“I don’t know the first thing about it, anyway, and I might as well be guided by chance as anything else,” he reflected.
He was a trifle ashamed of this decision, and half hoped that the mules themselves would render its execution impossible, by all laying back or all pointing their ears in unison.
When he entered the gate of the vacant lot where the sale was to be held, a rough-haired, forlorn-looking specimen of a mule raised two weather-beaten ears and disconsolately surveyed him.
“That settles it,” said Ben to himself. “After all it’s something to have the matter decided for one.”
The man in charge was anxious to show Ben the superior animals within the inclosure; but he manifested so little interest in them that their owner began to have doubts as to his being a bona fide purchaser.
“Like as not the rest will all go above my price,” thought Ben; “but I think I can get ‘Despair’—” for so he had designated the mule he had settled upon—“for fifteen.”
It was a long wait, and Ben was anxious to return to the Works; but the owner seemed to be in no hurry to begin, and, evidently, was waiting for a larger audience.
When a dozen or more men had arrived, the sale was opened. It was confusing, the way in which the auctioneer rattled on, discovering invisible buyers in corners and on the outskirts of the crowd.