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"
Twenty-five
,
"
a
fourth
.
Then
it
came
to
dollar
raises
,
for
Castile
soap
was
not
such
a
vital
commodity
.
"
Twenty-six
.
"
"
Twenty-seven
.
"
"
Twenty-eight
.
"
"
Twenty-nine
.
"
There
was
a
pause
.
"
Thirty
,
"
observed
young
Cowperwood
,
decisively
.
The
auctioneer
,
a
short
lean
faced
,
spare
man
with
bushy
hair
and
an
incisive
eye
,
looked
at
him
curiously
and
almost
incredulously
but
without
pausing
.
He
had
,
somehow
,
in
spite
of
himself
,
been
impressed
by
the
boy
's
peculiar
eye
;
and
now
he
felt
,
without
knowing
why
,
that
the
offer
was
probably
legitimate
enough
,
and
that
the
boy
had
the
money
.
He
might
be
the
son
of
a
grocer
.
"
I
'm
bid
thirty
!
I
'm
bid
thirty
!
I
'm
bid
thirty
for
this
fine
lot
of
Castile
soap
.
It
's
a
fine
lot
.
It
's
worth
fourteen
cents
a
bar
.
Will
any
one
bid
thirty-one
?
Will
any
one
bid
thirty-one
?
Will
any
one
bid
thirty-one
?
"
"
Thirty-one
,
"
said
a
voice
.
"
Thirty-two
,
"
replied
Cowperwood
.
The
same
process
was
repeated
.
"
I
'm
bid
thirty-two
!
I
'm
bid
thirty-two
!
I
'm
bid
thirty-two
!
Will
anybody
bid
thirty-three
?
It
's
fine
soap
.
Seven
cases
of
fine
Castile
soap
.
Will
anybody
bid
thirty-three
?
"
Young
Cowperwood
's
mind
was
working
.
He
had
no
money
with
him
;
but
his
father
was
teller
of
the
Third
National
Bank
,
and
he
could
quote
him
as
reference
.
He
could
sell
all
of
his
soap
to
the
family
grocer
,
surely
;
or
,
if
not
,
to
other
grocers
.
Other
people
were
anxious
to
get
this
soap
at
this
price
.
Why
not
he
?
The
auctioneer
paused
.
