But Isaacs had turned sulky.
"A pound," said Mother Jenkins.
"No, mother, you don't mean it," cried the auctioneer, grinning.
"That'll leave you nothing to pay your tram fare home." But he went on: "I'm offered a pound for this solid ash bedroom suite that cost thirty guineas in London." The bids crawled slowly up to six pounds.
"It's against you, mother," cried the auctioneer; "don't let a few shillings stand in the way of your getting married.

I knew the men couldn't leave you alone with that face.

Thank you, six-five." The old hag showed her toothless gums in a hideous smile, the woman that was left in the dried shell still tickled at the reference to marriage.

But her look changed to one of intense pain as Pinkey, trembling with excitement, nudged her violently in the ribs as a signal to keep on bidding.

However, there was no real opposition, and the bidding stopped suddenly at seven pounds, forced up to that price by a friend of Mother Jenkins's to increase her commission.
In the kitchen the auctioneer lost his temper, and knocked down to Mother Jenkins enough pots and pans to last Pinkey a lifetime for ten shillings before the others could get in a bid.