A dark, corpulent man, with curly black hair and an unmistakable nose, looked at the auctioneer in a puzzled manner.
"Thay, Waddington, old man, what'th the game, eh?
What have you got up your sleeve that you don't want to thell the stuff?
Blow me if I can tumble to it!" "There is no game at all," Mr.Waddington replied firmly.

"I can assure you, Mr.Absolom, and all of you, ladies and gentlemen, that I have simply told you what I believe to be the absolute truth.

It is my business to sell whatever is sent to me here for that purpose, but it is not my business or intention to deceive you in any way, if I can help it." Mr.Absolom re-examined the oak chest with a puzzled expression.

Then he strolled away and joined a little knot of brokers who were busy discussing matters.

The various remarks which passed from one to another indicated sufficiently their perplexed condition of mind.
"The old man's dotty!" "Not he! There's a game on somewhere!" "He wants to buy in some of the truck!" "Old Waddy knows what he's doing!" Mr.Absolom listened for a while and then returned to the rostrum.
"Mr.Waddington," he asked, "ith it the truth that there are one or two pieces of real good stuff here, thent in by an old farmer in Kent ?" "Quite true," Mr.Waddington declared, eagerly.