Again a voice was heard from the team on the outer limits of the crowd, “Twenty-five fifty!”

The crowd again turned their gaze upon Strout; the Professor was not an extravagant man, and he had saved a little money.  He had in his pocket at the time a little over a hundred dollars; he would not put it in the bank, for, he argued, if he did everybody in town would know how much money he had; so he called out, “Twenty-six hundred!”

“Ah, gentlemen,” continued the auctioneer, “let me thank you for the keen appreciation that you show of a good thing.  When I looked this property over I said to myself, the bidders will tumble over themselves to secure this fine property’; and I have not been disappointed.”

Again the faces of the crowd were turned towards the team in which sat Quincy and Hiram.  Hiram stood up in the team, and masking a horn with his hands, shouted at the top of his voice, for the time overcoming his propensity to stammer, “Twenty-seven hundred!”

“Better! still better!” cried the auctioneer; “we are now approaching the figure that I had placed on this property, and my judgment is usually correct.  I am offered twenty-seven hundred, twenty-seven hundred; who will go one hundred better?”

At this moment Abner Stiles, who had been watching the proceedings with eyes distended and mouth wide open, went up to Strout and whispered something in his ear.  Strout’s face brightened, he grasped Abner’s hand and shook it warmly, then turning towards the auctioneer cried out, “Twenty-eight hundred!”

By this time the crowd was getting excited.  To them it was a battle royal; nothing of the kind had ever been seen at Mason’s Corner before.  A great many in the crowd were friends of Strout’s, and admired his pluck in standing out so well.  They had seen at a glance that Abner Stiles had offered to help Strout.

Again the auctioneer called out in his parrot-like tone, “Twenty-eight hundred!  I am offered twenty-eight hundred!”

And again Hiram put his hands to his mouth, and his voice was heard over the Square as he said, “Three thousand!”

“Now, gentlemen,” continued the auctioneer, “I am proud to be with you.  When it is my misfortune to stand up before a company, the members of which have no appreciation of the value of the property to be sold, I often wish myself at home; but, as I said before, on this occasion I am proud to be with you, for a sum approximating to the true value of the property offered for sale has been bidden.  I am offered three thousand—­three thousand—­three thousand—­going at three thousand!  Did I hear a bid?  No, it must have been the wind whistling through the trees.”  At this sally a laugh came up from the crowd.  “Going at three thousand—­going—­going—­going—­gone at three thousand to—­”

“Mr. Hiram Maxwell!” came from the score of voices.

“Gone at three thousand to Mr. Hiram Maxwell!” said the auctioneer, as he brought down his hammer heavily upon the barrel head with such force that it fell in, and, losing his hold upon the hammer, that dropped in also.  This slight accident caused a great laugh among the crowd.