Argosy, Vol. 123, No. 1 — page 72: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

edge, “but not until I’d sold the articles to another bidder. I’m very sorry.” “Here's the money,” she insists, pro- ducin’ a roll from under her apron. “That’s all very well,” I tell her, 6s but—”’ “ Hey!” shouts a brawny guy in the rear of the room. “ What kind of a brace game is this sale? I heard Mrs. Potter bid ten bucks—” “So did I!” butt in a group of — bors. ‘I do some quick thinkin’. “Si,” I say to the goofer who’d bid nine bucks, “ are you satisfied to let this lady’s bid stand?” “Sure!” the grins. I knew he wes be; so was I. With the imaginary my gang was biddin’ I was sure no money that the neighbors could produce would be enough to buy a single article. “All right,” I say. ‘‘ The lady bids ten dollars. Ten dollars—are you all through ~ at ten dollars?” I pause to give one of my assistants a chance to put in a higher bid. Not a sound does one of them utter. “Ten dollars,” I repeat. “ Ten dollars. Will anybedy bid twenty?” I ask, givin’ - the wink to one of my helpers. My suggestion passes right over his head. “Will anybody bid fifteen?” I beg, tryin’ to get Ed Taylor’s eye and signal him to have one of his friends ee “the chairs in. : ‘Will you bid twelve dollars?” I ask, pointin’ to the feller ree ‘d started the ' biddin’. ¢e M e?” said—”’ | “Ten dollars! Ten dollars!” I roar to drown his question, which I fear will give the whole game away. ‘“‘ Who'll bid eleven? Who'll bid eleven? Who'll bid ten-fifty?” “ Ten-fifty!”? comes a voice from the back. “Sold!” I yell, and then I kick myself as I realize that it wasn’t one of my own gang who’d made the offer, but one of the flat-dwellers. The feller “who’d made the bid starts toward my chair, diggin’ in his pocket. he asks. “I thought you | lars! “Er, just a minute!” Isay. “ This last biddin’ wasn’t regular. The gentleman who made the last bid ain’t entitled to them chairs.”’ “Why ain’t 1?” demands the bird I spoke of. “The articles was sold once clore, | say. “J got to carry on this sale legal If I don’t— “Tf J don’t get them chairs,” cuts in the feller who’d bid ten-fifty, “ there ain’t goin’ to be ne more sale!” ‘““That’s the boy, Tom! Stick to it! Don’t let him skin you!” come the en- couragin’ shouts from his neighbors. “ Aw, gimme the money!” I tell the man. “ And take your chairs to blazes out of here!” On the level, I was worried. I didn’t know but that takin’ dough from that guy for them chairs was a crime that meant the rest of my life in the cooler. I’d have been thankful about then if the brawiy Mrs. Elliot had come at me with a rollin’ pin and gave me an excuse to beat it and call the rest of the sale off. Butno. The Elliot’s were over in the corner with their heads together, jabberin’ away and pointin’ at me but givin’ no sign of any idea of bringin’ the sale to an end by violence. “ Joe Conner,” I think to myself, “ this is once when you got too smart! You're sellin’ stuff that you ain’t got no right to sell. If the Ellicts don’t put you behind the bars for breakin’ and enterin’, grand larceny and obtainin’ money by fraud, Flubb & Company will!” I take a long breath. ‘“ Folks,” I address the crowd, “the next article offered for sale is a handsorise arm-chair.”’ “Six dollars yelps one of my gang. ‘ Seven!” chorus three or four more. “Eight!” comes a cry from several parts of the reom. “Nine!” barks the woman who’d bid on the other four chairs. ) “Ten!” sings out a young feller in front of me. “Pm dizzy. ‘Ten dollars!” I-murmur. “ Ten dol- Wholl bid twenty? Won’t you, please, bid twenty?” I ask one of my gang. COmiclbooks C@