“We have here,” said the auctioneer, leaning over his high desk and pointing with his hammer, “a very fine lot—show No. 13, George, and don’t be all day about it—a very fine lot, consisting of a pianoforte. Music hath charms, gentlemen, as you know, to soothe the savage breast, and it’s always a good investment from that point of view alone. George, jest run over the keys to show these gentlemen what a first-class musician you are.” The attendant, first rubbing the palm of his hand on his green baize apron, stroked the keys from first note to last. “There!” cried the auctioneer, “there’s execution for you! Many a man’s been ’anged for less. Now then, what shall we say for this magnificent instrument? Don’t all speak at once. Did you say twenty pounds, mister?” This to one of the regulars at the side. “Not being a blank fool,” replied the musty old gentleman, “I did not say twen’y pounds.” “Well! won’t anyone say twenty pounds jest for a start? Come now. You’ve all learnt some language or other.” “Four and six,” said one of the carmen chaffingly. “No, no!” said the auctioneer rather coldly. “I enjoy a joke as well as anyone, but ’pon my word—” “Five bob!” “I’m very good tempered,” went on the auctioneer, getting red in the face, “and I can stand as much as most men. But—” “Five and six!” “Well,” with resignation, “have your own way about it. Five and six is offered; five and six in two places; six shillings. I thank you, sir! Who’ll say ’alf a sov’, eh? Seven shillings! Very well then. But do let’s go on a shilling at a time; I can’t take sixpenny advances. You know the old story of the girl—” Erb, looking round with a determined smile on his features, saw Spanswick entering from the pavement; with him a gentleman whose eyes were watery and whose gait was uncertain. Spanswick gave a casual nod to the clump of men, and beckoned to Erb in such an authoritative way that Erb crossed the room when the pianoforte—poor Louisa’s pianoforte, that she would allow no one to play—had been knocked down for twenty-five shillings. The auctioneer ordered his man to show the horsehair sofa and chairs. “My friend Doubleday,” said Spanswick, introducing his companion. Mr. Doubleday removed his silk hat with care, for the brims seemed rather weak, and in a husky voice declared himself honoured. “One of the cleverest men in South London,” whispered Spanswick to Erb, “only he won’t recognise the fact. Educated, too!”