Auctioneer.  Come, gen’lemen, don’t keep me all day.  Four thousand may I say? [Dawker] Thank you.  We’re beginning.  And one? [A bid from the centre] Four thousand one hundred. [Hornblower] Four thousand two hundred.  May I have yours, sir? [To Dawker] And three.  Four thousand three hundred bid.  No such site in the county, gen’lemen.  I’m going to sell this land for what it’s worth.  You can’t bid too much for me. [He smiles] [Hornblower] Four thousand five hundred bid. [Bid from the centre] And six. [Dawker] And seven. [Hornblower] And eight.  Nine, may I say? [But the centre has dried up] [Dawker] And nine. [Hornblower] Five thousand.  Five thousand bid.  That’s better; there’s some spirit in it.  For five thousand.

     [He pauses while he speak& to the solicitor]

Hillcrist. It’s a duel now.

Auctioneer.  Now, gen’lemen, I’m not going to give this property away.  Five thousand bid. [Dawker] And one. [Hornblower] And two. [Dawker] And three.  Five thousand three hundred bid.  And five, did you say, sir? [Hornblower] Five thousand five hundred bid.

     [He looks at hip particulars.]

Jill. [Rather agonised] Enemy, Dodo.

Auctioneer.  This chance may never come again.

     “How you’ll regret it
     If you don’t get it,”

as the poet says.  May I say five thousand six hundred, sir? [Dawker] Five thousand six hundred bid. [Hornblower] And seven. [Dawker] And eight.  For five thousand eight hundred pounds.  We’re gettin’ on, but we haven’t got the value yet.

[A slight pause, while he wipes his brow at the success of his own efforts.]

Jill.  Us, Dodo?

     [Hillcrist nods.  Jill looks over at Rolf, whose face is
     grimly set.  Chloe has never moved.  Mrs. Hillcrist whispers to
     her husband.]

Auctioneer.  Five thousand eight hundred bid.  For five thousand eight hundred.  Come along, gen’lemen, come along.  We’re not beaten.  Thank you, sir. [Hornblower] Five thousand nine hundred.  And—? [Dawker] Six thousand.  Six thousand bid.  Six thousand bid.  For six thousand!  The Centry—­most desirable spot in the county—­going for the low price of six thousand.

Hillcrist. [Muttering] Low!  Heavens!

Auctioneer.  Any advance on six thousand?  Come, gen’lemen, we haven’t dried up?  A little spirit.  Six thousand?  For six thousand?  For six thousand pounds?  Very well, I’m selling.  For six thousand once—­[He taps] For six thousand twice—­[He taps].

Jill. [Low] Oh! we’ve got it!

Auctioneer.  And one, sir? [Hornblower] Six thousand one hundred bid.