“Why, it is them,” cried the old gentleman. “Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!” Rosa colored all over, and felt guilty somehow, and looked miserable. “Rosa dear,” said Dr. Staines, “this is our Uncle Philip.” “Oh!” said Rosa, and turned red and pale by turns; for she had a great desire to propitiate Uncle Philip. “You were in the auction-room, sir?” said Mrs. Cole, severely. “I was, madam. He! he!” “Furnishing a house?” “No, ma'am. I go to a dozen sales a week; but it is not to buy--I enjoy the humors. Did you ever hear of Robert Burton, ma'am?” “No. Yes; a great traveller, isn't he? Discovered the Nile--or the Niger--or SOMETHING?” This majestic vagueness staggered old Crusty at first, but he recovered his equilibrium, and said, “Why, yes, now I think of it, you are right; he has travelled farther than most of us, for about two centuries ago he visited that bourn whence no traveller returns. Well, when he was alive--he was a student of Christchurch--he used to go down to a certain bridge over the Isis and enjoy the chaff of the bargemen. Now there are no bargemen left to speak of; the mantle of Bobby Burton's bargees has fallen on the Jews and demi-semi-Christians that buy and sell furniture at the weekly auctions; thither I repair to hear what little coarse wit is left us. Used to go to the House of Commons; but they are getting too civil by half for my money. Besides, characters come out in an auction. For instance, only this very day I saw two ladies enter, in gorgeous attire, like heifers decked for sacrifice, and reduce their spoliation to a certainty by employing a broker to bid. Now, what is a broker? A fellow who is to be paid a shilling in the pound for all articles purchased. What is his interest, then? To buy cheap? Clearly not. He is paid in proportion to the dearness of the article.” Rosa's face began to work piteously. “Accordingly, what did the broker in question do? He winked to another broker, and these two bid against one another, over their victim's head, and ran everything she wanted up at least a hundred per cent above the value. So open and transparent a swindle I have seldom seen, even in an auction-room. Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!” His mirth was interrupted by Rosa going to her husband, hiding her head on his shoulder, and meekly crying. Christopher comforted her like a man. “Don't you cry, darling,” said he; “how should a pure creature like you know the badness of the world all in a moment? If it is my wife you are laughing at, Uncle Philip, let me tell you this is the wrong place. I'd rather a thousand times have her as she is, than armed with the cunning and suspicions of a hardened old worldling like you.”