It was an old, squat, pot-bellied vessel, about two feet high, with a long thick neck, the mouth of which was closed by a sort of metal stopper or cap; there was no visible decoration on its sides, which were rough and pitted by some incrustation that had formed on them, and been partially scraped off. As a piece of _bric-a-brac_ it certainly possessed few attractions, and there was a marked tendency to "guy" it among the more frivolous brethren. "What do you call this, sir?" inquired one of the auctioneer, with the manner of a cheeky boy trying to get a rise out of his form-master. "Is it as 'unique' as the others?" "You're as well able to judge as I am," was the guarded reply. "Any one can see for himself it's not modern rubbish." "Make a pretty little ornament for the mantelpiece!" remarked a wag. "Is the top made to unscrew, or what, sir?" asked a third. "Seems fixed on pretty tight." "I can't say. Probably it has not been removed for some time." "It's a goodish weight," said the chief humorist, after handling it. "What's inside of it, sir--sardines?" "I don't represent it as having anything inside it," said the auctioneer. "If you want to know my opinion, I think there's money in it." "'Ow much?" "Don't misunderstand me, gentlemen. When I say I consider there's money in it, I'm not alluding to its contents. I've no reason to believe that it contains anything. I'm merely suggesting the thing itself may be worth more than it looks." "Ah, it might be _that_ without 'urting itself!" "Well, well, don't let us waste time. Look upon it as a pure speculation, and make me an offer for it, some of you. Come." "Tuppence-'ap'ny!" cried the comic man, affecting to brace himself for a mighty effort. "Pray be serious, gentlemen. We want to get on, you know. Anything to make a start. Five shillings? It's not the value of the metal, but I'll take the bid. Six. Look at it well. It's not an article you come across every day of your lives." The bottle was still being passed round with disrespectful raps and slaps, and it had now come to Ventimore's right-hand neighbour, who scrutinised it carefully, but made no bid. "That's all _right_, you know," he whispered in Horace's ear. "That's good stuff, that is. If I was you, I'd _'ave_ that." "Seven shillings--eight--nine bid for it over there in the corner," said the auctioneer. "If you think it's so good, why don't you have it yourself?" Horace asked his neighbour. "Me? Oh, well, it ain't exactly in my line, and getting this last lot pretty near cleaned me out. I've done for to-day, I 'ave. All the same, it is a curiosity; dunno as I've seen a brass vawse just that shape before, and it's genuine old, though all these fellers are too ignorant to know the value of it. So I don't mind giving you the tip."