"Did the parson add one hundred to my
bid?"
"Three thousand one hundred dollars from Parson Westmore," shouted the
auctioneer. "Any advance on three thousand one hundred dollars?"
"Another hundred, then, damn it," and Farrington thrust his hands deeper
into his pockets, while his eyes gleamed with an angry light.
"Three thousand five hundred," came the quiet response.
Silence followed this last bid, which plainly proved that Farrington, too,
was weakening. He looked around as if uncertain what to do, and his eyes
rested upon Mrs. Frenelle. In her eagerness she had moved from the door,
and was standing near the group of men with her eyes fixed full upon the
clergyman. The expression upon her face was that of a drowning person,
who, when all hope has been abandoned, sees a rescuer suddenly at hand. It
was this look more than the half-suppressed laugh that passed among the
men, which caused him to fling another one hundred dollars at the
auctioneer.
"Four thousand," again came strong and clear from Parson John without the
slightest hesitation.
The auctioneer waited for Farrington to increase his bid.
Pages:
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68