Dad asked him if this was the place
where the sale was to be. He looked all over Dad.
A man rang a bell violently, shouting, "This way for the dairy cows!" Dad
went that way, closely followed by Dave, who was silent and strange. A
boy put a printed catalogue into Dad's hand, which he was doubtful about
keeping until he saw Andy Percil with one. Most of the men seated on the
rails jumped down into an empty yard and stood round in a ring. In one
corner the auctioneer mounted a box, and read the conditions of sale, and
talked hard about the breed of the cattle. Then:
"How much for the imported cow, Silky? No.1 on the catalogue. How much
to start her, gentlemen?"
Silky rushed into the yard with a shower of sticks flying after her and
glared about, finally fixing her gaze on Dad, who was trying to find her
number in the catalogue.
"A pure-bred 'Heereford,' four years old, by The Duke out of Dolly, to
calve on the eighth of next month," said the auctioneer. "How much to
start her?"
All silent. Buyers looked thoughtful. The auctioneer ran his restless
eyes over them.
Dad and Dave held a whispered consultation; then Dad made a movement.
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