneer desperately.  “It was the pride of the show.  A real Indian canoe, equipped with gunwale seats and six Indian paddles.  And only two dollars offered.  Gentlemen, do I hear three?  No!  Last call!  It’s pitiful—–­two dollars!”

Dick Prescott and all his friends were now in the seventh heaven of prospective delight.  It seemed unreal, that they could get this treasure for any such sum.

“If I must do it, I must,” groaned the auctioneer.  “Two I’m offered.  Does anyone say more.  Make it four!  No?  Make it three!  No?  Last call!  Going, going-----”

In another instant the big war canoe would have been knocked down to young Prescott at two dollars.  Dick was “all on edge,” though he strove to conceal the fact.

“At two dollars, then!” groaned the auctioneer.   “Two dollars! 
All right, then.   Going, going-----”

Just then the word “gone” would have been uttered, and the canoe gone to Dick & Co.

“Three dollars!” called Fred Ripley.

There was a pause, while the auctioneer exhorted the crowd to wake up.

“Four,” said young Prescott, at last, but he spoke with pretended indifference.

“Five,” chimed in a man who now seemed to take an interest.  The bidding now went up slowly, a dollar at a time, with these three bidders, until twelve dollars was reached.  Then the man dropped out.  Dick was outwardly calm, though his chums shivered, for they knew that their combined capital did not reach the amount now being offered.

“I’m afraid that canoe is going to Dick’s head,” whispered Harry Hazelton anxiously to Tom Reade.

“Let him alone,” retorted Tom in a low voice.  “It’s one of Dick Prescott’s good points that he generally knows what he’s doing.”