"Have another!" said the man.
Dave grinned, and took another.
Dad ran fifteen cows, successively, to £3 10s.
The men with the beer took a liking to Dave. They came frequently to him, and Dave began to enjoy the sale. Again Dad stopped bidding at £3 10s.
Dave began to talk. He left his place beside Dad and, hat in hand, staggered to the middle of the yard. "Woh!" he shouted, and made an awkward attempt to embrace a red cow which was under the hammer.
"Sev'n poun'—sev'n poun'—sen'n poun'," shouted the auctioneer, rapidly. "Any advance on sev'n poun'?"
"Twenny (hic) quid" Dave said.
"At sev'n poun' she 's going?"
"Twenny (hic) two quid," Dave said.
"You have n't twenty-two pence," snorted the auctioneer. Then Dave caught the cow by the tail, and she pulled him about the yard until two men took him away.
The last cow put up was, so the auctioneer said, station-bred and in full milk. She was a wild-looking brute, with three enormous teats and a large, fleshy udder. The catalogue said her name was "Dummy."
"How much for 'Dummy,' the only bargain in the mob—how much for her, gentlemen?"
Dad rushed "Dummy." "Three poun' ten," he said, eagerly.
