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"Nope, no such married life for me," I thought I could hear him responding, rather pleased than not to be the butt of the auctioneer. "Do I hear any bids?" the Great Auctioneer was saying, almost in the words of Mr. Harpworth. "What! No one wants n married life like this? Well, put it aside, Jake. It isn't wanted. Too old-fashioned."
They were firm and strong and as righteous as God with her; and they paid off, without whining, the mortgages on the horses, and never spoke of the loss of the cow but never forgot it. They held up their heads to the end. Gentlemen, what am I offered for this interesting antique, this rare work of art?" The auction was considered, upon the whole, a great success. Mr. Harpworth himself said so.
A rare possession indeed, not without a high, stern kind of beauty! It would be wonderful to possess such a faith; but what had I to offer that Shadowy Auctioneer? What coin that would redeem past times and departed beliefs? It was curious how the words of Mr. Harpworth fitted into the fabric of my imaginings.
Here again the Old Auctioneer, having caught his cue broke in. When he spoke, who could listen to Mr. Harpworth? "... the best single piece in this sale, gentlemen! I offer you now the Templeton family pride! A choice product of old New England. A little battered, but still good and sound. The Templetons!
Harpworth had paused, for even an auctioneer, in the high moment of his art, remains human; and in the silence following the cessation of the metallic click of his voice, "Thirty, thirty, thirt, thirt make it thirty-five thank you forty," one could hear the hens gossiping in the distant yard.
He was that Great Auctioneer who brings all things at last under his inexorable hammer. After that, though Mr. Harpworth did his best, he claimed my attention only intermittently from that Greater Sale which was going on at his side, from that Greater Auctioneer who was conducting it with such consummate skill for he knew that nothing is for sale but life.
Gentleman and ladies, it is a great moment in the life of an auctioneer when he can offer, for sale, free and without reservation, such treasures as these...." I could feel the warming interest of the crowd gathering in more closely about Mr. Harpworth, the furtive silences of shrewd bargainers, eagerness masked as indifference, and covetousness cloaking itself with smiling irony.
When he next attracted my attention he was throwing up his hands in a fine semblance of despair. We were such obtuse purchasers! "I think," said Mr. Harpworth, "that this crowd came here to-day only to eat Julia Templeton's auction luncheon. What's the matter with this here generation? You don't want things that are well made and durable, but only things that are cheap and flashy.
As my eye came back to the busy scene beneath the chestnut tree it seemed to me, how vividly I cannot describe that beside or behind the energetic and perspiring Mr. Harpworth there stood Another Auctioneer. And I thought he had flowing locks and a patriarchal beard, and a scythe for a sign of the uncertainty of life, and a glass to mark the swiftness of its passage.
I saw Julia, that hard-favoured woman, for the first time at that moment, really saw her. How fiercely she threw down the spread and the rugs! How bold and unweeping her eyes! How hard and straight the lines of her mouth! "Here they are, Mr. Harpworth!" How shrill her voice; and how quickly she turned back to the noisy kitchen! I could see the angular form, the streakings of gray in her hair. ...
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