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ten. …
    “I’m going!”
    “So am I!”
    The bearded young man coughed. “Common courtesy compels me to warn those who still remain that you may as well leave, too, unless you choose to remain as mere spectators.”
    “I beg your pardon, sir—” began the auctioneer, who did not like the way things were going.
    “I was about to add,” the bearded young man called out to the auctioneer, “that we can all save a lot of wear-and-tear on our vocal cords if we face the fact.”
    “The fact?” said the auctioneer in bewilderment, rapping for order.
    “The fact that I humbly intend,” continued the young man, getting to his feet and revealing considerable flannel-clad length, “to buy every lot in this auction, regardless of opposition bidding.” And he sat down, smiling pleasantly at his neighbors.
    “Who is he?” muttered Rhys Jardin.
    “Don’t you know?” whispered Val. “I can’t understand—”
    “This is highly irregular,” said the auctioneer, wiping his face.
    “In fact,” said the young man hoarsely from his seat, “to save time I’m prepared to offer, Mr. Jardin a lump sum for the entire catalogue!”
    The man behind Val jumped up and shouted: “It’s a conspiracy, that’s what it is!”
    “I see the whole thing,” cried some one else.
    “Sure! It’s a trick of Jardin’s!”
    “He’s pulling a bluff!”
    “Run a fake auction to make the public think he’s broke, and then plant this man to buy the whole thing back for him!”
    “With his own money! My money!”
    “Ladies and gentlemen! Please—” began Rhys, rising with a pale face.
    “Sit down, you crook!” screeched a fat sweaty lady.
    “No, no, he’s nothing of the sort,” protested the young man who had caused all the trouble. But by this time every one was shouting with indignation, and the young man’s voice was lost in the noise.
    “You take that back!” screamed Val, diving for the fat lady.
    “Officer! Clear the room!” roared the auctioneer.
    When order was restored Val scrambled over two chairs getting to the bearded young man. “You worm! Now see what you’ve done!”
    “I’ll admit,” he said ruefully, “I didn’t foresee a rising of the masses. … Mr. Jardin, I think? Of course my proposal was seriously intended.”
    “Breaking up auctions,” grumbled the auctioneer, scowling; for obviously with such a spirited bidder on the floor he would have realized a greater gross sum and consequently a handsomer commission.
    “I decided on impulse, Mr. Jardin, and didn’t have time to make an offer in advance of the sale.”
    “Suppose we talk it over,” said Jardin abruptly; and the three men put their heads together. Mr. Anatole Ruhig rose, took his hat and stick, and quietly went away.
    The young man was a persuasive bargainer. In five minutes Jardin, completely mystified, had agreed to his offer, the auctioneer sat grumpily down to write out a bill of sale, and the young man dragged a large wallet out of his pocket and laid on the desk such a pile of new thousand-dollar bills that Val felt like yelling “Economic royalist!”
    “Just to avoid any embarrassment about checks,” he said in his hoarse voice. “And now, if there’s nothing else, I have a group of vans waiting outside.” And he went out and returned a moment later with a crew of muscular gentlemen in aprons who looked around, spat on their hands, listened to their employer’s whispered instructions, nodded, and went to work without conversation.
    “Who is he, anyway?” demanded Pink, glaring at the beard.
    “Profiteer,” snapped Valerie. That made her think of Walter, so she drifted over casually to where he still sat.
    “Hello.”
    “Hello.”
    Silence. Then Val said: “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”
    “Yes,” said Walter.
    What could you do with a creature like that? Val snatched the envelope on which he was sketching out of his hands, crumpled it, threw it at him, and flounced away. Walter picked up the envelope