THE AUCTIONEER
"I can't understand how any one would DARE to use my name in such an
unwarranted way," murmured Mrs. Cane as the limousine got under way.
"Oh, my _dear_!" exclaimed Mrs. Potter. "They dare do anything these
days. If they have stopped at merely using your name, you are to be
congratulated. They have probably forged your signature and exhibited
your photograph all over town."
The idea was very distasteful to Mrs. Cane. "I should hate to think of
those awful men--they _were_ men, weren't they?"
"I didn't see them myself," replied Mrs. Potter, "but it seems to me
that Celeste said they were boys."
Mrs. Cane started perceptibly. "Boys?" she gasped.
"Why, yes; I'm sure that's what she said," returned Mrs. Potter. "But if
you want to trace them, that silk slumber-robe ought to be a great
help. There isn't another like it in this country. Picked it up in
Paris, you know; soft, clingy silk crepe in large checks of black and
white, and the most gorgeous panne velvet border!"
This opportunity was too good for Mrs. Rice to overlook. She had
personally handed out the lemon-colored shoes, and had recognized the
solicitors beyond peradventure. "If you should inquire around among the
victims, dearie," she drawled out with carefully stimulated lack of
interest, "you might find somebody who could identify them."
At that moment the car drew up at the curb and came to a stop. Mrs. Cane
glanced out and exclaimed, "What! Home already!-- But what is the crowd?
Oh, I hope our house isn't on fire!"
As she struggled hurriedly out of the limousine without waiting for the
assistance of Francois, the other passengers craned their necks to see
what the excitement was. And as they looked, a startling checkered
device that was instantly recognized as Mrs. Potter's slumber-robe
fluttered out over the heads of the jostling multitude, where it waved
proudly for a moment, and was then gathered back into the hands of an
individual standing on the top of a rudely constructed counter about
which the crowd was clustered.
And as he spread the silken folds over his arm so that all might see it
to better advantage, he began to cry out in the loud voice of an
auctioneer:
"One dollar, one dollar, one dollar--one dollar, one dollar, one
dollar--I am offered only one dollar for this be-e-eautiful garment that
a certain rich lady--you all know her--bought in the large city of
Rochester; I am offered only one dollar, one dollar, one dollar--she
told me herself only this morning that it cost FIVE!--and yet I am
offered only one dollar, one dollar, one dollar, ONE DOLLAR!--I will put
it back in stock before I will sell it for such a ridic'lous figger. You
don't know what you're missin'."
He slung it on a line stretched above his head, and turning to a corps
of assistants who were waiting on a clamoring public (composed of
neighborhood domestics and Italians from across the railroad tracks),
sang out:
"Hand up something else, men! We must slaughter this stock to aid the
sufferin' Belgiums! We must aid the dessolute Belgiums!"--and he held up
a pink "wrapper."--"Now, what am I offered to start this to aid the
dessolute--"
The crowd parted, and fell back on either side, opening up a passage for
a woman in white who went rapidly towards the counter, in front of
which she came to a stop.
At the sight of her, patrons of the sale tucked their purchases under
their coats and departed in haste, and the auctioneer paused with his
mouth open as if a word had stuck halfway out. The pink "wrapper" fell
from his nerveless hand, and the gambler's-plaids in which he was clad
became as slack and empty-looking as a fallen tent. Everything about him
seemed to wilt except his remarkable shoes; and they were as long, and
as large, and as liver-shaped after her coming as before.
For one long minute she gazed at the auctioneer; and as she gazed the
clerks vanished, the multitude melted away, the auctioneer slid down
from his perch and shuffled towards the house, and the limousine gnashed
its gears, cleared its throat, and swept down the street. And all that
was left was the unspeakable litter incident to a successful
rummage-sale, the boxes and boards of the improvised counter, a few odds
and ends of stock, and above all, fluttering in the breeze, the gorgeous
slumber-robe that Mrs. Potter had picked up in Paris.
A riot-call over the telephone summoned Mr. Cane and a couple of huskies
to the scene. And while the huskies demolished the second-hand store
and tucked it somewhere out of sight, Mr. Cane did likewise with Sube.
[Illustration: THE AUCTIONEER PAUSED]
The next day Gizzard made his appearance at the Cane home at an early
hour. But he did not yodel in the yard or whistle under the window.
Instead, he walked decorously up to the front door and rang the bell.
When Annie opened the door and saw who the caller was, she was somewhat
put out. "How many times have I got to tell you boys--" she began
crossly.
But Gizzard did not quail. He had hardened himself for an ordeal, and
the encounter with Annie was as nothing to him. "I wanta see M's Cane,"
he said with quiet dignity.
Annie was so impressed by his demeanor that she stopped her tirade and
ushered him into the library. Then she went to call her mistress. In due
time Mrs. Cane came.
Gizzard stood up and strained at his cap as if he expected to find his
voice in the lining, for it was strangely missing. For a moment Mrs.
Cane watched him with amusement. Then she took pity on him.
"You came over to apologize, didn't you, Charley?" she said kindly.
"Well, it's all right; I accept your apology. I am sure you boys didn't
realize what you were doing, or you never would have done what you did
yesterday. But, of course you understand that you and Seward must return
to the rightful owners everything that is left; and I think that perhaps
you will want to be doing it right away. Seward is waiting for you in
the barn."
Gizzard's eyes spoke eloquently of his gratitude; but his voice went
back on him. For all he could say as he moved circuitously towards the
door was, "Goo'-by."
When Gizzard went into the barn a moment later he found Sube standing in
an attitude of dejection before a heap of cast-off shoes and clothing on
the floor.
"Hello, Sube," he said humbly.
"Hello, Giz."
"What'd she do to you yest'day?"
"_She_ only locked me in the closet."
"What'd your dad do?"
"Plenty much. What'd you catch?"
Gizzard twitched uncomfortably at the recollection. "First, Ma licked me
and sent me to bed without any supper, and when Pa come home he said it
wasn't enough; so he licked me again and tol' me I'd haf to come over
and 'pologize to your mother."
Sube brightened up at once. "Let's go do it now," he suggested.
"Ya-a-ah! I've done it!"
"Gee, I'd like to been there to heard you. What'd she say?"
"Oh,--she didn't say so much," replied Gizzard importantly. "She took it
all right."
"There wasn't much left to say," muttered Sube. "She'd said it all to
me."
"Well," Gizzard sighed, "she did say we'd got to take this stuff back.
But"--he added in a lower tone--"she didn't say nuthin' 'bout the dough.
How much was they, anyway?"
Sube glanced cautiously about before he answered, "Twenty dollars and
seventeen cents!"
Gizzard's jaw fell. "Gosh all hemlock!" he gasped. "What'll we ever _do_
with it?"
Sube shook his head hopelessly. "Dern'd if I know," he muttered.
"Where'd you put it?"
"Up there." Sube pointed to the place over the door where he had hidden
the candle the night they started for the Mexican border. "Want to see
it?"
"Not on your life I don't. I don't want nuthin' to do with it!"
Sube sighed. It seemed as if his troubles would never end. "Well," he
said finally, "we might as well be takin' this stuff back."
"You know where it all goes?" asked Gizzard.
Sube poked the pile of clothing with his foot. "That pink one's Miss
Mandeville's, and that blue and white thing b'longs to Hubbell's.
Where'd that green sweater come from? _You_ brought that in."
And so they went on for some time. They sorted out and put in one pile
all articles that they were able to identify. The others were left in a
heterogeneous mass that was a good deal of a problem to them until they
happened to think of some rubbish-barrels a short distance up the alley.
And there the second-hand man found them a few days later.
The boys had not been specifically instructed as to what explanation was
to be made to the property owners at the time of making restitution, so
they took that matter into their own hands. The formula adopted was
something like this:
"There was a mistake made about some of these things, and the committee
asked us to bring them back and say thank you very much." And the
messenger dashed away without waiting long enough for any complications
to arise.
But throughout the period of restoration, the lemon-colored shoes had
been conspicuously absent. Sube did not overlook this fact, but he was a
little sensitive about speaking of the matter for fear of causing
Gizzard undue embarrassment. And, doubtless for the same reason, Gizzard
forebore making any comment about the absence of the shoes last seen on
Sube at the time of the auction. Perhaps each partner assumed that the
other had gone by himself and made restoration. But in any event,
neither the one pair nor the other was ever seen in public again.
But in a little cubby-hole above the barn-door was something not so
easily disposed of. It made no sound; it had no perceptible odor; and
yet, every time the boys went into the barn they were reminded of it.
Twenty dollars and seventeen cents has more ways than one to make its
presence known.
Sube treated it with supreme indifference; he would not so much as
glance up at the hiding-place. But Gizzard was more impressionable, for
suddenly he cried out:
"I wisht the dern stuff was in Halifax!"
"I wisht it was," muttered Sube; "but it ain't. And it's a lot of
money."
"It's more'n I ever want to see again!" exclaimed Gizzard warmly. After
a moment of silence he cried, "Hey, Sube, why not give it to the Sunday
School?"
Sube shook his head. The impropriety of giving tainted money to the
church occurred to him at once, but Gizzard's suggestion to give it away
had put an idea into his mind. "What's the reason we can't send it back
to the gover'ment?" he asked. "We could put it in an envelope and mail
it to the President."
"What's the President got to do with it?" demanded Gizzard.
"Well, the gover'ment _made_ it, didn't it? And the President's the same
as the gover'ment, ain't he?"
In common with a number of other people, Gizzard was not sure about
this. He said he would have to ask his father. And at this point the
bell rang to summon Sube to his midday meal. As the boy seated himself
at the table his father asked:
"Have you returned all those things that were out in the barn?"
"Yes, Papa," answered the boy quietly. "We took them all back."
"Well, what did you do with the money?" Mr. Cane inquired. "You must
have taken in some money."
"We haven't done an'thing with it--yet."
"What are you _going_ to do with it?" asked the merciless inquisitor.
"Why,--why, we were thinking about sending it to the President, so he
could put it back in the treasury."
"Conscience money, eh?" demanded Mr. Cane. "Well, it's a great relief to
discover that you _have_ a conscience. But why don't you satisfy your
conscience by devoting it to the purpose for which you raised it?"
Sube looked up at his father with an expression of ineffable relief.
"_Could_ we do that?" he asked breathlessly.
"Why not?" replied Mr. Cane. "By the way, how much was there?"
"Twenty dollars and seventeen cents."
Mr. Cane uttered a low, long whistle. "And the auction was only half
over when it was raided!" he murmured. "Mother, you ought to let this
boy handle the next charity bazaar for the church."