"
Mr. Waddington leaned forward from his rostrum. His tone became more
earnest.
"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.
Pages:
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91