held up the flower at which everybody glared. The little ivory hammer circled round Mr. Primrose’s head. It was about to fall, when a quiet man with a long beard who hitherto had not joined in the bidding, lifted his head and said softly:
“Eighteen hundred.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Mr. Primrose, “I thought so. I thought that the owner of the greatest collection in England would not see this treasure slip from his grasp without a struggle. Against you, Mr. Woodden.”
“Nineteen, sir,” said Woodden in a stony voice.
“Two thousand,” echoed the gentleman with the long beard.
“Twenty-one hundred,” said Woodden.
“That’s right, Mr. Woodden,” cried Mr. Primrose, “you are indeed representing your principal worthily. I feel sure that you do not mean to stop for a few miserable pounds.”
“Not if I knows it,” ejaculated Woodden. “I has my orders and I acts up to them.”
“Twenty-two hundred,” said Long-beard.
“Twenty-three,” echoed Woodden.
“Oh, damn!” shouted Long-beard and rushed from the room.
“ ‘Odontoglossum Pavo’ is going for twenty-three hundred, only twenty-tree hundred,” cried the auctioneer. “Any advance on twenty-three hundred? What? None? Then I must do my duty. One. Two. For the last time—no advance? Three. Gone to Mr. Woodden, bidding for his principal, Mr. Somers.”
The hammer fell with a sharp tap, and at this moment my young friend sauntered into the room.
“Well, Woodden,” he said, “have they put the ‘Pavo’ up yet?”
“It’s up and it’s down, sir. I’ve bought him right enough.”
“The deuce you have! What did it fetch?”
Woodden scratched his head.
“I don’t rightly know, sir, never was good at figures, not having much book learning, but it’s twenty-three something.”
“£23? No, it would have brought more than that. By Jingo! it must be £230. That’s pretty stiff, but still, it may be worth it.”
At this moment Mr. Primrose, who, leaning over his desk, was engaged in animated conversation with an excited knot of orchid fanciers, looked up:
“Oh! there you are, Mr. Somers,” he said. “In the name of all this company let me congratulate you on having become the owner of the matchless ‘Odontoglossum Pavo’ for what, under all the circumstances, I consider the quite moderate price of £2,300.”
Really that young man took it very well. He shivered slightly and turned a little pale, that is all. Woodden rocked to and fro like a tree about to fall. I and my tin box collapsed together in the corner. Yes, I was so surprised that my legs seemed to give way under me. People began to talk, but above the hum of the conversation I heard young Somers say in a low voice:
“Woodden, you’re a born fool.” Also the answer: “That’s what my mother always told me, master, and she ought to know if anyone did. But what’s wrong now? I obeyed orders and bought ‘O. Paving.’ ”
“Yes. Don’t bother, my good fellow, it’s my fault, not yours. I’m the born fool. But heavens above! how am I to face this?” Then, recovering himself, he strolled up to the rostrum and said a few words to the auctioneer. Mr. Primrose nodded, and I heard him answer:
“Oh, that will be all right, sir, don’t bother. We can’t expect an account like this to be settled in a minute. A month hence will do.”
Then he went on with the sale.
CHAPTER III
SIR ALEXANDER AND STEPHEN
It was just at this moment that I saw standing by me a fine-looking, stout man with a square, grey beard and a handsome, but not very good-tempered face. He was looking about him as one does who finds himself in a place to which he is not accustomed.
“Perhaps you could tell me, sir,” he said to me, “whether a gentleman called Mr. Somers is in this room. I am rather short-sighted and there are a great many people.”
“Yes,” I answered, “he has just bought the wonderful orchid called ‘Odontoglossum Pavo.’ That is what they are all talking about.”
“Oh, has he? Has he indeed? And pray what did he pay for the article?”
“A huge sum,” I answered. “I thought it was two thousand three hundred shillings, but it appears it was £2,300.”
The handsome, elderly gentleman grew very red in the face, so red that I thought he was going to have a fit. For a few moments he breathed heavily.
“A rival collector,” I thought to myself, and went on with the story which, it occurred to me, might interest him.
“You see, the young gentleman was called away to an interview with his father. I heard him instruct his gardener, a man named Woodden, to buy the plant at any price.”
“At any price! Indeed. Very interesting; continue, sir.”
“Well, the gardener bought it, that’s all, after tremendous competition. Look, there he is packing it up. Whether his master meant him to go as far as he did I rather doubt. But here he comes. If you know him——”
The youthful Mr. Somers, looking a little pale and distrait, strolled up apparently to speak to me; his hands were in his pockets and an unlighted cigar was in his mouth. His eyes fell upon the elderly gentleman, a sight that caused him to shape his lips as though to whistle and drop the cigar.
“Hullo, father,” he said in his pleasant voice. “I got your message and have been looking for you, but never thought that I should find you here. Orchids aren’t much in your line, are they?”
“Didn’t you, indeed!” replied his parent in a choked voice. “No, I haven’t much use for—this stinking rubbish,” and he waved his umbrella at the beautiful flowers. “But it seems that you have, Stephen. This little gentlemen here tells me you have just bought a very fine specimen.”
“I must apologize,” I broke in, addressing Mr. Somers. “I had not the slightest idea that this—big gentleman,” here the son smiled faintly, “was your intimate relation.”
“Oh! pray don’t, Mr. Quatermain. Why should you not speak of what will be in all the papers. Yes, father, I have bought a very fine specimen, the finest known, or at least Woodden has on my behalf, while I was hunting for you, which comes to the same thing.”
“Indeed, Stephen, and what did you pay for this flower? I have heard a figure, but think that there must be some mistake.”
“I don’t know what you heard, father, but it seems to have been knocked down to me at £2,300. It’s a lot more than I can find, indeed, and I was going to ask you to lend me the money for the sake of the family credit, if not for my own. But we can talk about that afterwards.”
“Yes, Stephen, we can talk of that afterwards. In fact, as there is no time like the present, we will talk of it now. Come to my office. And, sir” (this was to me) “as you seem to know something of the circumstances, I will ask you to come also; and you too, Blockhead” (this was to Woodden, who just then approached with the plant).
Now, of course, I might have refused an invitation conveyed in such a manner. But, as a matter of fact, I didn’t. I wanted to see the thing out; also to put in a word for young Somers, if I got the chance. So we all departed from that room, followed