"Mr. Claire," said the auctioneer, as he took in hand a new article,
"did you make that last entry?--Mr. Jackson, ten cents a yard."
Claire's head had fallen over on the book in which he had been
writing, and the auctioneer, supposing him only yielding to a
momentary feeling of fatigue, or indolence, thus called his attention
to his duties.
But Claire made no answer.
"Say! young man! Are you asleep!" The auctioneer spoke now with some
sharpness of tone; but, as before, his words were not heeded.
"What's the matter, Mr. Claire? Are you sick?"
Still no response or movement.
"Mr. Claire! Bless me!" The auctioneer was now by his side, with his
hand on him. "Bring some water, quick! He's fainted--or is dead! Here!
some one help me to lay him down."
Two or three men came quickly behind the auctioneer's stand and
assisted to lift the insensible man from the high stool on which he
was seated, and place his body in a reclining position. Then water
was dashed into his face, and various other means of restoration used.
Full ten minutes passed before signs of returning life were exhibited.
His recovery was very slow, and it was nearly an hour before he was
well enough to be removed to his dwelling.
The shock of his appearance, supported from the carriage in which he
had been conveyed home, by two men, was terrible to his wife, whose
anxiety and fear had wrought her feelings already up to a high pitch
of excitement.
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