Leonard glares at Roger, who’s obviously trying to cause a scene.
“I have… twenty-two fifty,” stammers the auctioneer. “Do I hear twenty-five? Twenty-two fifty once, twenty-two fifty twice…”
“Twelve hundred!” shouts Roger.
“Sold, for twenty-two fifty,” says the auctioneer, also glaring at Roger. “And now…”
“Twenty-two fifty for that chromo?” shouts Roger. People turn in their chairs to look at Roger.
“Number one hundred ten in the catalog,” continues the auctioneer. “A Louis XV carved and gilded lit de repos. Would somebody start the bidding at seven hundred and fifty dollars, please?”
“Uh, how do we know it’s not a fake? It looks like a fake!” shouts Roger.
The crowd groans and tsks at Roger. A woman in front of him turns around.
“Well, one thing we know,” says the woman. “You’re no fake. You’re a genuine idiot.”
“Thank you,” replies Roger.
“I wonder if I could respectfully as the gentleman,” says the auctioneer, “to get into the spirit of the proceedings.”
“All right,” says Roger. “I’ll start it at eight.”
“Eight hundred,” says the auctioneer. “Thank you. Nine hundred? One thousand is bid. Go twelve?”
“Eleven,” says Roger.
“Eleven is bid,” replies the auctioneer. “Thank you. Go twelve? I have eleven. Go twelve.”