"How about three dollars, then?" asked the auctioneer, having lowered the price from fifteen dollars, to ten dollars, to eight, to seven, to five, and now his voice was starting to sound impatient.
I leaned against Dave and whispered, "I haven't the slightest idea what they're selling because that guy isn't holding it high enough," and before I could finish, a strong masculine voice from the back of the hall bellowed, "Just tell us what it IS!"
The young man holding the item in question repositioned himself, raised his arm higher, and placed the whatever-it-is on the palm of his hand, but that really didn't help too much since the object was inside a cardboard box.
The auctioneer bent down from his tall chair, and addressed the young man: "Rick, does it say anywhere if it's silver-plated?"
So Rick proceeded to read all four sides of the box, slowly, his lips moving, before turning the box upside down, squinting at the small print on the bottom, and then finally shrugging his shoulders, he turned to the auctioneer who seized the microphone in a death grip, and taking a deep breath, began to enunciate, slowly, "You are bidding on forty-five of these silver, finished, coated, whatever, silver engravable baby cups, which would make lovely display items for your friends' Easter egg collections or you could plant some chives in them for Mother's Day.
People, please, do I hear a buck?"
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