“Forty!”

“Eh?” murmured Mr Dewy and Mr Baker, together taken by surprise.  And “Hullo, what the dev—­” began Mr Middlecoat, when Cai promptly chimed “Fifty!”

For the new bidder was ’Bias, of course:  and well, in a flash, Cai guessed his game.  Since Mrs Bosenna chose to tarry, ’Bias was bidding against him.  It was a duel.  Should ’Bias win and present her with these coveted two acres?  Never!

“Sixty!”

“Here, I say!” Mr Middlecoat was heard to gasp in protest.  But he too began to suspect a game.  “Sixty-five!” The duel had become triangular.

“Seventy!”

“Eighty!” intoned ’Bias.

“A hundred!” Cai’s jaw was set.

By this time all heads were turned to the new competitors.  Two or three of the farmers were whispering, asking if by any chance there was mineral in dispute.  One had heard—­or so he alleged—­that “manganese” had been discovered somewhere up the valley—­before his time—­but he could remember his father telling of it.

Mr Middlecoat stepped to the window and glanced out in to the square for a moment.  He returned, and nervously bid “Ten more!”

“Excuse me,” the auctioneer corrected him blandly; “the gentleman at the far end of the room—­I didn’t catch his name—­”

“Hunken,” said ’Bias.

“Captain Hunken,” prompted Mr Philp.

“Er—­excuse me, Mr Middlecoat, but Captain Hunken has just offered a hundred-and-twenty.”

“And thirty!” chimed Cai.

“Fifty!” intoned back the voice by the door.

Mr Middlecoat passed a hand over his brow.  “Another ten,” he murmured to the auctioneer.  “Is there a boy handy?  I—­I want to send out a message?”

“Certainly, Mr Middlecoat,” agreed the accommodating but bewildered auctioneer, and turned to his clerk.

“Mr Chivers, would you oblige?”

The young farmer scribbled a word or two on a piece of paper, which he folded and gave to Mr Chivers with some hurried instruction; and Mr Chivers steered his way out with agility.  But meanwhile the bidding for Barton’s Orchard had risen to two hundred.

“Say another ten, to keep it going,” proposed Mr Middlecoat, wiping his brow although the weather was chilly.  To gain time, he suggested that maybe there was some mistake; that the gentlemen, maybe, had not examined the map of the property and might be bidding for some other lot under a misapprehension.

Mr Baker objected to this.  The description of the lots on the catalogue was precise and definite.  The two gentlemen obviously knew what they were about.  The field was a small field, but the soil was undeniably of the best, and in the interests of the vendor—­

“Two hundred and thirty!” interrupted ’Bias.

“—­and fifty!” bid Cai.

There was a pause.  Mr Dewy looked at Mr Middlecoat, who under his gaze admitted himself willing to stake two hundred and sixty.  “Though ’tis the price of building land!”