"I know as much about boats as Tom Swift. I'll make it
eighty."
"No side remarks. I'll do most of the talking. You just bid,
young man," remarked Mr. Wood. "I have eighty bid for this
boat--eighty dollars. Why, my friends, I can't understand this.
I ought to have it up to three hundred dollars, at least. But I
thank you all the same. We are coming on. I'm bid eighty--"
"Ninety!" exclaimed the quiet man at Tom's elbow. He was
continually fingering his upper lip, as though he had a mustache
there, but his face was clean-shaven. He looked around nervously
as he spoke.
"Ninety!" called out the auctioneer.
"Ninety-five!" returned Tom. Andy Foger scowled at him, but the
young inventor only smiled. It was evident that the bully did not
relish being bid against. He and his crony whispered together
again.
"One hundred!" called Andy, as if no one would dare go above that.
"I'm offered an even hundred," resumed Mr. Wood. "We are
certainly coming on. A hundred I am bid, a hundred--a hundred--a
hundred--"
"And five," said the strange man hastily, and he seemed to choke
as he uttered the words.
"Oh, come now; we ought to have at least ten-dollar bids from now
on," suggested Mr. Wood. "Won't you make it a hundred and ten?"
The auctioneer looked directly at the man, who seemed to shrink
back into the crowd.
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