"Fifty pieces of gold!"
"A hundred!"
"Two hundred."
"Three!"
"Four!"
"Five hundred!"
"Five twenty-five."
A brief pause.
"Five forty!"
A longer pause, while the auctioneer redoubled his persuasions.
"Five-forty-five!"
A heavy drag - the auctioneer persuaded, pleaded,
implored - it was useless, everybody remained silent -
"Well, then - going, going - one - two - "
"Five hundred and fifty!"
This in a shrill voice, from a bent old man, all hung
with rags, and with a green patch over his left eye.
Everybody in his vicinity turned and gazed at him.
It was Givenaught in disguise. He was using a disguised
voice, too.
"Good!" cried the auctioneer. "Going, going - one - two - "
"Five hundred and sixty!"
This, in a deep, harsh voice, from the midst of the
crowd at the other end of the room. The people near
by turned, and saw an old man, in a strange costume,
supporting himself on crutches. He wore a long white beard,
and blue spectacles. It was Herr Heartless, in disguise,
and using a disguised voice.
"Good again! Going, going - one - "
"Six hundred!"
Sensation. The crowd raised a cheer, and some one
cried out, "Go it, Green-patch!" This tickled the audience
and a score of voices shouted, "Go it, Green-patch!"
"Going - going - going - third and last call - one - two - "
"Seven hundred!"
"Huzzah! - well done, Crutches!" cried a voice. The crowd
took it up, and shouted altogether, "Well done, Crutches!"
"Splendid, gentlemen!
