Australian Tales - Setis

to see if it is sound; look at it and judge for yourself; taste it if you like.
Now, gentlemen, with all faults, favour me with a bid, at per bushel;
don't wait. At per bushel, what shall I say; favour me with a bid. Mr.
Phungus, what do you say? it would suit you as a speculation; corn is
worth five and ninepence in Sydney just now; come, gentlemen, fav —
— ”
“If you please, sir,” interrupted the little lisping man again, speaking
with his mouth half-full of maize, “it tastes like bad nuts, soaked in sour
beer. I don't think my pigs would like it.”
“If you give your pigs that corn, Spikes, it will give 'em the measles,”
said a greedy-looking man, who was afterwards observed to be the only
person who really made a bid for the cargo, which was not badly
damaged. “You had better be careful, or you won't save your bacon,
Spikes, that musty corn would physic your swine, and make 'em squeak
like bagpipes.”
“Ah, I think I'll take your advice,” replied Mr. Spikes; “I shouldn't like
to make my pigs unhealthy. You had better send it to Sydney to make
coffee, sir,” he added, addressing the auctioneer, “it would make very
good corffee, sir, I think.”
Numerous sallies of wit, about equal to the above samples, were
indulged in by one or other of the grinning group, to the prejudice of the
salvage, and to the discomfiture of my crest-fallen friend, who felt as
fidgety as an old lady in a menagerie, with all the monkeys loose; and,
notwithstanding the auctioneer exerted his lungs to the utmost, and
flourished his hammer most peruasively, only the man, beforementioned,
bid for the cargo, a less sum than it had cost to get it on
shore. Feeling certain that there was a combination among some of the
bystanders to cheapen his corn, Mr. Guldman, much to their
disappointment, withdrew the sale of it, and instructed the auctioneer to
offer the vessel.
“Ay, put up the ship,” roared a burly sea captain, with a head like a
rock-cod; “put up the ship; she'll do for a coal hulk, if her back isn't
broken, and if it is, she'll make a mud punt; I'll bid fifty pounds to start
yer, I sha'n't lose much, if I am forced to break her up; though she's an
old craft, with iron fastenings.”
“You are mistaken, sir,” cried Mr. Guldman, excitedly, “she is only a
five-year-old ship, and is copper-fastened throughout; she is well found,
and is one of the fastest vessels on the coast.”
“Yes, I'm sure she's a very nice ship, Captain Swob,” lisped little Mr.
Spikes, with a look of virtuous reproach at the burly sailor for his
depreciatory remarks. “She'd be a very pretty ship, indeed, if she was
mended; I only wish my old uncle Bartimeus could see her, he'd give a
thousand pounds, ready money, and be glad of the chance.”
Amidst the depressing jibes and banter, the least exhibition of rational