"If I must do it, I must," groaned the auctioneer. "Two I'm offered. Does anyone say more. Make it four! No? Make it three! No? Last call! Going, going-----" In another instant the big war canoe would have been knocked down to young Prescott at two dollars. Dick was "all on edge," though he strove to conceal the fact. "At two dollars, then!" groaned the auctioneer. "Two dollars! All right, then. Going, going-----" Just then the word "gone" would have been uttered, and the canoe gone to Dick & Co. "Three dollars!" called Fred Ripley. There was a pause, while the auctioneer exhorted the crowd to wake up. "Four," said young Prescott, at last, but he spoke with pretended indifference. "Five," chimed in a man who now seemed to take an interest. The bidding now went up slowly, a dollar at a time, with these three bidders, until twelve dollars was reached. Then the man dropped out. Dick was outwardly calm, though his chums shivered, for they knew that their combined capital did not reach the amount now being offered. "I'm afraid that canoe is going to Dick's head," whispered Harry Hazelton anxiously to Tom Reade. "Let him alone," retorted Tom in a low voice. "It's one of Dick Prescott's good points that he generally knows what he's doing." "But we have only-----" "Never mind if we're worth a million, or only a single dollar," interrupted Reade impatiently. "Watch the battle between our leader and Rip, the Mean!" Now the bidding became slower, fifty cents at a time being offered, bids coming only when the auctioneer threatened to "knock down." "I don't want to get this confounded canoe fastened onto me," grumbled Fred Ripley to himself. "I want to stick Prescott and his crowd for all I can, but I must look out that I don't get stung. I know better than to want that canoe, no matter how good it _looks_!" "Sixteen," said Dick at last, feeling more desperate inwardly than his face showed. "Sixteen-fifty," from Ripley. "Seventeen," offered Dick, after a pause. "Seventeen-fifty," announced Fred, after another long bait. "Eighteen!" followed up young Prescott. He was in a cold perspiration now, lest the fight be forced too far. To his astonishment, Fred Ripley, an ugly sneer on his face, turned his back on the bidding. "Are you through, gentlemen?" demanded the auctioneer, after a keen look in the direction of the lawyer's son. "I am," Ripley growled over his shoulder. "I am offered eighteen! Eighteen! Eighteen! Who says nineteen? Make it eighteen-fifty! Who says eighteen-fifty? Eighteen and a quarter! Are you through, gentlemen? Then going, going---gone! Sold to Master Prescott at eighteen dollars. Young man, I congratulate you. Walk right up and pay your money! All, or a deposit?" Dick, who had been collecting loose change from his chums, now came forward. "I'll pay a deposit of seven dollars," he announced.