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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?”

I didn’t know, so I shook my head. Small fidgetted, looked at Peter, and then run after Saltmarsh. Milo had just raised the bid.

“One hundred and thirty-three” hollers Peter, fetching the tea chest a belt. “One thirty-four do I hear? Make it one thirty- three fifty. Fifty cents do I hear? Come, come! this is highway robbery, gentlemen. Mr. Small–where are you?”

But Eddie was talking to Saltmarsh. In a minute back he comes, looking more worried than ever. Peter T. bawled and pounded and beckoned at him with the mallet, but he only fidgetted–didn’t know what to do.

“One thirty-three!” bellers Peter. “One thirty-three! Oh, how can I look my grandmother’s picture in the face after this? One thirty-three–once! One thirty-three–twice! Third and last call! One–thirty–“

Then Eddie begun to raise his hand, but ’twas too late.

“One thirty-three and SOLD! To Mr. Milo Thompson for one hundred and thirty-three dollars!”

And just then come a shriek from the piazza; the Duchess and “Irene dear” had come out of the parlor.

Well! Talk about crowing! The way that Thompson crowd rubbed it in on the Smalls was enough to make you leave the dinner table. They had the servants take in them dishes, piece by piece, and every single article, down to the last butter plate, was steered straight by the Small crowd.

As for poor Eddie, when he come up to explain why he hadn’t kept on bidding, his wife put him out like he was a tin lamp.

“Don’t SPEAK to me!” says she. “Don’t you DARE speak to me.”

He didn’t dare. He just run up a storm sail and beat for harbor back of the barn. And from the piazza Milo cackled vainglorious.

Me and Cap’n Jonadab and Peter T. felt so sorry for Eddie, knowing what he had coming to him from the Duchess, that we went out to see him. He was setting on a wrecked hencoop, looking heart-broke but puzzled.

“‘Twas that Saltmarsh made me lose my nerve,” he says. “I thought when he wouldn’t bid there was something wrong with the dishes. And there WAS something wrong, too. Now what was it?”

“Maybe the price was too high,” says I.

“No, ‘twa’n’t that. I b’lieve yet he thought they were imitations. Oh, if they only were!”

And then, lo and behold you, around the corner comes Adoniram Rogers. I’d have bet large that whatever conscience Adoniram was born with had dried up and blown away years ago. But no; he’d resurrected a remnant.

“Mr. Small,” stammered Mr. Rogers, “I’m sorry you feel bad about not buying them dishes. I–I thought I’d ought to tell you–that is to say, I– Well, if you want another set, I cal’late I can get it for you–that is, if you won’t tell nobody.”

“ANOTHER set?” hollers Eddie, wide-eyed. “Anoth– Do you mean to say you’ve got MORE?”

“Why, I ain’t exactly got ’em now, but my nephew John keeps a furniture store in South Boston, and he has lots of sets like that. I bought that one off him.”

Peter T. Brown jumps to his feet.

“Why, you outrageous robber!” he hollers. “Didn’t you say those dishes were old?”

“I never said nothing, except that they were like the plate that feller had on the piazza. And they was, too. YOU folks said they was old, and I thought you’d ought to know, so–“

Eddie Small threw up both hands. “Fakes!” he hollers. “Fakes! AND THOMPSON PAID ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-THREE DOLLARS FOR ‘EM! Boys, there’s times when life’s worth living. Have a drink.”

We went into the billard-room and took something; that is, Peter and Eddie took that kind of something. Me and Jonadab took cigars.

“Fellers,” said Eddie, “drink hearty. I’m going in to tell my wife. Fake dishes! And I beat Thompson on the davenport.”

He went away bubbling like a biling spring. After he was gone Rogers looked thoughtful.

“That’s funny, too, ain’t it?” he says.

“What’s funny?” we asked.

“Why, about that sofy he calls a davenport. You see, I bought that off John, too,” says Adoniram.