"Never more serious in my life."

"But I have never acted as an auctioneer."

"That don't matter."

"But are you aware, my friend, that a licence is necessary, and that the penalty for not having one is very heavy?"

"Bother the penalty. Don't we return to London to-night? I'm off to get your name printed. Any preference? Will Robert Scott, auctioneer, Mark Lane, London, do?"

"Really, Somers, it is too risky."

"I'll back it to beat Peter Dodd's idiotic system. This is a certainty. It means £5."

Imagine me, then, if you please, standing on that shaky table, catalogue in hand, extolling the merits of a feather bed, a cart-horse, a Carron grate, a brindle cow, some pigs, a threshing machine, a chest of drawers, and other miscellaneous articles of property.

[Pg 19]

[Pg 19]

Naturally I was a little nervous at first, but my courage came back to me, and I got excellent prices for everything. When Peter Dodd returned from his fruitless quest he did not see me, being a little short-sighted, until Somers pointed me out to him. When, by the aid of an eye-glass, he did realise the fact that I was making myself so useful, the situation was too much for him, and he rushed into an hotel.

Towards the end of the sale the real auctioneer made his appearance!

The train by which he travelled had broken down. He was for ousting me from my rostrum without ceremony, but backed by the "No! no!" of my audience, I refused to move. He looked daggers at me, and took a note of my newly-printed name and address. This did not bode any good, and I was not sorry to get to the end of the catalogue.

Joining my friends with the hard-earned "fiver," I suggested that the sooner we left Doncaster the better. The bill was called for and a time-table examined. But before our preparations were finished a row broke out in the room where the farmers were having their dinner, and Somers went down to see what it meant. He returned immediately, looking pale as a ghost.

"Old fellow," he said, 

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