"
Mr. Sherwell turned and looked at a miserable collection of gimcrack
articles piled up against the wall behind him. Then he consulted the
catalogue.
"One mahogany dining-table, two sideboards, one butler's tray, twelve
chairs. These the chairs?" he asked, lifting one up.
"Those are the chairs, sir," Burton admitted. Mr. Sherwell, with a
gesture of contempt, replaced upon the floor the one which he had
detached from its fellows. He leaned unsteadily across the table.
"A dirty trick, Mr. Auctioneer," he declared. "Shan't come here any
more! Shan't buy anything! Ought to be ashamed of yourself. Yah!"
Mr. Sherwell, feeling his way carefully out, made an impressive if not
very dignified exit. Mr. Waddington gripped his clerk by the arm.
"Burton," he hissed under his breath, "get out of this before I throw
you down! Never let me see your idiot face again! If you're at the
office when I come back, I'll kill you! I'll clerk myself. Be off with
you!"
Burton rose quietly and departed. As he left the room, he heard Mr.
Waddington volubly explaining that no deception was intended and that
the catalogue spoke for itself. Then he passed out into the street and
drew a little breath of relief.
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