The auctioneer ran his restless eyes over them.
Dad and Dave held a whispered consultation; then Dad made a movement.
The auctioneer caught his eye and leant forward.
"FIVE BOB!" Dad shouted.

There was a loud laugh.

The auctioneer frowned.

"We're selling COWS, old man," he said, "not running a shilling-table." More laughter.

It reached Dave's heart, and he wished he had n't come with Dad.
Someone bid five pounds, someone else six; seven-eight-nine went round quickly, and Silky was sold for ten pounds.
"Beauty" rushed in.
Two station-hands passed among the crowd, each with a bucket of beer and some glasses.