crash of crockery within brought her hand to her heart, and a
voice from the crowd commented jocularly, "Huh! Breakin' up
housekeepin'!" Even Mrs. Troop smiled wryly, and the crowd guffawed.

"Now here," bellowed the auctioneer, "is a very fine article sech as you
don't often see in _these_ days. A melodeon, everybody, a parlor organ,
in size, shape, and appearance very unusual, so to _say_."

"Ain't it homely!" a female voice remarked during the stout auctioneer's
pause for breath.

"Not being a musician, ladies and gents, I ain't qualified to let you
hear the tones of this instrument, _but_--I am sure it will be an
ornament to any home and a source of enjoyment to both old and _young_.
Now--what'll you give me for this fine old _organ_?"

"Seventy-five cents," a deep voice murmured.

"Got your money with you, Watson?" the auctioneer inquired bitingly. "I
am ashamed of this offer, folks, but nevertheless, I am offered
seventy-five cents--_seventy-five cents_, for this fine old instrument.
Now who'll--"

The melodeon climbed to two dollars, with comparative rapidity. The
bidders were principally men, whose wives, had they been present, would
probably have discouraged the bidding, on the score that it was
impossible to have that thing in the house, when Jenny's had veneer
candle-stands and plush pedals. Felicia was just beginning to wonder
whether entering into the ring would push the melodeon too high, and the
auctioneer was impatiently tapping his heel on the soap-box platform,
when a clear and deliberate voice remarked:

"Two dollars and ten cents."

Several heads were turned to see the speaker, and women peeped over
their husbands' shoulders to look. They saw a child in green
knickerbockers and a gray jersey, his hand in that of a surprised young
girl, and his determined face and oddly tranquil eyes turned
purposefully to the auctioneer.

"Make it a quarter," said a man lounging against the leader-pipe.

"Two and a quarter," said the auctioneer. "I'm bid two dollars and a
quarter for the organ."

"Two dollars and fifty cents," said the young bidder, a shade of
excitement now betraying itself in his voice. The girl opened her mouth,
perhaps to protest, and then closed it again. "Two-fifty!" bawled the
auctioneer. "Two-fifty? Going--any more? Going--going--" he brought his
big hands together with a slap, "_Gone!_ at two dollars _and_ fifty
cents, to--who's the party, Ben?"

Ben, harassed, pencil in mouth