The humours of the auction-room deserve to be dealt with more fully
than is in my power to treat them. Though an auctioneer's fun is
sometimes a little forced, its aim being to keep his visitors in a good
temper with him--for he knows that every time that he knocks something
down to one person he hurts the feelings of the runner-up--still,
now and again, something occurs to call for a witty comment, and
occasionally a ludicrous incident may brighten up the monotonous
reiteration of slowly increasing sums of money. I have heard that long
ago most lords of the rostrum were what used to be called “characters,”
and got on the friendliest terms with the people on the floor. But now I
fear that there is no time for such amenities, though I heard one of the
profession say, announcing a new “lot”--“Hallo, what have we here? 'Lot
67--Adams Bed.' Ladies and gentlemen, there's a genuine antiquity for
you--Adam's Bed! I shouldn't wonder if the quilt was worked by Eve
herself, though I believe she was better at aprons.”
The auctioneer as a rule, however, hurries from lot to lot without
wasting time referring to the charm of any one in particular. I cannot
understand how they avoid doing so sometimes when a beautiful work of
art is brought to the front.
But in the old days I believe that now and again a trick was resorted
to with a view to arouse the interest of possible purchasers in the
business of the day. I know of such a little comedy being played with
a good deal of spirited action in an auction-room in a large townin the
Midlands. An Irish dealer was in the habit of sending round from time
to time as much stuff as a large furniture van would hold, to be offered
for sale by auction. Of course he placed a reserve on every article, and
if this figure was not reached in one town, he packed up the thing, to
give it a chance in the next; so that within a few weeks he managed to
get rid of a large number of things at quite remunerative prices. It so
happened, however, that he wanted money badly when he reached the
town where he began his operations, and he made a confidant of the
auctioneer, who promised to do his best in regard to the goods. The
articles were consequently displayed in the rooms, and a considerable
number of people assembled before the auctioneer mounted the rostrum.
The bidding was, however, very spiritless, and the first dozen lots were
knocked down to imaginary buyers at imaginary figures; but just when the
thirteenth lot was exhibited there appeared at the farther end of the
room a rather excited figure.
“Stop the sale,” he cried. “I'm not going to stand passively by while
you give my goods away. I don't mind a reasonable sacrifice, but I'm not
going to submit to such a massacre as has been going on here up to the
present. Stop the sale!”
“Look you here, Mr. O'Shaughnessy,” said the auctioneer. “Massacre or
no massacre, I received instructions from you to sell your stuff without
reserve, and sell it I will, whatever you may say.”
“You'll do nothing of the sort, I tell you,” cried the Irishman. “Come
down from that reading-desk and don't continue to make a fool of me. I'm
not going to see my things thrown away. You know what they are worth as
well as I do, and yet you knock them down for a quarter their value!”
“Now, my good man, if you don't get out of this room I'll have to take
stronger measures with you,” said the auctioneer. “I know that the stuff
is all that you say it is; but that's nothing to me: the highest bidder
will get the best of it, whether he bids to half the value or a quarter
the value for that matter. You are making a fool of yourself, Mr.
O'Shaughnessy, but you won't make a fool of me. I'm here to sell, and
sell I shall. Now sit down or leave the premises.”
“I'll not sit down. I tell you I'll not----”
“Porter,” cried the auctioneer, “turn that gentleman out, and if he
won't go quietly call a policeman. You hear?”
A couple of stalwart porters approached the vendor, saying soothing
words; but he refused to move, and they had to force him to the door.
They did so, however, as tenderly as possible; though he kept on
shouting, as he went reluctantly backward step by step, that the
auctioneer was in a conspiracy to ruin him, allowing his goods to be
taken away for nothing. At last he was in the street and the door was
closed. “Ladies and gentlemen,” said the auctioneer, “I must apologise
for this scene. Such a thing never happened in my mart before, and I
hope it will never happen again. But I know my position, and I've no
intention of breaking faith with the public, whatever that man may do or
say. I hope you'll excuse him; he is really the best judge of antiques
I ever met, but when he gets a drop of drink there's no holding him in.
Now, gentlemen, he'll not disturb us again, and with your leave I'll
proceed with the sale. I'll do my duty by you, and I'll do my duty by
him, whether he has insulted me or not. He maybe an excitable Irishman,
but that's no reason why we shouldn't do our best for him. Fair play,
ladies and gentlemen, fair play to everybody. We must not allow our
prejudices to blind us. You know as well as I do that the stuff is the
finest that has ever come to this town, though the vendor would be safer
in the hands of the police than prowling about as he has been. Now where
were we?--ah, Lot 13--'Chippendale mirror, carved wood, gilt.' There's a
work of art for you. Where did he get hold of such a thing, anyway? What
shall we say for it?”
The thing started at a figure actually above the reserve price that Mr.
O'Shaughnessy had placed upon it, and the bidding went on with a rush.
The next lot--two ribbon-carved mahogany arm-chairs--seemed to be badly
wanted by some one. They were knocked down at a figure twenty-five
percent, beyond the reserve. So it was with everything else in the
collection. Never had there been a more successful sale in the same
rooms.
[Illustration:0327]
So, at least, the auctioneer confessed to the vendor as they dined
together that evening, and the auctioneer was in private life a truthful
man, though not always so rigid in the rostrum.