burst of vocal fireworks.

"I wonder what Prescott and his mucker friends are here to bid
on?" Fred Ripley was asking himself. "Whatever it is, if it's
nothing that I want for myself I'll bid it up as high against
them as I can. For, of course, they've pooled their funds for
whatever they want to get. They can't put in more than a quarter
apiece, so a dollar and a half is all I have to beat. I'll wager
they already suspect that I'm here just to make things come higher
for them. I hope they do suspect!"

It was just after the Fourth of July. The summer sun shone fiercely
down upon the assemblage.

"Perhaps, first of all," announced the auctioneer, after pausing
to take breath, "it will be the proper thing to do to offer the
tent itself. At this point, however, I will say that the foreclosing
creditor of the show himself bids two hundred dollars on the tent.
No bid, unless it be more than two hundred dollars, can be accepted.
Come, now, friends, here is a fine opportunity for a shrewd business
man. One need not be a showman, or have any personal need of
a tent, in order to become a bidder. Whoever buys this tent to-day
will be able to realize handsomely on his investment by selling
this big-top tent in turn to some showman in need of a tent.
Who will start the bidding at three hundred dollars?"

No one started it. After the auctioneer had talked for five minutes
without getting a "rise" out of any Gridley citizen, he mournfully
declared the tent to be outside of the sale.