"Only one hundred apiece for these sixty valuable lots--only one
hundred--going--going--going--gone!"

Monsieur Poopoo was the fortunate possessor. The auctioneer
congratulated him--the sale closed--and the company dispersed.

"_Pardonnez-moi, monsieur_," said Poopoo, as the auctioneer descended
his pedestal, "you shall _excusez-moi_, if I shall go to _votre
bureau_, your counting-house, ver quick to make every ting sure wid
respec to de lot vid de valuarble vatare privalege. Von leetle bird in
de hand he vorth two in de tree, _c'est vrai_--eh?"

"Certainly, sir."

"Vell den, _allons_."

And the gentlemen repaired to the counting-house, where the six
thousand dollars were paid, and the deeds of the property delivered.
Monsieur Poopoo put these carefully in his pocket, and as he was about
taking his leave, the auctioneer made him a present of the
lithographic outline of the lots, which was a very liberal thing on
his part, considering the map was a beautiful specimen of that
glorious art. Poopoo could not admire it sufficiently. There were his
sixty lots, as uniform as possible, and his little gray eyes sparkled
like diamonds as they wandered from one end of the spacious sheet to
the other.

Poopoo's heart was as light as a feather, and he snapped his fingers
in the very wantonness of joy as he repaired to Delmonico's, and