But we did not pause; and the crowd
watched us--now in silence, now with a buzz of
whispers.
Seventeen thousand had been reached, when Douglas B.
Longhurst, forcing his way into the opposite row of
faces, conspicuously and repeatedly shook his head at
Jim. Jim's answer was a note of two words: "My
racket!" which, when the great man had perused, he
shook his finger warningly and departed--I thought,
with a sorrowful countenance.
Although Mr. Longhurst knew nothing of Bellairs, the
shady lawyer knew all about the Wrecker Boss. He had
seen him enter the ring with manifest expectation; he
saw him depart, and the bids continue, with manifest
surprise and disappointment. "Hullo," he plainly
thought, "this is not the ring I'm fighting, then?" And
he determined to put on a spurt.
"Eighteen thousand," said he.
"And fifty," said Jim, taking a leaf out of his
adversary's book.
"Twenty thousand," from Bellairs.
"And fifty," from Jim, with a little nervous titter.
And with one consent they returned to the old pace--
only now it was Bellairs who took the hundreds, and Jim
who did the fifty business.
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