Avon Fantasy Reader No. 7 — page 116: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

112 "FRANK GRUBER seconds to straighten his books on the desk, so that when the bell rang he was able to step around the desk and move promptly toward the cloakroom. And then he met the frowning eye of Mr. Wilton, the office manager. Mr. | Wilton kept his glance on John Parker for one moment, then raised his eyes _ deliberately to the wall clock. Mr. Wilton did not approve of clock watchers and although Parker was not beating the clock, he was a little too prompt in obeying its message. ey | The incident dulled Parker’s enthusiasm, All morning, he had been looking forward to the lunch hour. He wasn’t ordinarily a clock watcher, but today he had been planning something special and had wanted to take advantage of every minute of the sixty allotted for his lunch hour. He was even going to skip his lunch. And now the edge of it had been blunted. He wouldn't really enjoy the auction. : | This was a good one, too. It had been advertised in the preceding Sunday papers. John Parker loved auctions. A more or less indifferent bookkeeper in the offices of the Arthur Grain Company, he was one of the best auction bidders in the city. He could bid on a dozen offerings and never get stuck once. He had an instinct for it. Although he lived in a small furnished room, Parker would bid with genuine enthusiasm on a mahogany tallboy and at the exact moment when the price was about right, drop out of the bidding and let the competitor have the tallboy. : Take today. The effects of one Harrison Phillips were to be sold. John Parker — ~knew what to expect. Massive old furniture, musty books, a mysterious ancient trunk or two and a miscellany of statuary monstrosities. Parker had about as much use for any of these objects as he would have had for a zebra, but he would bid-enthusiastically on everything that was offered, during the brief forty-five minutes that he would attend the auction, and he wouldn’t have to make a single purchase. | It was exactly-six minutes after twelve when he entered the auction rooms and found them pleasantly filled with potential bidders. Parker liked com- "petition. | He moved forward and found a seat in the first row which he promptly occupied. He looked up at the auctioneer, a tremendously fat man with a deep bass voice. ae “T am offered two dollars and thirty cents,” the auctioneer was saying. “Two dollars and thirty cents for this magnificent set of handforged andirons. Ladies and gentlemen, I could get more from a junk dealer. I could—” “Two thirty-five,’ John Parker said. y ee Commchbooks.c@ mM