And surely among all men whose vocation requires them to exhibit their powers of speech, the happiest is a prosperous provincial auctioneer keenly alive to his own jokes and sensible of his encyclopedic knowledge.  Some saturnine, sour-blooded persons might object to be constantly insisting on the merits of all articles from boot-jacks to “Berghems;” but Mr. Borthrop Trumbull had a kindly liquid in his veins; he was an admirer by nature, and would have liked to have the universe under his hammer, feeling that it would go at a higher figure for his recommendation.

Meanwhile Mrs. Larcher’s drawing-room furniture was enough for him.  When Will Ladislaw had come in, a second fender, said to have been forgotten in its right place, suddenly claimed the auctioneer’s enthusiasm, which he distributed on the equitable principle of praising those things most which were most in need of praise.  The fender was of polished steel, with much lancet-shaped open-work and a sharp edge.

“Now, ladies,” said he, “I shall appeal to you.  Here is a fender which at any other sale would hardly be offered with out reserve, being, as I may say, for quality of steel and quaintness of design, a kind of thing”—­here Mr. Trumbull dropped his voice and became slightly nasal, trimming his outlines with his left finger—­ “that might not fall in with ordinary tastes.  Allow me to tell you that by-and-by this style of workmanship will be the only one in vogue—­half-a-crown, you said? thank you—­going at half-a-crown, this characteristic fender; and I have particular information that the antique style is very much sought after in high quarters.  Three shillings—­three-and-sixpence—­hold it well up, Joseph!  Look, ladies, at the chastity of the design—­ I have no doubt myself that it was turned out in the last century!  Four shillings, Mr. Mawmsey?—­four shillings.”

“It’s not a thing I would put in my drawing-room,” said Mrs. Mawmsey, audibly, for the warning of the rash husband.  “I wonder at Mrs. Larcher.  Every blessed child’s head that fell against it would be cut in two.  The edge is like a knife.”

“Quite true,” rejoined Mr. Trumbull, quickly, “and most uncommonly useful to have a fender at hand that will cut, if you have a leather shoe-tie or a bit of string that wants cutting and no knife at hand:  many a man has been left hanging because there was no knife to cut him down.  Gentlemen, here’s a fender that if you had the misfortune to hang yourselves would cut you down in no time—­with astonishing celerity—­four-and-sixpence—­five—­five-and-sixpence—­an appropriate thing for a spare bedroom where there was a four-poster and a guest a little out of his mind—­six shillings—­thank you, Mr. Clintup—­ going at six shillings—­going—­gone!” The auctioneer’s glance, which had been searching round him with a preternatural susceptibility to all signs of bidding, here dropped on the paper before him, and his voice too dropped into a tone of indifferent despatch as he said, “Mr. Clintup.  Be handy, Joseph.”