"What shall I have now, my noble tars, for this superior pair of
sea-boots?"

"Where's t'other boot?" cried a suspicious-eyed waister. "I remember
them 'ere boots. They were old Bob's the quarter-gunner's; there was
two on 'em, too. I want to see t'other boot."

"My sweet and pleasant fellow," said the auctioneer, with his
blandest accents, "the other boot is not just at hand, but I give
you my word of honour that it in all respects cor-responds to the
one you here see--it does, I assure you. And I solemnly guarantee,
my noble sea-faring fencibles," he added, turning round upon all,
"that the other boot is the exact counterpart of this. Now, then, say
the word, my fine fellows. What shall I have? Ten dollars, did you
say?" politely bowing toward some indefinite person in the background.

"No; ten cents," responded a voice.

"Ten cents! ten cents! gallant sailors, for this noble pair of
boots," exclaimed the auctioneer, with affected horror; "I must
close the auction, my tars of Columbia; this will never do. But
let's have another bid; now, come," he added, coaxingly and
soothingly. "What is it? One dollar, one dollar then--one
dollar; going at one dollar; going, going--going. Just see how it
vibrates"--swinging the boot to and fro--"this superior pair of
sea-boots vibrating at one dollar; wouldn't pay for the nails in
their heels; going, going--gone!" And down went the boots.

"Ah, what a sacrifice! what a sacrifice!" he sighed, tearfully
eyeing the solitary fire-bucket, and then glancing round the