The auctioneer shook his head.
"Do you even know what you're bidding on?"
The boy looked toward the tractor.
Then answered quietly.
"Yes, sir."
The auctioneer smiled.
"Oh, do you now?"
The boy tightened his grip around the coffee tin.
"That was my grandpa's tractor."
The laughter softened.
Only slightly.
Near the back of the crowd, a broad-shouldered machinery dealer in an expensive dark work jacket and black cowboy hat folded his arms.
He was fifty-eight, white American, with a heavyset build, a ruddy face, and pale gray eyes that looked as though they were permanently measuring the value of everything in front of him.
He owned the largest independent used-equipment dealership in the county.
His company bought repossessed tractors, traded old combines, arranged financing, and supplied machines to farmers who could not afford new equipment.
In public, he presented himself as a practical businessman.
A man who understood hard times.
A man who could turn worn-out machinery into usable equipment.
But he had a particular interest in Lot 142.
An interest the twelve-year-old boy knew nothing about.
The dealer smiled and called toward the front.
"Go ahead, kid! Buy yourself a lawn ornament!"
Several men laughed.
The boy's ears turned red.
He looked toward the auctioneer.
"Two hundred dollars," he repeated.
The older man raised his gavel.
Before he could continue, a woman stepped from the second row.
She was thirty-six years old, white American, with tired hazel eyes, long dark-blonde hair tied into a practical ponytail, and the worn hands of someone who worked more hours than her paycheck reflected.
She wore a faded denim jacket over a gray sweater, old jeans, and brown boots.
Her face was pale.
But her voice was clear.
"The bid is authorized."
The auctioneer looked at her.
She raised her bidder registration.
"I'm his mother. The account is in my name."
The auctioneer hesitated.
She continued.
"He can signal. I'll be responsible for the purchase."
The old man studied her.
Then looked toward the boy.
For a brief moment, the laughter in the room faded.
The auctioneer nodded.
"All right, then."
He raised his gavel.
"Two hundred dollars for Lot 142."
The wealthy dealer's smile disappeared.
Not because the amount was high.
Two hundred dollars was almost nothing for a complete vintage John Deere tractor.