n of wishing to bid. It was James McNiece who made
the first offer.

"Two pounds," he said.

There was a pause.

"Two pounds," said Mr. Robinson, "two pounds. Going at two pounds.
You're not going to let this hay,--more than half a ton of it--go at two
pounds."

He looked appealingly at Colonel Eden and at the police officer. They
were entirely unresponsive.

"And at two pounds, going----" said Mr. Robinson.

"Two-ten," said Dan Gallaher, in a quiet voice.

"Two-fifteen," said James McNiece.

Dan Gallaher, still apparently bored by the proceedings, raised the
price another five shillings. James McNiece went half a crown further.
Dan Gallaher, becoming slightly interested, made a jump to three pounds
ten. McNiece, with an air of finality, bid four pounds. The contest
began to attract attention. When the price rose to five pounds interest
became lively, and those who had drawn out of the group round Mr.
Robinson began to dribble back. It seemed likely that the contest
was one of those, not uncommon at Irish auctions, into which personal
feelings enter largely and the actual value of the article sold is
little considered. There was a certain piquancy about a struggle of this
kind between a prominent Orangeman like James McNiece, and Dan Gallaher,
whom everyone knew to be the leader of the Sinn Fein party.

Interest developed into actual excitement when the price rose to ten
pounds. A half ton of hay never is and never has been worth ten pounds.
But ten pounds was by no means the final bid.

"Mr. McNiece," said Mr. Robinson, "the bid is against you."

"Guineas," said McNiece.

"Eleven," said Dan Gallaher.

"Guineas," said McNiece.

The duet went on, McNiece capping Gallaher's pounds with a monotonous
repetition of the word guineas until the price rose to twenty pounds.
At that point McNiece faltered for a moment. The auctioneer, watching
keenly, saw him turn half round and look at Colonel Eden. The Colonel
nodded slightly, so slightly that no one except Mr. Robinson and McNiece
himself saw the gesture.

"At twenty pounds," said Mr. Robinson, "going, and at twenty pounds----"

"Thirty," said McNiece.

The crowd of watchers gasped audibly. This was something outside of all
experience. A man might willingly pay a few shillings, even a pound,
too much for the sake of getting the better of an opponent; but to give
thirty pounds for half a ton of hay--not even the natural enmity of an
Orangeman for a Sinn F