Pete. What's dat? A mistake, sar—forty-six.
Point. Lame.
Pete. But don't mount to nuffin—kin work cannel. Come, Judge, pick up. Now's your time, sar.
Jackson. One hundred dollars.
Pete. What, sar? me! for me—look ye here! [Dances.]
George. Five hundred.
Pete. Mas'r George—ah, no, sar—don't buy me—keep your money for some udder dat is to be sold. I ain't no count, sar.
Point. Five hundred bid—it's a good price. [Knocks.] He's yours, Mr. George Peyton. [Pete goes down.] "No. 4, the Octoroon girl, Zoe."
Enter Zoe, L. U. E., very pale, and stands on table.—M'Closky hitherto has taken no interest in the sale, now turns his chair.
Sunny. [Rising.] Gentlemen, we are all acquainted with the circumstances of this girl's position, and I feel sure that no one here will oppose the family who desires to redeem the child of our esteemed and noble friend, the late Judge Peyton.