bit, isn't it?"

"It is not an oil painting at all," Burton said quietly.

"Wot yer mean?" the woman demanded. "Here you are--lot number
17--'Interesting oil painting of the Right Honorable W. E. Gladstone,
artist unknown.'"

Burton thrust the catalogue away from him with a sigh.

"I am afraid," he admitted, "that the description can scarcely be said
to be entirely accurate. As a matter of fact, it is a colored
lithograph, very cleverly done but quite valueless. I dare say you
would find that there are thousands of them exactly like it."

The woman stared at him suspiciously.

"Why, your guvnor's just told me that the reserve upon it's two
guineas!" she exclaimed.

"Mr. Waddington must have made a mistake," Burton replied, with a
sinking heart.

"Look here," the woman insisted, "what is it worth, anyway?"

"A few pence for the frame," Burton answered, hurrying off.

The woman drew her shawl about her shoulders, threw her catalogue upon
the floor and made her way towards the door.

"Not going to stay here to be swindled!" she declared loudly, looking
around her. "Colored lithograph, indeed, and put down in the catalogue
as an interesting oil painting! They must think us folks don't know
nothing. Cheating's the word, I say--cheating!"

The woman's eye met the eye of Mr. Waddington as she stood for a moment
in the doorway before taking her departure. She raised her fist and
shook it.

"Bah!" she exclaimed. "Ought to be ashamed of yourself! You and your
h'oil paintings!"

Mr. Waddington was too far off to hear her words but the character of
her farewell was unmistakable! He glanced suspiciously towards his
chief clerk. Burton, however, had at that moment been button-holed by a
fidgety old gentleman who desired to ask him a few questions.

"I am a little puzzled, sir," the old gentleman said, confidentially,
"about the absolute authenticity of this chippendale suite--lot number
101 in the catalogue. This sale is--er--um--advertised as being--" the
old gentleman turned over the pages of the catalogue quickly--"a sale of
the effects of the late Doctor Transome. That's so, eh?"

"I believe the announcement is to that effect," Burton confessed,
hesitatingly.

"Quite so," the little old gentleman continued. "Now I knew Dr.
Transome intimately, and he was, without the slightest doubt, a rare
judge of old furniture. I wouldn't mind following him anywhere, or
accepting his judgment about anything. He was very