The parties who held the auction were poor folk who probably had no tempting wares to offer the bargain seekers, for the bidding had been slow, and the sales poor.  They had a right to expect better results, with Joens of Kisterud as auctioneer.  Joens was such a capital funmaker that people used to attend all auctions at which he officiated just for the pleasure of listening to him.  Although he got off all his usual quips and jokes, he could not seem to infuse any life into the bidders on this occasion.  At last, not knowing what else he could do, he put down his hammer saying he was too hoarse to do any more crying.

“The senator will have to get some one else to offer the wares,” he told Carl Carlson of Stovik, who stood sponsor for the auction.  “I’ve shouted myself hoarse at these stone images standing around me, and will have to go home and keep my mouth shut for a few weeks, till I can get back my voice.”

It was a serious matter for the senator to be left without a crier, when most of the lots were still unsold; so he tried to persuade Joens to continue.  But it was plain that Joens could not afford to hurt his professional standing by holding a poor auction, and therefore he became so hoarse all at once that he could not even speak in a whisper.  He only wheezed.

“Perhaps there is some one here who will cry out the wares for a moment, while Joens is resting?” said the senator, looking out over the crowd without much hope of finding a helper.

Then Lars Gunnarson pushed his way forward and said he was willing to try.  Carl Carslon only laughed at Lars, who at that time looked like a mere stripling, and told him he did not want a small boy who had not even been confirmed.  Whereupon Lars promptly informed Carl Carlson that he had not only been confirmed but had also performed military service.  He begged so eagerly to be allowed to wield the hammer that the senator finally gave way to him.

“We may as well let you try your hand at it for a while,” he said.  “I dare say it can’t go any worse than it has gone so far.”

Lars promptly stepped into Joens’s place.  He took up an old butter tub to offer it—­hesitated and just stood there looking at it, turning the tub up and down, tapping on its bottom and sides.  Apparently surprised not to find any flaws in it, he presently offered the lot in a reluctant tone of voice, as if distressed at having to sell so valuable an article.  For his part, he would rather that no bids be made, he said.  It would be lucky for the owner if no one discovered what a precious butter tub this was, for then he could keep it.

And now, when bid followed bid, everybody noticed how disappointed Lars looked.  It was all very well so long as the bids were so low as to be beneath his notice; but when they began to mount higher and higher, his face became distorted from chagrin.  He seemed to be making a great sacrifice when he finally decided to knock down the sour old butter tub.