"A pound," suggested my dealer quite boldly. The auctioneer turned a cold eye upon him for a moment, and then I saw that there was a twinkle on its glossy surface.
"Very well, sir," he said. "A pound is bid for the picture--twenty-five shillings, thirty shillings, thirty-five, two pounds--thank you, sir; we're getting on--two-ten; I'm obliged to you, ma'am--three pounds ten--three pounds ten--three pounds ten bid for the portrait of Lady Betty. Oh, ladies and gentlemen, wouldn't it be a shame if such a picture was to be knocked down for seventy shillings and it worth nearly as many pounds. Four pounds--thank you, sir. The bidding is against you, ma'am. Well, if there's no advance----"
It was my dealer who had made the last bid, and I must confess that for some seconds I actually fancied that I was to be placed in possession of a Reynolds for four pounds!
"Four pounds--going at four pounds," came the voice of the auctioneer. "If there's no advance--going at four pounds--going--for the last time--five hundred--six hundred--seven hundred--a thousand--fifteen hundred--two thousand--guineas--five hundred--guineas--three thousand--guineas--going for three thousand guineas, ladies and gentle-men, it's giving the picture away that I am; but still the times are bad. Going at three thousand guineas--going--going--Mr. Agnew."
The hammer fell, and everyone was laughing except the Irish auctioneer and my dealer.
"Perhaps our dashing friend will give me an advance of thirty shillings on the next lot--Ralph, first Earl of--------," said the former, glancing toward the latter with an insinuating smile.
The latter forced his way toward the nearest door, leaving Lot 132 to be started by a London dealer at a thousand pounds.
My disappointed friend had never been at a great sale in his life, and he had certainly not suspected that the gentlemen wearing the silk hats were like himself, dealers--only on perhaps a somewhat more heroic scale.
The humours of the auction-room deserve to be dealt with more fully than is in my power to treat them. Though an auctioneer's fun is sometimes a little forced, its aim being to keep his visitors in a good temper with him--for he knows that every time that he knocks something down to one person he hurts the feelings of the runner-up--still, now and again, something occurs to call for a witty comment, and occasionally a ludicrous incident may brighten up the monotonous reiteration of slowly increasing sums of money. I have heard that long ago most lords of the rostrum were what used to be called "characters," and got on the friendliest terms with the people on the floor. But now I fear that there is no time for such amenities, though I heard one of the profession say, announcing a new "lot"--"Hallo, what have we here? 'Lot 67--Adams Bed.' Ladies and gentlemen, there's a genuine antiquity for you--Adam's Bed! I shouldn't wonder if the quilt was worked by Eve herself, though I believe she was better at aprons."