He was plainly disgusted with us, and we felt it keenly, and were glad
and pleased when, a moment later, he gave evidence of being willing to
go on with us, paltry as we were.

"Jake, pass up that next treasure."

His spirits were returning; his eyes gleamed approvingly upon the newly
presented antique. He looked at us with fresh confidence; he was still
hopeful that we would rise to his former good opinion of us.

"And now before I sell the hail clock by Willard, date of 1822, I am
going to offer what is possibly the best single piece in this sale...."

Here again the Old Auctioneer, having caught his cue broke in. When he
spoke, who could listen to Mr. Harpworth?

"... the best single piece in this sale, gentlemen! I offer you now the
Templeton family pride! A choice product of old New England. A little
battered, but still good and sound. The Templetons! They never did
anything notable except to work, work early and late, summer and winter,
for three generations. They were proud of any one who bore the Templeton
name; they were proud even of Jim, simple Jim, who got a job driving the
delivery wagon at the hill store, and drove it for twenty-two years and
was drowned in Mill River. I'll tell you what family pride meant to old
John Templeton...."

I thought he leaned forward to take us into his confidence, motioning
at the same time toward the house.