Part 4 (1/2)

”Them there boots o' his'n set goin' an' comin' like a grubbin' hoe onto a crooked han'le.”

”Well, take'm up one side and down t'other, he's a mod'rately onery lookin' feller.”

These remarks were reckoned smart by those who perpetrated them, and were by no means meant for real slurs on the individual at whom they were pointed. Indeed they were delivered in guarded undertones, so that he might not hear them; and he, meanwhile, utterly ignorant of affording any sport, continued his examination of the house, the while some happy frogs in a neighboring pond rolled out a rattling, jubilant chorus, and the summer wind poured through the leafy tops of the tall elms and athletic burr oaks with a swash and roar like a turbulent river.

”What am I now offered for this magnificent property? Come, give me a bid! Speak up lively! What do I hear for the house?”

The auctioneer, as he spoke, let his eyes wander up the walls of the old, dingy building, to where the blue birds and the peewees had built in the cracks and along the warped cornice and broken window frames, and just then it chanced that a woman's face appeared at one of those staring holes, which, with broken lattice and shattered gla.s.s, still might be called a window. The face was a plump, cheerful one, the more radiant from contrast with the dull wall around it--a face one could never forget, however, and would recall often, if for nothing but the fine fall of yellow hair that framed it in. It was a sweet, winning, intellectual face, full of the gentlest womanly charms.

”Forty dollars for the house, 'oman and all!” cried Big Medicine, gazing up at the window in which, for the merest moment, the face appeared.

The man with the green spectacles darted a quick glance at the speaker.

”I am bid forty dollars, gentlemen, forty dollars, do all hear? Agoing for forty dollars! Who says fifty?” bawled the auctioneer.

The crowd now swayed earnestly forward, closing in solid order around the goods box. Many whiskered, uncouth, but not unkindly faces were upturned to the window only in time to see the beautiful woman disappear quite hastily.

”Hooray for the gal!” cried a l.u.s.ty youth, whose pale blue eyes made no show of contrast with his faded hair and aguish complexion. ”Dad, can't ye bid agin the doctor so as I kin claim 'er?”

”Fifty dollars!” shouted the sunburnt man addressed as Dad.

This made the crowd lively. Every man nudged his neighbor, and the aguish, blue-eyed boy grinned in a ghastly, self-satisfied way.

”Agoing at fifty dollars! Fiddlesticks! The house is worth four thousand. No fooling here now! Agoing at only fifty dollars--going--”

”Six hundred dollars,” said he of the green gla.s.ses in a clear, pleasant voice.

”Six hundred dollars!” echoed the auctioneer in a triumphant thunderous tone. ”That sounds like business. Who says the other hundred?”

”Hooray for hooray, and hooray for hooray's daddy!” shouted the tallow-faced lad.

The frogs pitched their song an octave higher, the blue birds and peewees wheeled through the falling floods of yellow sunlight, and lower and sweeter rose the murmur of the tide of pulsating air as it lifted and swayed the fresh sprays of the oaks and elms. The well dressed stranger lighted a cigar, took off his green gla.s.ses and put them carefully in his pocket, then took a cool straight look at Big Medicine.

The Roman face of the latter was just then a most interesting one. It was expressive of more than words could rightly convey. Six hundred dollars, cash down, was a big sum for the crazy old house, but he had made up his mind to buy it, and now he seemed likely to have to let it go or pay more than it was worth. The stem of his clay pipe settled back full three inches into his firmly-set mouth, so that there seemed imminent danger to the huge brown moustache that overhung the fiery bowl. He returned the stare of the stranger with interest, and said--

”Six hundred an' ten dollars.”

”Agoing, a----,” began the auctioneer.

”Six twenty,” said the stranger.

”Ago----.”

”Six twenty-one!” growled Big Medicine.

”Six twenty-five!” quickly added his antagonist.

Big Medicine glanced heavenward, and for a moment allowed his eyes to follow the flight of a great blue heron that slowly winged its way, high up in the yellow summer reaches of splendor, toward the distant swamps where the white sycamores spread their fanciful arms above the dark green maples and dusky witch-hazel thickets. The auctioneer, a close observer, saw an ashy hue, a barely discernible shade, ripple across the great Roman face as Big Medicine said, in a jerking tone:

”Six twenty-five and a half!”