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Page 60
"Five," he uttered with an effort--"six, seven!"
"Eight," said Wacker calmly, striking a cigarette between his lips.
"Ten."
"Twelve."
Baker was silent. A frightful spasm crossed his face. He swayed from
side to side. Then, grasping at the bench rails to steady himself, he
came up to the platform.
"Stirling!" he panted hoarsely, "I have no more money, but I must--must
have that package! Lend me--"
"Whatever you wish," answered Bart promptly.
"Fifteen dollars!" said Baker.
Lem Wacker jumped to his feet, excited. He shot a hand into a pocket,
drew it out again holding a pocketbook, ran over its contents, and
shouted!
"Sixteen dollars!"
"Twenty!" cried Baker.
"I am offered twenty dollars," said Bart, outwardly cool as a cucumber,
inwardly greatly perturbed over the incident in hand, and hastening to
close it in favor of a friend. "Twenty dollars once, twenty dollars
twice--"
"Stop!" yelled Lem Wacker.
"Do you bid more?" asked Bart.
"I--I do!"
"How much?"
"Double--treble--if I have to!" retorted Wacker. "Only I want you to
wait until I can get the cash. I have only sixteen dollars with me--I
can get a hundred and sixty in two minutes, I--"
"Terms strictly cash," said Bart simply. "Going, going, at twenty
dollars--"
"Hold on! Don't you dare!" raved Wacker, swinging his arms about like a
windmill. "I demand that this sale be suspended until I can get further
funds."
"Twenty dollars--gone!" sung out Bart in the same business tone, "and
sold to--cash."
With a sigh of relief and weakness Baker swayed sideways to a bench,
first extending to Darry Haven with a shaking hand a little roll of
bills.
"Charge me with the balance," said Bart quickly to his assistant, in a
low tone.
"You've no right!" raved Lem Wacker loudly, shaking his fist at Bart,
and in a passion of uncontrollable rage. "You'll suffer for this! I
protest against this sale--I demand that you do not deliver that
package, you young snob! you--"
Lem Wacker was getting abusive. He pranced about like a mad bull.
A heavy hand dropped suddenly on his collar, McCarthy, the watchman,
gave him a shove towards the door.
"No talk of that kind allowed here," he remarked grimly. "Get out, or
I'll fire you out!"
As Wacker disappeared through the doorway, Bart leaned from the
platform.
"Here is your package, Mr. Baker," he said. "What is the trouble--are
you ill?"
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