Mr. Waddington seemed about to choke.  He ignored the interruption, however, and went on with his description of the lot.

“A magnificent oak bedroom suite, complete and as good as new, been in use for three weeks only.  The deceased gentleman whose effects we are disposing of, and who is known to have been a famous collector of valuable furniture, told me himself that he found it at a farmhouse in Northumberland.  Look at it, ladies and gentlemen.  Look at it.  It’ll bear inspection.  Shall we say forty-five guineas for a start?”

Mr. Waddington paused expectantly.  Burton leaned over from his place.

“The suite is of stained deal,” he said distinctly.  “It has been very cleverly treated by a new process to make it resemble old oak, but if you examine it closely you will see that what I say is correct.  I regret that there has been an unfortunate error in the description.”

For a moment there was a tumult of voices and some laughter.  Mr. Waddington was red in the face.  The veins about his temples were swollen and the hammer in his hand showed a desire to descend on his clerk’s head.  A small dealer had pulled out one of the drawers and was examining it closely.

“Stained deal it is, Mr. Auctioneer,” he announced, standing up.  “Call a spade a spade and have done with it!”

There was a little mingled laughter and cheers.  Mr. Waddington swallowed his anger and went on with the sale.

“Call it what you like,” he declared, indulgently.  “Our clients send us in these things with their own description and we haven’t time to verify them all—­not likely.  One bedroom suite, then—­there you are.  Now then, Burton, you blithering idiot,” he muttered savagely under his breath, “if you can’t hold your tongue I’ll kick you out of your seat Thirty pounds shall we say?” he continued, leaning forward persuasively.  “Twenty pounds, then?  The price makes no difference to me, only do let’s get on.”

The suite in question was knocked down at eight pounds ten.  The sale proceeded, but bidders were few.  A spirit of distrust seemed to be in the air.  Most of the lots were knocked down to dummy bidders, which meant that they were returned to the manufacturers on the following day.  The frown on Mr. Waddington’s face deepened.

“See what you’ve done, you silly jackass!” he whispered to his assistant, during a momentary pause in the proceedings.  “There’s another little knot of people left.  Here’s old Sherwell coming in, half drunk.  Now hold your tongue if you can.  I’ll have him for the dining-room suite, sure.  If you interfere this time, I’ll break your head. . . .  We come now, ladies and gentlemen, to the most important lot of the day.  Mr. Sherwell, sir, I am glad to see you.  You’re just in time.  There’s a dining-room suite coming on, the only one I have to offer, and such a suite as is very seldom on the market.  One table, two sideboards, and twelve chairs.  Now, Mr. Sherwell, sir, look at the table