The next thing she wanted was a set of oak chairs.
They went up to twenty-eight pounds; then she said, "I shall give no
more, sir."
"Better not lose them," said the agent; "they are a great bargain;" and
bid another pound for her on his own responsibility.
They were still run up, and Rosa peremptorily refused to give any more.
She lost them, accordingly, by good luck. Her faithful broker looked
blank; so did the proprietor.
But, as the sale proceeded, she being young, the competition, though
most of it sham, being artful and exciting, and the traitor she employed
constantly puffing every article, she was drawn in to wishing for
things, and bidding by her feelings.
Then her traitor played a game that has been played a hundred times, and
the perpetrators never once lynched, as they ought to be, on the spot.
He signalled a confederate with a hooked nose; the Jew rascal bid
against the Christian scoundrel, and so they ran up the more enticing
things to twice their value under the hammer.
Rosa got flushed, and her eye gleamed like a gambler's, and she bought
away like wildfire. In which sport she caught sight of an old gentleman,
with little black eyes that kept twinkling at her.
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