selling?"

"Sure thing," comes back Peter. "Think we're serving free lunch? No,
sir! Those are the genuine articles, Mr. Saltmarsh, and you're cheating
the widders and orphans if you don't put in a bid quick. One thirty-two
fifty, I'm bid. Now, Saltmarsh!"

But Bill only laughed. Then he picks up another plate, looks at it, and
laughs again.

"Good day, Brown," says he. "Sorry I can't stop." And off he puts
towards his horse and buggy.

Eddie Small was watching him. Milo, being on the other side of the
pulpit, hadn't noticed so partic'lar.

"Who's that?" asks Eddie, suspicious. "Does he know antiques?"

I remarked that if Bill didn't, then nobody did.

"Look here, Saltmarsh!" says Small, catching Bill by the arm as
he shoved through the crowd. "What's the matter with those
dishes--anything?"

Bill turned and looked at him. "Why, no," he says, slow. "They're all
right--of their kind." And off he put again.

But Eddie wa'n't satisfied. He turns to me. "By George!" he says. "What
is it? Does he think they're fakes?"