Here was a diversion, and Mr. Bills met it beautifully.

“Jess so, Miss Biggs,” he said, bowing low to her.  “I admire your taste and judgment.  I’ve told ’em time and time over it was worth more than fifty.  The fact is they don’t know what is what, but you and I do.  Shall we double right up and shame ’em by sayin’ a dollar?  A dollar!  A dollar! and going!”

Mrs. Biggs did not know that she assented, she was so excited, and afterwards declared she didn’t:  but the final Going was said, with “Gone! to Mrs. Biggs, for one dollar.  Cheap at that!”

At this juncture, when the hilarity was at its height and Mrs. Biggs was marching off with her property, which she said she should never pay for, Tim appeared, hatless and coatless, but with the box in his hand.  When Jack locked the door he pushed the key further under the mat than was usual, and failing to find it at once, and being in a hurry, Tim made his entrance into the house through the pantry window, upsetting the pan of milk and a bowl of something, he did not stop to see what, in his haste to find the box.  It was not on the bed, nor on the bureau, nor pushed back on a shelf in the closet.  It was on a chair near the door where his mother had put it and then forgotten it.  As the key was outside Tim made his exit the way he came in, stopping a moment to look at the milk the cat was lapping with a great deal of satisfaction.

“Bobbs, you’ll have a good supper, and I shall catch old hundred for giving it to you,” he said, picking up the pan and springing through the window.

He was very warm, and taking off his coat he threw it across his arm and started rapidly for the sale, knowing before he reached it that Mr. Bills was there by the sounds he heard.  He had no thought that the apron was not to be sold at auction.  Probably that was why it was wanted, and pushing through the crowd to Mr. Bills he handed him the box, saying, “Here ’tis.  I ’bout run my legs off to get it.  Make ’em pay smart.”

“Mr. Bills!  Mr. Bills!” came excitedly from Ruby Ann, but Mr. Bills did not hear, the buzz of voices was so great.

He had opened the box and taken out the apron, which he handled far more carefully than he had the spotted gown.

“Now this is something like first-class business,” he said, holding it up.  “The prettiest thing you ever saw,—­a girl’s apron, all ruffled and prinked, and,—­yes,—­made by—­”

He had glanced at the card, which said it was made by Miss Smith, and was about to announce that fact, feeling sure it would bring bidders, when he chanced to look at Eloise, whose face was nearly as white as the apron, and in whose eyes he saw an expression which checked the words.  But he had no idea of relinquishing the article, and misunderstood the motion of Jack’s hand to stop him.

“Now, give me an offer,” he began,—­“a first-rate one, too; none of your quarters, nor halves.  Bid high and show you know something.  ’Tain’t every day you have a chance to buy as fine a thing as this.  You who have wives, or daughters, or sisters, or sweethearts, or want it for yourselves, speak up!  Walk up!  Roll up!  Tumble up!  Any way to get up, only come up and bid!”