"No; to a place in Cedar Street, where Adolphe sold some sketches his brother painters gave him in their student days. One by Achenbach--Oswald, not Andreas--brought a large sum. It was a great help to us. I have written the gentleman who keeps the auction-room, and he is to send for the picture to-morrow, and it will be sold in his next picture sale. Adolphe was willing; he told me to do it. 'Someone will know,' he said; 'and we ought not to enjoy it all to ourselves.' Then again, the problem has been solved. All his pictures after this will be full of beautiful light." The auction-room was crowded. There was to be a sale of French pictures, some by the men of '30 and some by the more advanced impressionists. Many out-of-town buyers were present, a few of them dealers. Dalny rubbed his hands together in a pleased way when he looked over the audience and the collection. It was quite possible that some connoisseur newly made would take a fancy to the masterpiece, confounding it with some one of the pictures of the Upside-down School--pictures looking equally well whichever way they might be hung. The selling began. A Corot brought $2,700; a Daubigny, $940; two examples of the reigning success in Paris, $1,100. Twenty-two pictures had been sold. Then the masterpiece was placed on the easel. "A Sunrise. By Adolphe Woolfsen of Düsseldorf," called out the auctioneer. "What am I offered?" There came a pause, and the auctioneer repeated the announcement. A man sitting by the auctioneer, near enough to see every touch of the brush on "Old Sunshine's" picture, laughed, and nudged the man next to him. Several others joined in. Then came a voice from behind: "Five dollars!" The auctioneer shrank a little, a pained, surprised feeling overspreading his face, as if someone had thrown a bit of orange-peel at him. Then he went on: "Five dollars it is, gentlemen. Five--five--five!" Even he, with all the tricks of his trade at his fingers' ends, could not find a good word to say for "Old Sunshine's" masterpiece. Dalny kept shifting his feet in his uneasiness. His hands opened and shut; his throat began to get dry. Then he broke loose: "One hundred dollars!" The auctioneer's face lighted up as suddenly as if the calcium light of the painter whom "Old Sunshine" despised had been thrown upon it. "I have your bid, Mr. Dalny [he knew him]--one hundred--hundred--hundred--one--one--third and last call!" Dalny thought of the gentle old face waiting at the top of the stairs, and of the old man's anxious look as he lay on his pillow. The auctioneer had seen Dalny's eager expression and at once began to address an imaginary bidder on the other side of the room--his clerk, really. "Two hundred--two hundred--two--two--two----" "Three hundred!" shouted Dalny. Again the clerk nodded: "Four--four!" "Five!" shouted Dalny. This was all the money he would get in the morning excepting fifty dollars--and that he owed for his rent.