your appearance, Burton--that's what you've done. Not even a silk hat
on a sale day!"

"I'm sorry," Burton answered. "To tell you the truth, I had forgotten
that it was a sale day."

Mr. Waddington looked curiously at his assistant, and the longer he
looked, the more convinced he became that Burton was not himself.

"Well," he said, "I suppose you can't always be gassing if you're not
feeling on the spot. Let's start the sale before any more people leave.
Come on."

Mr. Waddington led the way to the rostrum. Burton, with a sinking
heart, and a premonition of evil, took the place by his side. The first
few lots were put up and sold without event, but trouble came with lot
number 13.

"Lot number 13--a magnificent oak bedroom--" the auctioneer began. "Eh?
What? What is it, Burton?"

"Stained deal," Burton interrupted, in a pained but audible whisper.
"Stained deal bedroom suite, sir--not oak."

Mr. Waddington seemed about to choke. He ignored the interruption,
however, and went on with his description of the lot.

"A magnificent oak bedroom suite, complete and as good as new, been in
use for three weeks only. The deceased gentleman whose effects we are
disposing of, and who is known to have been a famous collector of