"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.
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