The auctioneer kept looking her way, and she had only to nod.
The obnoxious broker got opposite her, and ran her up a little out of
spite; but as he had only got half a crown about him, and no means of
doubling it, he dared not go far.
On the other side of the table was a figure to which Rosa's eyes often
turned with interest--a fair young boy about twelve years old; he had
golden hair, and was in deep mourning. His appearance interested Rosa,
and she wondered how he came there, and why; he looked like a lamb
wedged in among wolves, a flower among weeds. As the lots proceeded, the
boy seemed to get uneasy; and at last, when lot '73 was put up, anybody
could see in his poor little face that he was there to bid for it.
"Lot '73, an armchair covered in morocco. An excellent and useful
article. Should not be at all surprised if it was made by Gillow."
"Gillow would though," said Jacobs, who owed him a turn.
Chorus of dealers.--"Haw! haw!"
The auctioneer.--"I like to hear some people run a lot down; shows they
are going to bid for it in earnest. Well, name your own price. Five
pounds to begin?"
Now if nobody had spoken the auctioneer would have gone on, "Well, four
pounds then--three, two, whatever you like," and at last obtained a bona
fide offer of thirty shillings; but the moment he said "Five pounds to
begin," the boy in black lifted up his childish treble and bid thus,
"Five pound ten"--"six pounds"--"six pound ten"--"seven pounds"--"seven
pound ten"--"eight pounds"--"eight pound ten"--"nine pounds"--"nine
pound ten"--"ten pounds!" without interruption, and indeed almost in a
breath.
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