Twenty-five! Fifteen! Ten! Why, gentlemen! Not ten dollahs? Remembah this is the Blue-grass Region of Kentucky—the land of Boone an Kenton, the home of Henry Clay!" he added, in an oratorical crescendo.
"He ain't wuth his victuals," said an oily little tavern-keeper, folding his arms restfully over his own stomach and cocking up one piggish eye into his neighbor's face. "He ain't wuth his taters."
"Buy 'im foh is rags!" cried a young law-student, with a Blackstone under his arm, to the town rag-picker opposite, who was unconsciously ogling the vagrant's apparel.
"I might buy 'im foh is scalp" drawled a farmer, who had taken part in all kinds of scalp contests and was now known to be busily engaged in collecting crow scalps for a match soon to come off between two rival counties.
"I think I'll buy 'im foh a hat-sign," said a manufacturer of ten-dollar Castor and Rhorum hats. This sally drew merry attention to the vagrant's hat, and the merchant felt rewarded.
"You'd bettah say the town ought to buy 'im an put 'im up on top of the cou't-house as a scarecrow foh the cholera," said some one else.
"What news of the cholera did the stage-coach bring this mohning?" quickly inquired his neighbor in his ear-, and the two immediately fell into low, grave talk, forgot the auction, and turned away.
"Stop, gentlemen, stop!" cried the sheriff, who had watched the rising tide of good-humor, and now saw his chance to float in on it with spreading sails. "You're runnin' the price in the wrong direction—down, not up. The law requires that he be sole to the highes' biddah, not the lowes'. As loyal citizens, uphole the
