“Ladies and gentlemen,” he continued, “I am bound to sell as per catalogue, and the chest in question is described exactly as it was sent in to us, but I do not myself for a moment believe either that it came from Winchester or that it is in any way antique.  Examine it for yourselves—­pray examine it thoroughly before you bid.  My impression is that it is a common oak chest, treated by the modern huckster whose business it is to make new things look like old.  I have told you my opinion, ladies and gentlemen.  At what shall we start the bidding?  It is a useful article, anyhow, and might pass for an antique if any one here really cares to deceive his friends.  At any rate, there is no doubt that it is—­er—­a chest, and that it will—­er—­hold things.  How much shall we say for it?”

There was a little flutter of conversation.  People elbowed one another furiously in their desire to examine the chest.  A dark, corpulent man, with curly black hair and an unmistakable nose, looked at the auctioneer in a puzzled manner.

“Thay, Waddington, old man, what’th the game, eh?  What have you got up your sleeve that you don’t want to thell the stuff?  Blow me if I can tumble to it!”

“There is no game at all,” Mr. Waddington replied firmly.  “I can assure you, Mr. Absolom, and all of you, ladies and gentlemen, that I have simply told you what I believe to be the absolute truth.  It is my business to sell whatever is sent to me here for that purpose, but it is not my business or intention to deceive you in any way, if I can help it.”

Mr. Absolom re-examined the oak chest with a puzzled expression.  Then he strolled away and joined a little knot of brokers who were busy discussing matters.  The various remarks which passed from one to another indicated sufficiently their perplexed condition of mind.

“The old man’s dotty!”

“Not he!  There’s a game on somewhere!”

“He wants to buy in some of the truck!”

“Old Waddy knows what he’s doing!”

Mr. Absolom listened for a while and then returned to the rostrum.

“Mr. Waddington,” he asked, “ith it the truth that there are one or two pieces of real good stuff here, thent in by an old farmer in Kent?”

“Quite true,” Mr. Waddington declared, eagerly.  “Unfortunately, they all came in together and were included with other articles which have not the same antecedents.  You may be able to pick out which they are.  I can’t.  Although I am supposed to be in the business, I never could tell the difference myself.”

There was a chorus of guffaws.  Mr. Waddington mopped his forehead with a handkerchief.

“It is absolutely true, gentlemen,” he pleaded.  “I have always posed as a judge but I know very little about it.  As a matter of fact I have had scarcely any experience in real antique furniture.  We must get on, gentlemen.  What shall we say for lot number 17?  Will any one start the bidding at one sovereign?”