TIME AND MONEY
Could a teacher of elocution bear to listen to the patter of the auctioneer? It is a running brook, an urgent injunction that time is money, and the speeding minute leaves us to face the next without profit. 'Twenty-five, I'm bid,' be rattles. 'Twenty-five, twenty-five. Any advance on twenty - five? Who'll say twenty - six? Twenty-Six, twenty-six, twenty-six. I'm only
bid twenty-six. . . Hut, of course, there are no pauses for punctuation. One word runs into another, and there is only time for the speaker to come up for air, gulp and go faster,
faster. The stick waves and the crowd stares fascinated at the auctioneer propping himself on the hurdle. When no one nods or raises a hand the stick halts. The auctioneer looks about, senses the mood and shouts, 'Going at thirty - four, thirty - four! . . .' It is all over. The stick rattles the pen, the clerk takes note and the labourer brings the next lot of stock to the enclosure.
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