CHAPTER XXIII
"GOING, GOING, GONE!"
Bart made a first-class auctioneer--everybody said so after the sale wasover, and the pleased grins and the good-natured attention of hisaudience assured the young novice of this as he concluded theintroductory speech.
He had prepared a simple, witty preface to actual business, telling manytruths of people who had spent a few cents for what had turned out to beworth many dollars, and inviting a good many guesses by hinting whatmight be in the heap upon which all eyes were fixed intently.
"Number 1129," said Bart, after taking a brief breathing spell.
Bob Haven lifted a box about two feet square to the table.
"Shipped to William Brothers, Ross Junction," announced Bart, readingthe tag, "not found. Come, gentlemen! what am I bid for lot 1129?"
"What's in it?" inquired a big farmer sitting near the front.
"You will have to guess that," answered Bart pleasantly. "Ah! some kindof liquid, I should imagine," and he shook the box, its contents echoingout a mellow, gurgling sound.
"Mebbe it's paint, Samantha?" suggested the farmer to his wife. "There'dbe two gallons of it--enough to cover the smokehouse. Ten cents."
"The charges are eighty-five," explained Bart--"can't start it anylower."
A blear-eyed, unsteady individual, whom Bart recognized as a member ofthe Sharp Corner contingent, advanced to the table.
He was thirsty-looking and eager as he poked at the box and tried topeer into it.
"A demijohn!" he muttered, his mouth watering. "Two gallons--probablyprime old stuff. Eighty-five cents."
"Eighty-five--eighty-five!" repeated Bart.
"Ninety," said the farmer.
"Dollar!" mumbled the thirsty-looking man.
"Do I hear any more?" challenged Bart, gavel suspended, "once, twice,and sold to--cash."
The inebriate paid his money, chuckled and took the box to one side,hugging it like a pet child, reached over and picked up the hatchetfrom inside the railing, and pried open the corner of the box.
A gleesome roar of merriment interrupted Bart as he called out thesecond lot.
The inebriate stood disgustedly looking down at the label on thedemijohn he had brought to light: "Bubbly Spring Mineral Water."
Lot 943 was a cardboard box. The suggestion of millinery made thefarmer's wife a reckless bidder, and the lot brought two dollars.
Another roar went up from the crowd as she eagerly inspected herpurchase. It turned out to be a man's silk hat.
She looked spiteful enough to throw it out of the window, but herhusband, laughing at her, doffed his worn straw, coolly put on theelaborate headgear, and became thenceforward a target for the quips ofthe merry idlers about the door.
An oblong crate brought four dollars. Bob Haven got this. He did notinspect his purchase at once, but with glowing eyes whispered to hisbrother as he pushed it to one side that he knew it was a new bicycle.
Bart hustled the various packages up for sale and disposition withbriskness and dispatch, and Darry was more than busy keeping tab on hisrecord book and piling the cash into the tin box.
One fuming, perspiring man, looking too fat to ever get cool, found theprize he had drawn was a moth-eaten fur overcoat.
Peter Grimm, notoriously the stingiest man in Pleasantville, who raisedthe sourest apples in the town and spent most of his time watching theboys and picking up what fruit rolled outside of the fence, bided histime with watchful ferret eyes until a promising-looking package camealong.
It was bid up pretty high, and the crowd urged him to disclose histreasure, but Grimm was not responsive to any mutual human sentiment andsat down with the package in his lap.
He began a secret inspection, however, gradually working off the papercovering at one end, and with snapping eyes worming his fingers insidethe parcel.
Suddenly a sharp click echoed out, followed by a frightful yell.
Grimm sprang to his feet, jumping quickly about and swinging one armwildly through the air, the parcel dangling from it like a bulldoghanging on to a coat tail.
"Murder!" he screamed. "Take it off! take it off!"
Bart had to step down to the rescue. Peter Grimm had drawn a patentmink trap, and was its first victim. He sneaked from the express officenursing his crushed fingers and kicking his unlucky purchase out intothe road.
The pile of unclaimed stuff diminished rapidly. The various purchaseswere productive of all kinds of fun. Tom Partridge, the colored porterat the hotel, got a case of face powder, and an exquisite traveling manfor a lace house drew a pair of rubber boots that would fit a giant.
One man disclosed his purchase to be a setting of eggs. They were packedin cotton and intact, though probably a year old.
"Take them out--take them out," yelled the crowd.
Somebody dropped a piece of wood in the box, and there was a pop. Thefarmer with the plug hat he-hawed at the top of his voice, the miserableowner of the eggs got mad at him, some words ensued, the farmer startedafter him, the egg owner ran, once outside fired an egg which struck thesmooth, shiny tile with a splatter, and the farmer came back into theexpress office holding his nose, bareheaded, and looking for hisrejected straw head-covering.
Some, however, were more fortunate. Bart encouraged and hurried thebidding on a large crate, the contents of which he easily guessed, asdid also Tim Hager, the crippled son of a poor widow. Tim got it for twodollars and twenty-five cents, and it turned out to hold a first-classsewing machine.
"Your attention for a few moments, gentlemen," called out Bart as therewas a hustle on the part of the audience getting together the mass ofstuff they had bought. "All the unclaimed heavy express matter atPleasantville was burned up in the fire of July third, but some twentysmall parcels were in the safe, and those we will now dispose of."
"Money, jewelry, and such, I suppose?" propounded Lawyer Stebbings, wholoaned money at a high rate of interest.
"We make no such representations," responded Bart. "I will say this,that no money packages are among the lot. There may be valuable papers,there may be jewelry--in fact, some of the parcels have a given value upto two hundred dollars--but the express company guarantees nothing andyou bid at your own risk."
"Good! let's have a sample," demanded Stebbings. "Can I examine? Ah,thanks."
The crowd passed from hand to hand a small well-wrapped package.
"Watch!" hoarsely whispered someone.
"Feels like it!" said a second.
Stebbings bid the lot up to four dollars and got it. There was more funas he unrolled the numerous wrappings of the package to disclose a smallmetal disc used in a threshing machine.
One purchaser got a gold pen, another a very pretty stick pin.
Lem Wacker had not engaged in the general commotion. He had retained hisplace on a bench, looking bored, but for some reason sitting out thesession, and Bart wondered why.
Baker took a mild interest in what was going on, smiling appreciativelyonce in a while when Bart made a witty hit or an unusually good sale.
Finally, however, Wacker put up his forefinger as Bart was bidding off athin wooden box about four inches square.
"Sender: Novelty Jewelry Company, no address," read Bart, "shipped toJames Barclay, Millville--not found. This is a promising-lookingpackage. Gentlemen, what am I bid?"
Lem Wacker seemed to have some spare cash, for he paid two dollars forthe box, swaggered off with it, and opening it disclosed a very smalland neat pocket alarm clock.
He wound it up, sent out its silvery call once or twice for theedification of the crowd about him, hoping to sell it off to someone,and then, there being no purchaser, with a disappointed grunt slipped itinto his pocket.
"Number 529," announced Bart a few minutes later--"the last package,gentlemen!"
The crowd was dispersing, Darry was counting up the heap of bank notesand coin in the cash box, Bob was gloating and wild with delight asuncovering his purchase he brought to light a new bicycle.
The package Bart tendered was thin and flat. Two tough pieces ofcardboard held it stiff and straight. It seemed to contain papers ofsome kind, and so many bidders had bought old deeds, contracts, plans,manuscripts and the like, utterly valueless to them, that the lot hungat twenty-five cents for several minutes.
"Come, come, gentlemen!" urged Bart--"the last may be the best. Thecharges are sixty-five cents. Sender's name not given. Directed to 'A.A.Adams, Pleasantville'--not found."
"Hoo! S--s--say!"
Bart experienced something of a shock.
The familiar cry of the ex-roustabout, Mr. Baker, rang out sharp andsudden.
Glancing at him, Bart saw that he had arisen to his feet.
His face was bloodless and twitching, his whole frame a-quake. His eyeswere snapping wildly. He was like a man who could hardly speak or stand,and fairly on the verge of a fit.
A wavering finger he pointed at the young auctioneer, and gasped out.
"One dollar--two--three!"