Christmas Penny Readings Part 7

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I felt scorched, so held my tongue, and submitted to the scolding.

"Now I see that Jane has completely ruined that dinner-service: the vegetable-dish covers are all broken but one, and that has no handle; the soup tureen has a great piece out of the side; there are only five soup plates left, while as to the dinner plates, they are that cracked and chipped, and--"

"If you want a new service, why don't you say so, and not go dodging about and beating the bush in that way?" I exclaimed viciously.

"Then you know, dear," continued Mrs S, without noticing my remark, "we want some more gla.s.s, and I'd get one of those nice wool mattresses Mrs Parabola was so proud of, and we must have a fresh carpet in the dining-room, for ours is perfectly disgraceful. What? people come to see us and not our carpets? Well I suppose they do, but we need not disgrace them by making believe to be so poor. And let's see, there's a very pretty china tea-service that I certainly would get, dear, and a few of those damask table-cloths and napkins."

"'Those damask table-cloths and napkins?'" I said. "Why, how the d.i.c.kens do you know anything about them?"

"Why, I went to see, of course, and the auctioneer's men were very civil and let us go over the house."

"Humph," I said. "Anything else you would like?" When if she did not keep on talk, talk, talk for a good hour about the odds and ends, as she called them, that it would be advantageous to buy.

Now, it so happened that when I married I thought I had properly furnished my house; but year after year I have gone on finding out that this was a complete mistake, while now, at the end of some thirteen years, it seems to me to be as far from perfect as ever. But here, in this case, as Mrs Scribe's mamma was coming down to spend Christmas, I could of course say nothing, so after faithfully promising that I would visit Mrs Parabola's during the three days' sale, I was allowed to go to sleep.

"Going to the sale, Retort?" I said the next day to a friend.

"Well, no," was the stammered reply; "I never buy at sales."

"Never mind, walk there with me." Mr Retort consented, and we strolled on together to where a gaily-patterned hearthrug hung out of a window, bearing one of the auctioneer's bills. Men were hanging about with porters' knots, and mostly wearing head coverings composed of Brussels carpet; Abram was there, Isaac was there, Jacob was there, and the whole of the twelve patriarchs, all looking hook-nosed, unctuous, unsoaped, and evidently revelling in the idea of what a glorious "knock out" there would be after the sale. The dining-room was set apart for selling purposes; the long table stood, with all the leaves in, while its telescopic principle was so put to it that in places it was quite out of focus, and the leaves did not meet. The "elegantly-designed genuine Turkey carpet" was ingeniously folded, so that all the worn parts were hidden, and the brighter and unworn portions prominently spread out upon the long table. The scroll fender stood upon the chimney-piece, the plated-ware upon the sideboard, while ranged along the walls were the bureaus and wardrobes out of the bedrooms; at which innovation, or rather intrusion, the large portraits upon the walls gazed down most ferociously.

"Porter, sir?" said a man, touching his carpet-cap to Retort.

"No, thank you, my man," said my friend, politely, "I never take beer."

"No, sir, I mean to carry home what you buy," said the man.

"Oh, dear me, no," said Retort, "I never purchase at sales."

The man thrust a ribald tongue into his long lank cheek, while, at the same moment I was earnestly examining the aforesaid Turkey carpet, and wondering whether it would be an improvement upon the one in our own room, when a man, whose name must have been Isaacs or Moss, insinuatingly offered me a catalogue.

"Thank you," I said: "I have one."

"Shouldn't recommend it, sir," said the new-comer. "The drawing-room carpet would just suit you, for it by rights should have been laid in a dining-room."

"Thanks," I said, "but don't let me detain you."

No detention in the least. Mr Isaacs was a broker, and for the usual trifling commission he could secure anything in the sale for me at a considerable reduction in the price I should have to give.

"For you see," said Mr Isaacs, see-sawing the edge of a leaf of the catalogue between two of his excessively dirty teeth, "if you attempt to bid for yourself the brokers will consider that you are taking the bread out of their mouths, and combine against you, and run things up.

Couldn't secure a thing yourself, I a.s.sure you, sir."

"Isn't this a public auction?" I said, in what was meant to be a dignified way.

"Oh, yes, of course," said Mr Isaacs; "but you see, sir, these sort of things are always managed for gentlemen by brokers. Gentlemen never bid for themselves."

I left Mr Isaacs under the impression that I was not a gentleman, since I fully intended to bid for myself, and steadfastly refused to pay attention to the various eligible lots he kept introducing to my notice as I pa.s.sed from room to room of the mansion, gradually getting better filled with visitors bound on bargain-seeking errands.

"Why, you'll pay dear enough for what you buy, depend upon it," said Retort. "What with brokers and buyers, I don't see much chance for you."

"Perhaps not, but look here," I said. "This is how I manage: I get, say in a corner, where I can just see the auctioneer's face, and then taking care not to make much movement or to do anything that will take the enemy's attention, I give him a quiet nod for my bid each time, while seeing that I am a buyer, he always looks out for my nods. Don't you see?"

"Just so," said Retort, "a capital plan, no doubt."

The sale began, and having obtained a pretty good place, I bid for several little things. Two or three times over I saw that the brokering clique were running them up, but by a judicious bit of management I let them run on, and then left my friends with the last bid, so that they were quite satisfied and let me bid and buy as I liked.

I had secured, as the day wore on, several undoubted bargains, amongst which was some of the damask linen which had taken Mrs Scribe's fancy; but the room was insufferably hot and stuffy, and evidently too much for poor Retort, who disappeared.

At length the dining-room Turkey carpet came on, and in spite of various shabby parts, I made up my mind to have it for divers reasons, among which I might enumerate its probably going for a song; secondly, durability; thirdly, its eminent respectability, for no one could find fault with a dining-room covered by a Turkey carpet.

"Five pun'," said one of the brokers, after the auctioneer's introductory remarks.

I nodded.

"Five ten--five ten--six--six ten--seven--seven ten--eight ten--nine ten. Nine ten," said the auctioneer, drawing bid after bid from different parts of the room, while, forgetting my nodding system in the excitement of the moment, I stood confessed. Now I had set ten pounds down in my own mind as the price I would go to, and was rather surprised to find how quickly it had reached to "nine ten," as the auctioneer termed it. However, seeing that the carpet was pretty good, and my room large, I thought I would go a little farther, for I must confess to feeling a little spite against the party of Jews who now seemed to be running me up again. So on went the bidding again, till it had reached to fourteen pounds.

"Let the gentleman have it," said Mr Isaacs, with a grin. But, no, "fifteen pounds" was bid from somewhere else--evidently by a confederate.

"Sixteen," I formed with my mouth.

"Seventeen bid," cried the hammer-man.

"I will have it," I muttered, "in spite of the scoundrels, for it would cost twenty for a good Brussels, and there's no wear in them."

"Going at seventeen--seventeen--_sev-en-teen--sev-en-teen_. Going at seven-_teen_. 'Eighteen.' I thank you, sir. Eighteen--eighteen-- eighteen. Nineteen is bid," said the auctioneer, while the Jews grinned and chuckled.

"Not half its vally yet, sir," cried Mr Isaacs. "Don't give it away, sir. Orter make fifty pun', at the least."

"Thou villainous Shylock," I muttered to myself, "but I can afford a few pounds sooner than be beaten."

"This splendid Turkey carpet, fit for any n.o.bleman's mansion, now stands at nineteen pounds," cried the man in the rostrum. "Say another pound for you, sir!"

I nodded.

"Twenty pounds--twenty--twenty--guineas--twenty-one pound is offered.

It's against you, sir, at twenty-one pounds."

I nodded again.

"Twenty-two pounds," cried the auctioneer. "Twenty-two pounds. Any advance upon twenty-two pounds," he continued, amid much chuckling, when, as there was no further reply to the challenges, I became the fortunate owner of the carpet at double its worth.

"Name," cried the auctioneer, and then catching my eye, he nodded, and went on with the next lot.

"I'll keep out of sight again, I think," I muttered, and returned to my corner, feeling very hot and bristly, as I determined to reopen the knocking-out discussion in the morning papers, for it was evident that I was the victim of a conspiracy.

But I was warm in temper as well as body, and therefore determined not to be driven away, so I purchased an elegant set of card and occasional tables at about double their value; gave six pounds ten for the damaged dinner-service; seven pounds for the china; five guineas for a wool mattress, and found myself at last bidding twelve s.h.i.+llings an ounce for some of the plate.

The Jews seemed frantic with delight, but I knew all the while it was only to conceal their anger and annoyance; and, though I kept carefully out of sight, I knew the bolts and shafts of their coa.r.s.e allusions were being directed at me, while their hidden confederate on the opposite side of the room bid furiously. Once or twice I felt disposed to leave off, and let the high-priced lots be knocked down to the Israelitish villain. "But no," I said, "I'll have what I want in spite of them, and cunning as they are;" for the rascals kept sending their chaff flying at their confederate as well.

Christmas Penny Readings Part 7

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Christmas Penny Readings Part 7 summary

You're reading Christmas Penny Readings Part 7. This novel has been translated by Updating. Author: George Manville Fenn already has 607 views.

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