"An Auction Extraordinary"
"My! Just look at them perfec'ly good, new window screens. It _does_
seem a shame to sell 'em, don't it now? They might come in real handy
sometime," cried one eager inspector of the collection of articles
displayed for sale in the Carruths' barn the following Saturday
morning. That the house for which those screens had been made lay
almost in ashes not a hundred feet from her, and that the chances of
their ever fitting any other house, unless it should be expressly
built for them, did not enter that lady's calculations.
"Yes, and just look at his elergant sideboard. My! it must have cost a
heap o' money. Say, don't you think them Carruths were just a little
mite extravagant? Seems ter me they wouldn't a been so put to it after
Carruth's death if they hadn't a spent money fer such things as them.
But I wonder what it'll bring? 'Tis elergant, aint it? I'm just goin'
ter keep my eyes peeled, and maybe I c'n git it."
"Why what in this world would you do with it if you _did_? You haven't
a room it would stand in," cried the friend, looking first at the
huge, old-fashioned, walnut sideboard, that Constance had called a
Noah's Ark, and then at its prospective purchaser as though she
questioned her sanity.
"Yes, it _is_ big, that's so," agreed that lady, "but it's _so_
elergant. Why it would give a real air to my dining-room, and I guess
I could sell our table if both wouldn't stand in the room. We could
eat in the kitchen fer a spell, you know, till maybe Jim's wagers were
raised an' we could go into a bigger house. Anyway I'm goin' ter _bid_
on it. It's too big a chanst ter let slip."
"Yes, it _is_ pretty big," replied her friend, turning away to hide a
slight sneer, for _she_ was a woman of discretion.
"Now, ladies and gentlemen," called the auctioneer at that moment,
"may I claim your attention for this most unusual sale; a sale of
articles upon which you would never have had an opportunity to bid but
for the 'calamity at your heels'--to quote the immortal William."
The people massed in front of him, for Riveredge had turned out en
masse, started and glanced quickly over their shoulders. "But for the
tragedy of them ashes these elegant articles of furniture would never
have been placed on sale; your opportunity would never have been.
Alas! 'one man's meat is ever another man's poison.' Now what am I
offered for this roll of fine Japanese matting? Yards and yards of it
as you see; all perfectly new; a rare opportunity to secure a most
superior floor covering for a low figure. What am I bid, ladies and
gentlemen?"
"One dollar," ventured a voice.
"_One dollar!_ Did I hear right? Surely not. One dollar for at least
fifteen yards of perfectly new Japanese matting? Never. Who will do
better 'n that? Two? Two--two--"
"Two-fifty!"
"Good, that's better, but it's a wicked sacrifice Come
now--two-fifty--two-fifty--"
"Three. Three-fifty. Four," ran up the bids in rapid competition until
seven dollars were bid for the roll. It was bought by the discreet
lady. At that moment Jean, who had been everywhere, appeared upon the
scene.
"Oh, did you buy those pieces of matting?" she observed. "Mother told
me to tell the auctioneer not to bother with them 'cause she didn't
think there were two yards of any single pattern. I didn't get here in
time though, I'm sorry, but I had to stop on my way."
"Not two yards of any one pattern? Why there's yards and yards in this
roll. Do you mean to tell me 'taint all alike?"
"I guess not. It's pieces that were left from our house and all the
rest was burned up."
Just then Jean spied Constance and flew toward her leaving the
discreet lady to discover just what she _had_ paid seven dollars for.
On her way she ran into Jerusha Pike, who laid upon her a detaining
hand. "Jean, you're exactly the child I want. Where is your sister
Constance? I want to see her. Is your mother here?"
"No, Miss Pike, mother didn't come. Connie is right yonder. See her?"
Off hurried Miss Pike to the tree beneath which Constance stood
watching the progress of the sale, which was now in full swing; the
auctioneer feeling much elated at the returns of his initial venture,
was warming up to his work. Eleanor, with her Aunt Eleanor, who was
much in evidence this day, was seated behind the auctioneer's raised
stand, and thus quite sheltered from observation.
"Constance Carruth, you are the very girl I must see. _You_ can and
will tell me what I wish to know, I am sure," cried Miss Pike, in a
stage whisper.
"If I can I will, Miss Pike," answered Constance with a mental
reservation for the "can."
"I want you to tell me what your poor dear mother most values among
the things she has here. There _must_ be some treasures among them
which she cherishes for sweet associations' sake. Name them, I implore
you. I have never forgiven myself for the accident which befell that
priceless mirror. If I can bid in something here for her let me do it,
I beg of you. There is no one else to do it, and _you_ are far too
young to be exposed to the idle gaze of these people."
"But Miss Pike, Eleanor and----"
"No! No! I cannot permit either of you to do this thing. Your dear
mother would be shocked. _I'll_ attend to it for you, if you will only
tell me."
"But," began Constance, and was interrupted by the auctioneer's voice
calling:
"_Now_, ladies and gentlemen, here is a _fine_ set of garden tools in
perfect order."
"Oh, they were daddy's. That is the set mother felt so bad about
selling, isn't it, Connie?" broke in Jean, who had not been paying
much attention to the conversation between her sister and Miss Pike.
"There! What did I say! I was confident of it! _Now_ is my opportunity
to make reparation. _Nothing_ shall balk me."
"But Miss Pike; Miss Pike; you must not. Aunt Eleanor----"
But Miss Pike had rushed toward the auction stand.
Meanwhile Eleanor had been saying: "I wish we had not offered that
garden set at all. It was father's and mother really felt dreadful
about selling it. I fully intended to have it put aside without saying
anything to mother, but there was so much to attend to that I forgot
it, and now it is too late."
"Not in the least, _I'll_ bid it in," and rising from her chair, Madam
Carruth prepared to do her duty by her niece. Just then Miss Pike
appeared from the opposite direction.
"How much am I bid for this garden set? All in perfect condition."
"Ten cents," replied a strident voice.
"Scandalous!" cried Miss Pike. "_I'll_ bid one dollar. It is
sanctified by the touch of a vanished hand."
"Indeed," murmured Madam Carruth, who could see Miss Pike, although
that lady could not be seen by _her_. "Well, I guess _not_.
One-fifty."
Miss Pike was too intent upon securing the object to give heed to the
speaker's voice or recognize it.
"One-seventy-five! One-seventy-five! One-seventy-five! Going, going
at one-seventy-five."
"Two-seventy-five!"
"Ah! That's better. It would be a shame to sacrifice this set for a
song. It is no ordinary set of garden implements, but a most superior
quality of steel. Two-seventy-five; two-seventy-five--"
"Three! I must have them." The last words were spoken to a bystander,
but Madam Carruth's ears were sharp.
"Must you? Indeed! We'll see."
One or two others, who began to believe that a rare article was about
to slip from their possible grasp, now started in to bid, and in a few
moments the price had bounded up to five dollars. The original cost of
the set had been three. Then it went gayly skyward by leaps and bounds
until in a reckless instant Miss Pike capped the climax with ten.
"Well if she wants to be such a fool she may," exclaimed Madam
Carruth. "I could buy four sets for that money and sometimes even
sentiment comes too high. I'd save 'em for your mother if I could, but
sound sense tells me she can make better use of a ten-dollar bill than
of a half-dozen pieces of old ironmongery. That Pike woman always
_was_ a fool."
"Gone for ten dollars!" cried the auctioneer at that instant. Miss
Pike's face was radiant. She was about to turn away when Jean made her
way through the crowd to her side crying:
"Did you really get them, Miss Pike? mother'll be so glad. When we
were talking about selling these things she almost cried when she
spoke about the garden tools and the lamp----"
"_What_ lamp, child? Oh these heartrending changes! Tell me what the
lamp is like. If it can be saved I'll save it for her. I can't
understand _why_ your sisters permitted the objects, around which the
tendrils of your mother's heart were so entwined, to be put up for
sale. To me it seems a positive sacrilege."
"But mother made them do it. She wouldn't let----and, oh, there's the
lamp now. That one with the bronze bird on it, see?"
"Oh, the tender memories that must cluster about it. I will hold them
sacred for her. They shall not be desecrated. Stand beside me, child.
I shall bid that in for your dear mother."
Again the lively contest for possession was on, although the sums
named did not mount by such startling bounds as in the case of the
garden tools. Still, more than four dollars had been offered before
Miss Pike, in flattering imitation of a large New York department
store, offered $4.99, and became the triumphant owner of it. Miss Pike
had a small income, but was by no means given to flinging her dollars
to the winds. So it was not surprising that many who knew her marveled
at the sums she was spending for her two purchases. Having paid her
bill she promptly took possession of her lamp and her case of garden
tools and stalked off through the throng of people in quest of
Constance whom she found talking to a group of schoolmates near the
ruins of the old home.
"Congratulate me! Congratulate me! I've saved the treasures from the
vandals! I've rescued them from sacrilegious hands. Behold! Take them
to your mother with my dearest love. I had a struggle to get them, for
some woman was determined to secure that garden set But _I_ came off
victorious. I had to do battle royal, but I conquered. Now, my dear,
when you go home take them with you. They _did_ come rather high; I
had to pay ten dollars for the garden set, but I got the lamp for less
than five!--four ninety-nine. But you need not pay me until it is
_perfectly_ convenient. Don't let it worry you for a moment. I am
repaid for the time being in the thought that I secured them for your
mother. I knew she would rather pay twice the sum than see them fall
into the hands of utter strangers. Good-bye, my dear, I must hurry
home, for I have been absent too long already."
As Miss Pike departed, Constance dropped upon the carriage step,
which, being of stone, had survived flame and flood. Upon the ground
before her lay their own garden set, and stood their own lamp for
which her mother would have to return to Jerusha Pike, fourteen
dollars and ninety-nine cents owing to that lady's unbridled zeal. She
looked at them a moment, then glancing up at her friends whose faces
were studies, the absurdity of the situation overcame her and them
also, and peals of laughter echoed upon the wintry air.
"Who was it that said 'Save me from my friends!' Connie?" asked a girl
friend.
Constance looked unspeakable things. Then bounding to her feet she
cried:
"Well, it's lucky we can return her own money to her, but that settles
it. It might have been worse anyway. I've been on the fence for
several days without knowing which way to jump. _Now_ I do know, and
Miss Pike has given the push. It's been a case of:
'Our doubts are traitors
And make us lose the good we oft might win
By fearing to attempt.'
"There, Belle, is a quotation to match yours, and bear in mind what I
say: I'm going to live up to it. Now I'm going home. Come on, you
people, and help me lug these treasures there," and off the laughing
procession set, each girl or lad burdened with some article of the
purchases, Constance leading the way with the lamp, and all singing:
'Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar,
Doubt _not_ Jerusha's love.'
"I don't think I ever shall, but perhaps she has helped in one way,
since she has settled _my_ doubts, and the next thing you people hear
of me may make you open your eyes. No, I won't tell you a single
thing. Just wait until next week, then you'll see."