Twas the night before Friday, and all through the gloom
Staff scurried about, readying the room.
The paintings were hung on the walls with care,
In hopes that the audience soon would be there;
Martin Farrah was nestled, all snug on his stage,
While the promise of clearances danced on his page;
The sale progressed well, and then came a pause,
A major lot stalled, ahead of reserve
And Farrah, in action and some disbelief
Called for hands up all, and looked around for relief
When out by the door there arose such a clatter,
All heads turned to spy what was the matter.
Away to the left my eyes flew like a flash,
To see Denis Savill arrive in a dash.
More rapid than flyswats his bids they came,
And he nodded, and gestured, but didn’t call them by name;
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
He was chummy and gruff, like his old self,
And I smiled when I saw him, in spite of myself;
Then with a wink of his eye and a twist of his head
He soon gave the underbidder something to dread;
He spoke not a word, and went straight to work,
And snapped up the Boyd; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, to the exit he goes;
And I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
Happy Buying to all, and to all a good night!
