They wait on him. What's bid?"
No one would hazard a bid.
"Yit a minute," shouted the old fellow, pulling out his bull's-eye
watch again, "what's bid? Going--going--all done--going--"
"A dollar!"
The bid came from behind him, and the voice was beautiful to hear. A
gleam came into the old man's eyes as he heard it. He deliberately put
the watch back in its pocket, put on his spectacles, and turned, as if
she were a stranger.
"Gone!" he announced then. "Who's the purchaser? Come forwards and take
away you' property. What's the name, please?" Then he pretended to
recognize her. "Oach! Sally! Well, that's lucky! He goes in good hands.
He's sound and kind, but needs the whip." He held out his hand for the
dollar.
It was the girl of whom he had spoken accurately as a prize. Her sleeves
were turned up as far as they would go, revealing some soft lace-trimmed
whiteness, and there _was_ flour on her arms. Some patches of it on her
face gave a petal-like effect to her otherwise aggressive color. The
pretty dress was pinned far enough back to reveal the prettier
petticoat--plus a pair of trimly-clad ankles.
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