"Not a penny over seventy-five cents," he muttered in a low tone.
"Seventy-five!" went on Matt. "Come, now, raise it just a bit! The knife is really worth it. Who says eighty? Seventy-five-five-five! Last call, remember! Going, going—gone! to that young man for seventy-five cents!"
And Matt held out the knife to the last bidder, and motioned to Andy to collect the money.
The young man grew red and drew back. "Oh, pshaw! I didn't want the knife!" he grumbled. "Put it up again, maybe you'll get a bigger price for it," and he began to edge his way toward the door.
"Hold on! Not so fast!" said Andy, in a low voice, as he caught him by the arm. "This company doesn't do business that way. If you did not wish the knife you should not have bid for it. We are not running this store for fun."
The young man looked at him impudently. But the clear, stern eyes of Matt's partner made him wilt, and muttering something under his breath about getting square, he paid over the amount, took the knife, and sneaked out of the now crowded store.
In the meantime, the old countryman was about to leave, disappointed over his failure to secure the
