knew," Burton replied, fervently.

Mr. Waddingon scratched his chin.

"What's the meaning of those clothes, eh?" he demanded. "You've lost
your appearance, Burton--that's what you've done. Not even a silk hat
on a sale day!"

"I'm sorry," Burton answered. "To tell you the truth, I had forgotten
that it was a sale day."

Mr. Waddington looked curiously at his assistant, and the longer he
looked, the more convinced he became that Burton was not himself.

"Well," he said, "I suppose you can't always be gassing if you're not
feeling on the spot. Let's start the sale before any more people leave.
Come on."

Mr. Waddington led the way to the rostrum. Burton, with a sinking
heart, and a premonition of evil, took the place by his side. The first
few lots were put up and sold without event, but trouble came with lot
number 13.

"Lot number 13--a magnificent oak bedroom--" the auctioneer began. "Eh?
What? What is it, Burton?"

"Stained deal," Burton interrupted, in a pained but audible whisper.
"Stained deal bedroom suite, sir--not oak."

Mr. Waddington seemed about to choke. He ignored the interruption,
however, and went on with his description of the lot.

"A magnificent oak bedroom suite, complete and as good as new, been in
use for three weeks only. The deceased gentleman whose effects we are
disposing of, and who is known to have been a famous collector of
valuable furniture, told me himself that he found it at a farmhouse in
Northumberland. Look at it, ladies and gentlemen. Look at it. It'll
bear inspection. Shall we say forty-five guineas for a start?"

Mr. Waddington paused expectantly. Burton leaned over from his place.

"The suite is of stained deal," he said distinctly. "It has been very
cleverly treated by a new process to make it resemble old oak, but if
you examine it closely you will see that what I say is correct. I
regret that there has been an unfortunate error in the description."

For a moment there was a tumult of voices and some laughter. Mr.
Waddington was red in the face. The veins about his temples were
swollen and the hammer in his hand showed a desire to descend on his
clerk's head. A small dealer had pulled out one of the drawers and was
examining it closely.

"Stained deal it is, Mr. Auctioneer," he announced, standing up. "Call
a spade a spade and have done with it!"

There was a little mingled laughter and cheers. Mr. Waddington
swallowed his anger and went on with the sale.

"