Argosy All-Story Weekly, November 13, 1920 — page 68: what you’re looking at

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

346 wasting valuable time if we take less than five thousand-dollar advances on this su- perb piece of furniture—the prize of the Morseman collection. Who'll fhake it sev- enty-five thousand? Going at seventy— Going! Going—” ‘““ Seventy-one thousand,” cried Parker’s woman competitor, her voice tremulous with anxiety. ss “Vl make it seventy-five,” Ralph Henry announced. , The auctioneer’s eloquent eyebrows went up again. Once more the lorgnettes and curious glances were turned on Parker. There were beads of perspiration on his forehead, and his collar was wilting, but he was beginning to enjoy himself. He had got over his stage fright now, and the attention he was attracting was not entirely displeasing to him. He grinned cheerfully. Seventy-five thousand dollars was a lot of money to pay for a bed, but Mr. Binger had authorized him to go as high as a million if necessary. The contest was thrilling while it lasted, but he was confident as to the outcome. “The gentleman and lady seem deter- mined to outbid you, Mr. J.,” remarked the auctioneer insinuatingly. ‘“ Will you say eighty thousand? -If you can get the bed at that figure I don’t have to tell you that you'll be getting a bargain, sir.”’ The millionaire collector scowled and shook his head. ““ No; I’ve gone my limit,’ he declared. “I don’t want it as badly as all that.” — ‘Seventy-five thousand I am_ bid,” chanted the auctioneer, his gaze sweeping the sea of faces before him searchingly. ‘“ Going at seventy-five! Do I hear any ad- vance?” He did not hear any advance. Parker’s young woman rival had given up the fight. She, too, had reached her limit. And the other bidders had already dropped out of the race. In vain Mr. George Augustus Markel chided, argued, and pleaded. All his tricks failed to bring another bid. “Sold to the young man at the back of the room for seventy-five thousand dol- lars,” the auctioneer finally snapped, bring- ing his gavel down with a crash. “ Will you step up to the cashier’s desk, sir?” ARGOSY-ALLSTORY. WEEKLY. Parker arose jubilantly. He had suc- cessfully carried out his mission. The bed was now Mr. Binger’s. All that remained to be done was to adroitly elude the ques- tions of the newspaper reporters who were already moving toward him as he made his way down the aisle to the cashier’s desk. There was no escaping them. They sur- rounded him at the end of the aisle and bombarded him with eager, insistent inter- rogations. Would he tell them his name? Was he buying the bed for himself? What did he intend to do with it? Was he a col- lector? Did he have any photographs of himself in his pocket? He smilingly shook his head and de- clared that he had “ nothing to say—ab- solutely nothing, gentlemen.” He hated publicity, he explained, and never allowed his name to appear in the newspapers if he could help it. At length he managed to break through them, and presented himself to the cashier. The latter had been holding a whispered conference with the auctioneer, and he eyed the purchaser of the bed sharply. “You will give us your check now, sir? It is our rule, you know, that where a cus- tomer is absolutely unknown to us, pay- ment must be made before delivery. J] hope that will be agreeable.” ‘I can’t give you a check,” said Parker, with a’ significant gesture toward the re- porters at his elbow. ‘‘ But I will pay you in cash. I suppose a deposit will do? I— er—didn’t come here expecting to pay cash down, but I have a thousand dollars with me which I can let you have.” ‘A thousand dollars is rather a small deposit, sir, on a_ seventy-five-thousand- dollar purchase.” “I will bring you the rest of the cash within an hour. In the mean time you will have the bed for security. It is to remain here, in fact, until my—until I send for it.” The cashier considered for a moment; then nodded. ; ‘Very good, sir. A deposit of a thou- sand dollars in cash will be satisfactory.” Ralph Henry Parker’s hand went to his coat pocket. Then a cold moisture sprang to his brow and an exclamation of mingled horrorvand dismay escaped his lips. comichbook (E@)