_) Are
_you going to lose it, Sir?_ Worth double, I assure you! Ask your good
lady!
_Materfamilias_ (_aside_). Bid three-fifteen, JOHN, but not a penny
more!
_Paterfamilias_ (_weakly_). Three-fifteen!
_Auctioneer_. Three-fifteen! Four! Going at four! Last time at four!
All done, four! Going, going--gone! (_Drops hammer_.) Sold at four
pounds, SAM! (_Looks round_.) Who bid four? [_No response, as the last
bid was imaginary._
_Sam_ (_huskily_). Gen'l'man as bid four jest slipped hout, Sir.
_Auctioneer_ (_tartly_). Tut--tut--tut! _Too_ bad, really. Well,
Sir, then I must take _your_ bid. Sold to this Gentleman, SAM, at
Three-fifteen!
[_Paterfamilias, highly pleased, pays deposit, and arranges to
send for his bargain in the morning. As he and his "good lady"
leave, they notice close by, three men with barrows, each
bearing a blazingly red and strongly-smelling chest of
drawers. Materfamilias complacently remarks on the manifest
superiority of the article they have purchased, to "that
red rubbish." Next morning they receive, instead of their
own "bargain," one of those identical brand-new, badly-made,
unseasoned, thinly-veneered "shop 'uns," which are "blown
together" by the gross for such purposes.
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