THE AUCTION SALE.
My father was very unhappy, and my mother was afraid he would again
resort to the cup for solace in his misfortune. I do not know what
she said to him; but he treated her very tenderly, and never was a
woman more devoted than she was during this threatening misfortune. My
father was again a poor man. All that he had of worldly goods was to be
stripped from him to satisfy the malice of his hard creditor. He was
too proud to apply to Major Toppleton for assistance, believing that he
would have nothing to do with property on the other side of the lake.
I continued to run the dummy, and was so happy as to keep on the right
side of the major, his son, and the students. Before the expiration
of the legal notice, my father hired a small house in Middleport,
and we moved into it. It was only a hovel, compared with the neat and
comfortable dwelling we had occupied in Centreport, and the change was
depressing to all the members of the family. My father’s place was
advertised to be sold, and as the day--which looked like a fatal one to
us--drew near, we were all very sad and nervous. Nothing had yet been
heard of Christy; and the case was a plain one. The thousand dollars
saved from the earnings of the debtor was to be sacrificed. No man in
Centreport, however much he wanted the house, would dare to bid upon it.
My father desired to attend the sale, perhaps hopeful that his presence
might induce some friend of other days to bid a little more for the
place. My mother did not wish to have him attend the auction; but as he
insisted, she desired that I should go with him. I had no wish to be
present at the humiliating spectacle, or to endure the sneers and the
jeers of the Centreporters; but I decided to go, for my presence might
be some restraint upon my father, if his misfortunes tempted him to
drink again. I applied to Major Toppleton for leave of absence for my
father and myself on the day of the sale. My father had engaged a man
to take his place, and Faxon could now run the dummy.
“What’s going on over there?” asked the major, after he had consented
to the absence of both of us.
“My father’s place is to be sold at auction. Colonel Wimpleton has
foreclosed the mortgage,” I replied.
“How much has your father paid on the house?”
“He paid a thousand dollars down; and the mortgage is for two thousand.
He would have paid the note when it was due, but his money was stolen
from him.”
“I remember about that,” added the major, musing. “Will the place
bring enough at auction to enable your father to get back the thousand
dollars he paid?”
“No, sir; we don’t expect it will bring anything over the mortgage.
Colonel Wimpleton means to punish my father by ruining him, and none of
the Centreport people will dare to bid on the place.”
He asked me several questions more, and I told him as well as I could
how the matter stood. I was hoping most earnestly that he would
offer to advance the money to pay off the mortgage; but just as my
expectations reached the highest pitch, a gentleman interrupted the
conversation, and the major went off with him in a few moments, having
apparently forgotten all about the subject. My hopes were dashed down.
I conveyed all the students out to Sandy Beach in the dummy that
afternoon, and brought them back; but I was so absorbed in our family
affairs that I hardly knew what I was doing.
At one o’clock the next day, I went over to Centreport with father to
attend the sale. He was very nervous, and I was hardly less so. At the
appointed time, a large collection of people gathered around the house.
A red flag was flying on the fence, and all the company seemed as
jovial as if they were assembled for a picnic, rather than to complete
the ruin of my poor father. Hardly any one spoke to us; but I saw
many who appeared to be talking about us, and enjoying the misery we
experienced at the prospect of seeing our beloved home pass into other
hands.
Colonel Wimpleton was there, and so was Waddie. Both of them seemed to
be very happy, and both of them stared at us as though we had no right
to set foot on the sacred soil of Centreport. Others imitated their
illustrious example, and we were made as uncomfortable as possible. In
our hearing, and evidently for our benefit, a couple of men discussed
their proposed bids, one declaring that he would go as high as fifteen
dollars, while the other would not be willing to take the place at so
high a figure. Finally, the colonel, after passing us a dozen times,
halted before my father.
“I suppose you have come over to bid on the place, Ralph,” said he.
“No, sir; I have nothing to back my bid with,” replied my father,
meekly.
“You had better bid; I don’t think it will bring more than fifteen or
twenty dollars over the mortgage,” chuckled the magnate.
“It ought to bring fifteen hundred,” added my father. “I was offered
that for it once.”
“You should have taken it. Real estate is very much depressed in the
market.”
“I should think it was; and I’m afraid Centreport is going down,”
answered my father, with a faint smile.
“Going down!” exclaimed the great man, stung by the reflection. “Any
other piece of property in Centreport would sell a hundred per cent.
higher than this.”
“I suppose so!” ejaculated my poor father, fully understanding the
reason why his place was to be sacrificed.
The auctioneer, who had mounted the steps of the front door,
interrupted the conversation. He stated that he was about to sell all
the right, title, and interest which Ralph Penniman had in the estate
at twelve o’clock on a certain day, described the mortgage, and called
for a bid.
“Twenty-five cents,” said a colored man in the crowd.
The audience gave way to a hearty burst of laughter at the richness of
the bid.
“Thirty cents,” added Colonel Wimpleton, as soon as the noise had
subsided.
The auctioneer dwelt on it for a moment, and then the colored man
advanced to thirty-one cents. By this time it was clear to us that
these proceedings were a farce, intended to torment my father. I
had never endured agonies more keen than those which followed these
ridiculous bids, as I became conscious that my father was the butt of
the company’s derision. The colonel, more liberal than the negro, went
up to thirty-five cents; whereupon the latter advanced another cent,
amid the laughter and jeers of the assembly. Thus it continued for
some time, the colored man, who had doubtless been engaged to play his
part, going up one cent and the great man four. Others occasionally
bid a cent or a half-cent more; and half an hour was consumed in windy
eloquence by the auctioneer, and in cent and half-cent bids, before the
offer reached a dollar.
“One dollar and five cents,” said Colonel Wimpleton, at this point.
“One dollar and six cents,” promptly responded the negro.
“One dollar and six cents is bid for this very desirable estate,” added
the auctioneer. “Consider, gentlemen, the value of this property, and
the circumstances under which it is sold. Every dollar you bid goes
into the pocket of the honest and hard-working mortgagor.”
“One dollar and ten cents,” said the colonel, as if moved by this
appeal.
“Dollar ’leven,” added the negro.
“Consider, gentlemen, the situation of the unfortunate man whose
interest in this property I am selling.”
“Dollar fifteen,” said the colonel.
“Dollar fifteen and a half,” persisted the negro, amid roars of
laughter.
“One thousand dollars,” said some one in the rear of the crowd, in a
loud, clear tone.
If the explosion of the honest skipper’s canal boat, which had been
the indirect cause of the present gathering, had taken place in the
midst of the crowd, it could not have produced greater amazement and
consternation than the liberal bid of the gentleman on the outskirts of
the assemblage. It was a bombshell of the first magnitude which burst
upon the hilarious people of Centreport, met, as it seemed to me, for
the sole purpose of sacrificing my poor father. I recognized the voice
of the bidder.
It was Major Toppleton.
I had not seen him before. I did not know he was present. I afterwards
learned that he arrived only a moment before he made the bid, and only
had time to perceive the nature of the farce which was transpiring
before he turned it into a tragedy.
“Dollar fifteen and a half,” repeated the auctioneer, so startled that
he chose not to take the astounding bid of the magnate of Middleport.
“I bid one thousand dollars,” shouted Major Toppleton, angrily, as he
forced his way through the crowd to the foot of the steps where the
auctioneer stood.
“One thousand dollars is bid,” said the auctioneer, reluctantly.
I looked at Colonel Wimpleton, who stood near me. His face was red, and
his portly frame quaked with angry emotions. My father’s property in
the house was saved. We looked at each other, and smiled our gratitude.
“Toppleton must not have the property,” said Colonel Wimpleton to his
lawyer, who stood next to him, while his teeth actually grated with
the savage ire which shook his frame. “He will put a nuisance under my
very nose. Eleven hundred,” gasped the great man of Centreport, with
frantic energy; and he was so furious at the interference of the major
that I do not think he knew what he was about.
“Twelve hundred,” added Major Toppleton, quietly, now that this bid had
been taken.
“Thirteen,” hoarsely called the colonel.
“Fourteen.”
“Fifteen.”
The crowd stood with their mouths wide open, waiting the issue with
breathless eagerness. The auctioneer repeated the bids as he would have
pronounced the successive sentences of his own death warrant. Colonel
Wimpleton had by this time forgotten all about my father, and was
intent only on preventing his great enemy from buying the estate.
“Sixteen,” said the major, who, seeing the torture he was inflicting
upon his malignant rival, was in excellent humor.
“Seventeen,” promptly responded Colonel Wimpleton.
“Eighteen.”
“Nineteen,” gasped the colonel.
“Two thousand.”
“Twenty-one hundred,” roared the colonel, desperately.
“Twenty-two,” laughed the major.
The colonel was listening to the remonstrance of his lawyer, and the
auctioneer was permitted to dwell on the last bid for a moment.
“Twenty-three!” shouted the colonel.
“Twenty-three hundred dollars--twenty-three, twenty-three,
twenty-three,” chipped the auctioneer, with professional formality,
when the major did not instantly follow the last bid. “Going at
twenty-three hundred! Are you all done?”
“Knock it off!” growled the colonel, savagely, but in a low tone.
“Going at twenty-three hundred--one--two--three--and gone, to Colonel
Wimpleton, at twenty-three hundred,” added the auctioneer, as he
brought down his hammer for the last time.
“Pretty well sold, after all,” said the major to me, as he rubbed his
hands.
“Yes, sir; thanks to you, it is very well sold,” I replied, running
over with joy at the unexpected termination of the farce.
Colonel Wimpleton swore like a pirate. He was the maddest man on the
western continent.
“Colonel, if you are dissatisfied with your bargain, I shall be happy
to take the property at my last bid,” said the major as he walked out
into the road.
I will not repeat what the great man of Centreport said in reply, for
it was not fit to be set down on clean, white paper. My father and I
crossed the lake, and went home with the good news to my mother, who
was anxiously waiting to hear the result. Whatever joy she experienced
at the good fortune of my father, she was too good a woman to exult
over the quarrels of the two great men.
“I think Colonel Wimpleton will not try to punish me any more,” said my
father. “He pays eight hundred dollars more than I was offered for the
place. If he is satisfied, I am.”
The next day the twenty-three hundred dollars, less the expenses of the
sale, was paid over to my father. He had already cast longing eyes
upon a beautiful estate on the outskirts of the town of Middleport,
having ten acres of land, with a fine orchard; but the owner would not
sell it for less than five thousand dollars. The fruit upon the place
would more than pay the interest of the money; and, as soon as he had
received the proceeds of the sale, he bought the estate, paying two
thousand down, and giving a mortgage for three thousand. We moved in
immediately. The house was even better than that we had occupied in
Centreport, and I assure the reader, in concluding my story, that we
were as happy as any family need be left at the end of a last chapter.
Of the Lake Shore Railroad I have much more to say, in other stories
which will follow. The road was soon completed to Grass Springs,
thirteen miles from Middleport, and I ran the dummy to that point
during the autumn. In due time we had a regular locomotive and cars,
and ran to Ucayga, where we connected with a great line of railway
between the east and the west. We had a great deal of trouble with the
Wimpletonians, and the Centreporters generally, of which something
will be said in my next story--“LIGHTNING EXPRESS, OR THE RIVAL
ACADEMIES.”
The Toppletonians continued to treat me very kindly, and I did my best
for them. Our family troubles appeared to be all ended. My father
was as steady as he had ever been, and though we heard nothing from
Christy, we were on the high road to prosperity. Miss Grace Toppleton
was frequently a passenger in the dummy, and I must add that she was
always very kind and considerate to me. I am sure her smile encouraged
me to be good and true, and to be faithful in the discharge of my duty;
or, in other words, to put it THROUGH BY DAYLIGHT.
THE NORWOOD SERIES
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arouse eager interest is wholly free from cheap sensationalism.
1. =Andersen, Hans Christian=--The Sand Hills of Jutland
2. =Armstrong, F. C.=--The Young Middy
3. =Barrows, Rev. William=--Twelve Nights in a Hunter’s Camp
4. =Ballantyne, R. M.=--The Life Boat
5. =Brehat, Alfred de=--The French Robinson Crusoe
6. =Cozzens, Samuel W.=--The Young Silver Seekers
7. =Clarke, Mary Cowden=--Yarns of an Old Mariner
8. =De Mille, Prof. James=--Among the Brigands
9. The Lily and the Cross
10. The Winged Lion or Stories of Venice
11. =Farrar Capt. Charles A. J.=--Down the West Branch or
Camps and Tramps around Katahdin
12. Eastward Ho! or Adventures at Rangeley Lakes
13. Up the North Branch A Summer’s Outing
14. Wild Woods Life or A Trip to Parmachenee
15. =Frost, John, LL.D.=--Wild Scenes of a Hunter’s Life
16. =Hall, Capt. Charles W.=--Twice Taken A Tale of
Louisburg
17. =Harley, Dr.=---The Young Crusoe or Adventures of a Shipwrecked
Boy
18. =Headley, P. C.=--Facing the Enemy The Life of Gen Wm.
Tecumseh Sherman
19. Fight It Out on This Line The Life and Deeds of Gen U. S. Grant
20. Fighting Phil The Life of Gen. Philip Henry Sheridan
21. Old Salamander The Life of Admiral David G. Farragut
22. Old Stars The Life of Gen. Ormsby M. Mitchell
23. The Miner Boy and His Monitor The Career of John Ericsson,
Engineer
24. =Kingston, W. H. K.=--Anthony Waymouth
25. Ernest Bracebridge or School Boy Days
26. The Adventures of Dick Onslow among the Redskins
27. The Cruise of the Frolic
28. =Lee, Mrs. R.=--The African Crusoes
29. The Australian Wanderers
30. =McCabe, James D., Jr=--Planting the Wilderness
31. =Macy, William H.=--The Whales We Caught and How We Did It
32. =Morecamp, Arthur=--Live Boys or Charlie and Nasho in Texas
33. Live Boys in the Black Hills or the Young Texas Gold Hunters
34. =Pearson. Dr. C. H.=--The Cabin on the Prairie
35. The Young Pioneers of the Northwest
36. =Rowcroft, Charles=--The Australian Crusoes
37. =St. John, Percy B.=--The Arctic Crusoe Adventures on the
Sea of Ice
38. =Towle, George Makepeace=--Drake the Sea King of Devon
39. Magellan or The First Voyage around the World
40. Marco Polo His Travels and Adventures
41. Pizzaro His Adventures and Conquests
42. Raleigh His Voyages and Adventures
43. Vasco da Gama His Voyages and Adventures
44. The Heroes and Martyrs of Invention
45. =Verne, Jules=--A Winter in the Ice
46. Around the World in Eighty Days
47. The Wreck of the Chancellor
48. =Wraxhall, Sir Lascelles=--Golden Hair A Tale of the
Pilgrim Fathers
49. The Prairie Crusoe or Adventures in the Far West
50. Willis the Pilot A Sequel to the Swiss Family Robinson
LEE and SHEPARD Publishers Boston
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Corrections
• pp. 43, 45, 47, 58, 198: _had drank_ to _had drunk_
• p. 43: _seach_ to _search_
• p. 77: _ably_ to _able_
• p. 226 illustration: _FOR_ to _FROM_
• p. 249: _had not drank_ to _had not drunk_
• p. 276: _forget_ to _forgot_