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.

There was a momentary pause of amazement, and then an outburst of chaff.

"Nice little boy!"

"Didn't he say his lesson well?"

"Favor us with your card, sir. You are a gent as knows how to buy."

"What did he stop for? If it's worth ten, it is worth a hundred."

"Bless the child!" said a female dealer, kindly, "what made you go on
like that? Why, there was no one bid against you! you'd have got it for
two pounds--a rickety old thing."

Young master began to whimper. "Why, the gentleman said, 'Five pounds
to BEGIN.' It was the chair poor grandpapa always sat in, and all the
things are sold, and mamma said it would break her heart to lose it. She
was too ill to come, so she sent me. She told me I was not to let it
be sold away from us for less than ten pounds, or she sh--should be
m--m--miserable," and the poor little fellow began to cry. Rosa followed
suit promptly but unobtrusively.

"Sentiment always costs money," said Mr. Jacobs, gravely.

"How do you know?" asked Mr. Cohen. "Have YOU got any on hand? I never
seen none at your shop."

Some tempting things now came up, and Mrs. Staines bid freely; but
all of a sudden she looked down the table, and there was Uncle Philip,
twinkling as before. "Oh, dear! what am I doing now!" thought she. "I
have got no broker."

She bid on, but in fear and trembling, because of those twinkling eyes.
At last she mustered courage, wrote on a leaf of her pocket-book, and
passed it down to him: "It would be only kind to warn me. What am I
do