d 'The Two Windmills' and is, I hope,
known to most of you by reputation. What shall we say for this, ladies
and gentlemen?"

"Sevenpence," said a humourist.

"Mr. Archer is pleased to be amusing," said Ginger with more than his
usual asperity. "Mr. Archer says seven-pence. Well, I'll say five
guineas. Any advance on five guineas, ladies and gentlemen? Going,
going--"

Now I shouldn't have thought there were sixteen shillings left in the
bazaar grounds outside the stall boxes. But before the hammer showed any
signs of descent a still small voice from the background said, "Six
pounds."

It was Mrs. Newman. She is worth anything between five and six figures,
and hunts the antique indiscriminately.

Ginger bowed comprehendingly and began talking again.

"Ladies and gentlemen, six pounds offered for a _signed_ Van Ruiter.
Look, you can see the signature. Is this to go at six pounds? There's no
reserve. Van Ruiter's 'Two Windmills' going at six pounds. Any advance?
Sir Robert, a man of your taste--"

Sir Robert Firley had been looking on waveringly. He is a man of no
taste at all except it be in the matter of old brandy; but he hates Mrs.
Newman and he wavered no longer.

"Six guineas," he said.

"Seven pounds," said Mrs. Newman.

"Guineas," growled Sir Robert.

"Eight pounds," said Mrs. Newman.

"Guineas," from Sir Robert.

"Ten pounds," said Mrs. Newman more shrilly.

"Guineas." Sir Robert was now well set and looked good for a century.

Mrs. Newman hesitated. Ginger gave her the right sort of look. To speak
was to break the spell. She set her teeth.

"Fifteen pounds," she said through them.

"Guineas," said Sir Robert with his unfailing originality.

Amid furious but suppressed excitement the struggle went on. It was only
at seventy-five pounds that Sir Robert began to feel silly and the prize
fell to Mrs. Newman.

"I congratulate you, madam," said Ginger warmly. "Even as it is you have
got it at a remarkable price."

She went away happy.

Afterwards I approached Ginger.

"_Was_ that a genuine Van Ruiter, really?" I asked.

"Sure," said Ginger carelessly.

"But--er--" I asked, "who is Van Ruiter? What's his school? I don't know
much about these Dutchmen."

"Van Ruiter," said Ginger severely, "is a painter in oils. His work has
been known to fetch as much as seventy-five pounds. As for his school,
there _was_ a man of that name at Marlborough with me. And as the canvas
of 'The Two Windmil