was the size and setting of his mouth—he was a born African orator, undoubtedly descended from a long line of savage spell-binders, whose eloquence in the palaver houses of the jungle had made them native leaders. His thin spindle-shanks supported an oblong, protruding stomach, resembling an elderly monkey's, which seemed so heavy it swayed his back to carry it.
The animal vivacity of his small eyes and the flexibility of his eyebrows, which he worked up and down rapidly with every change of countenance, expressed his eager desires.
He had laid aside his new shoes, which hurt him, and went barefooted to facilitate his movements on the great occasion. His heels projected and his foot was so flat that what should have been the hollow of it made a hole in the dirt where he left his track.
He was already mellow with liquor, and was dressed in an old army uniform and cap, with two horse-pistols buckled around his waist. On a strap hanging from his shoulder were strung a half-dozen tin canteens filled with whiskey.
A disturbance in the line of voters caused the young men to move forward to see what it meant.
Two negro troopers had pulled Jake out of the line, and were dragging him toward old Aleck.
The election judge straightened himself up with great dignity:
"What wuz de rapscallion doin'?"
"In de line, tryin' ter vote."
"Fetch 'im befo' de judgment bar," said Aleck, taking a drink from one of his canteens.
