“Eight hunderd, do I hear?” inquired the auctioneer in a tone of passionate protest, “it bein’ understood there’ll be a five years’ lease on the prop’ty in question? Ladies an’ gents, that ain’t right! Eight hunderd ain’t a patch on what she’s worth. I’ve told you what sort of goods you’re biddin’ on an’ you’ve had the opportunity to see fer yourselves. Eight hunderd ten, do I hear? Who’ll make it a fifty? Eight hunderd fifty; who’ll make it nine hunderd? Come! let me hear some good lively biddin’ on the part of the lady in the green dress. This lady is lookin’ fer an honest, permanent hired girl; she told me so b’fore the biddin’ begun. She’s had a terrible time with hired help; she’s paid ’em high wages, an’ they break her china dishes, steal her clo’es, an—— “That’s right! eight hunderd sixty-five from the young man in the comer. That gentleman knows what’s what; an’ he’s lookin’ fer an A number one helper t’ take west t’ help his wife do the cookin’. W’y, this is the opportunity of a lifetime, an’ if you let it pass—eight hunderd seventy dollars I’m offered, who’ll make it nine hunderd? I’ll tell ye, straight, ladies, this perfec’ly healthy, honest, willin’, agreeable, faithful young woman ain’t goin’t’ be knocked down t’ any of ye at nine hunderd dollars. Don’t think it fer a minute! She’s goin’ to git her price, an’ I know what it is.” “For God’s sake, what’s going on here?” asked Whitcomb of a man in a fashionable light suit, with a diamond in his shirt-front. “What is the man selling?” By way of answer the man held up his two hands, the fingers outstretched. “There you are, ten hunderd dollars I’m offered; one thousand dollars! Who’ll make it eleven? A thousand dollars may sound like a pretty good sum t’ slap down all at once, ladies; but do a little figurin’, if you please! You pay eighteen, twenty, twenty-five dollars a month for a raw, untrained foreigner; can’t speak English, can’t cook, can’t do nothin’, an’ once you get her trained off she goes’s lively’s a flea. Five years of domestic peace in yer home! Five years of perfec’ happiness! Ain’t it worth more’n a measly thousand dollars? The gentleman in the comer says it is; he bids ten hunderd fifty. Ten hunderd fifty, ten hunderd sixty! Oh, come, let’s run ’er up faster! I can’t stan’ here all day foolin’. The gentleman in the corner again. Yes, sir, eleven hunderd! Who’ll make it twelve?” “Stop long enough to tell me what you’re selling, man,” called the latest comer, in a loud, clear voice. “I didn’t get here in time to find out, and no one will tell me.” A general murmur of protest arose all over the room. A tall woman, with a high-peaked nose set midway in a large expanse of purplish-red face, arose. “I’m through!” she announced acidly. “Let me out of here.”