But a quarter of an hour later the man, who had gone on lacing his furmity more and more heavily, though he was either so strong-minded or such an intrepid toper that he still appeared fairly sober, recurred to the old strain, as in a musical fantasy the instrument fetches up the original theme.  “Here—­I am waiting to know about this offer of mine.  The woman is no good to me.  Who’ll have her?”

The company had by this time decidedly degenerated, and the renewed inquiry was received with a laugh of appreciation.  The woman whispered; she was imploring and anxious:  “Come, come, it is getting dark, and this nonsense won’t do.  If you don’t come along, I shall go without you.  Come!”

She waited and waited; yet he did not move.  In ten minutes the man broke in upon the desultory conversation of the furmity drinkers with.  “I asked this question, and nobody answered to ’t.  Will any Jack Rag or Tom Straw among ye buy my goods?”

The woman’s manner changed, and her face assumed the grim shape and colour of which mention has been made.

“Mike, Mike,” she said; “this is getting serious.  O!—­too serious!”

“Will anybody buy her?” said the man.

“I wish somebody would,” said she firmly.  “Her present owner is not at all to her liking!”

“Nor you to mine,” said he.  “So we are agreed about that.  Gentlemen, you hear?  It’s an agreement to part.  She shall take the girl if she wants to, and go her ways.  I’ll take my tools, and go my ways.  ’Tis simple as Scripture history.  Now then, stand up, Susan, and show yourself.”

“Don’t, my chiel,” whispered a buxom staylace dealer in voluminous petticoats, who sat near the woman; “yer good man don’t know what he’s saying.”

The woman, however, did stand up.  “Now, who’s auctioneer?” cried the hay-trusser.

“I be,” promptly answered a short man, with a nose resembling a copper knob, a damp voice, and eyes like button-holes.  “Who’ll make an offer for this lady?”

The woman looked on the ground, as if she maintained her position by a supreme effort of will.

“Five shillings,” said someone, at which there was a laugh.

“No insults,” said the husband.  “Who’ll say a guinea?”

Nobody answered; and the female dealer in staylaces interposed.

“Behave yerself moral, good man, for Heaven’s love!  Ah, what a cruelty is the poor soul married to!  Bed and board is dear at some figures ’pon my ’vation ’tis!”

“Set it higher, auctioneer,” said the trusser.

“Two guineas!” said the auctioneer; and no one replied.

“If they don’t take her for that, in ten seconds they’ll have to give more,” said the husband.  “Very well.  Now auctioneer, add another.”

“Three guineas—­going for three guineas!” said the rheumy man.

“No bid?” said the husband.  “Good Lord, why she’s cost me fifty times the money, if a penny.  Go on.”