Chapter XLVIII - Page 2

said a word to me about this auction; he was afraid I'd butt in and block his purchase; so, for his impudence, I'll teach him a lesson he'll never forget. Bid, Gus! Bet 'em as high as a hound's back."

"Captain Matt Peasley, representing the Blue Star Navigation Company, bids one million dollars. Chicken feed! Won't some real sport please tilt the ante?" Jim Searles pleaded. "Don't waste my time, gentlemen. It's valuable. Let's get this thing over and go back to our offices."

"One million five hundred thousand!" called J. Augustus Redell.

"I called for a sport and drew a piker," Jim Searles retorted. "Mr. J. Augustus Redell, of the West Coast Trading Company, bids a million and a half."

Young Dalton Mann, representing the Pacific Mail Steamship Company, raised his hand and snapped his fingers at the auctioneer.

"And a hundred thousand!" he shouted.

"And a hundred thousand!" Matt Peasley retorted.

"And fifty thousand!" Mann flung back at him.

Matt Peasley eyed his antagonist belligerently.

"That's doing very well for a young fellow," Searles complimented the last bidder. "Skipper Peasley, are you going to let this landlubber outgame you? He has bid a million and three-quarters. Think of the present high freight rates and speak up, or remain forever silent."

The bidding had so suddenly and by such prodigious bounds reached the elimination point that every piker present was afraid to open his mouth in the presence of these plungers. Matt Peasley licked his lips and glanced round rather helplessly. He knew he had about reached the limit of his bidding, but he suspected that Mann had reached his also.

"And ten thousand!" he shouted desperately.

"Cheap stuff! Cheap stuff!" the crowd jeered good-naturedly.

Cappy Ricks nudged J. Augustus Redell as Mann waved his hand in token of surrender. "One million seven hundred and sixty thousand I am offered," the auctioneer intoned. "Any further bids?" He waited a full minute; then resorted to three minutes of cajolery, but in vain. There were no more bids.

Jim Searles raised his hammer.

"Going--once!" he called--and waited. "Going--twice!" Another pause. "Going--"

"Two million dollars!" cried J. Augustus Redell; and a sigh went up from the excited onlookers.

"Ah! Mr. Redell is a sport, after all! Two million, flat!" Searles looked down on Matt Peasley. "Die, dog, or eat the meat ax!" he warned the unhappy young man.

"Let him have her," Matt growled; and, very red of face, he commenced to shoulder his way through the crowd.

"Beat it, Cappy; he's coming!" Redell warned the president