Science fiction, French -- Translations into English
At the moment Jacques Jansen made his offer Major Donellan looked at his
secretary, Dean Toodrink, and, with an almost imperceptible negative sign,
kept him silent. Mr. William S. Forster, seeming very much interested in
his paper, made some pencil notes. Mr. J.T. Maston, only replied to the
smiles of Mrs. Evangelina Scorbitt with a nod of the head.
"Hurry up, gentlemen; a little life. Don't let us linger. This is very
weak, very slow," said the auctioneer. "Let me see. Nobody says more.
Must I knock down the North Pole at such a price?" and as he spoke his
hammer went up and down just like the cross in a priest's hands when he
wishes to bless his people.
"Seventy cents," said Jan Harald, with a voice which trembled a
little.
"Eighty," immediately responded Col. Boris Karkof.
"Hurry up, 80 cents," said Flint, whose eyes were burning with
excitement.
A gesture of Dean Toodrink made Major Donellan jump up like a spirit.
"One hundred cents," said he with a short and sharp tone, becoming in
one who represented Great Britain. That one word made England responsible
for $407,000.
The friends of the bidders for the United Kingdom made a great hurrah,
which was repeated like an echo by the outside crowd. The bidders for
America looked at each other with disappointment; $407,000; this was
already a very large figure for such a region as the North Pole; $407,000
for ice, icebergs, and icefields?
And the man of the N. P. P. A. did not say one word, did not even raise
his head. Would he decide to make at last one overwhelming bid? If he
wanted to wait until the Danish delegates, those of Sweden, Holland, and
Russia had exhausted their credit, it would seem that the proper moment
had come. Their faces plainly showed that before the "100 cents" of
Major Donellan, they had decided to quit the battlefield. "One hundred
cents the square mile," said the auctioneer for the second time, "One
hundred, one hundred, one hundred," cried out Flint, making a
speaking-trumpet of his half-closed hand. "Nobody goes higher?"
questioned Auctioneer Gilmour. "Is it heard? Is it understood? No
regrets afterwards? We will sell it now." And he took his position and
looking at his clerk, said: "once, twice"-
"One hundred and ten," very quietly said William S. Forster, without
even raising his eyes, after having turned the page of his paper.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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