Ben wondered how he should be able to keep his head when his time should come; and he realized that this thought made his heart beat rapidly.
He witnessed some close buying that was bewildering to the inexperienced, and he saw one man badly kicked by the glossiest, plumpest mule in the lot.
“Another mark in favor of ‘Despair,’” Ben noted. “You can’t tell anything by looks; but I don’t believe he’d do that.”
It was late in the afternoon before the mule which Ben had selected—or, rather, the mule which had selected Ben—was offered.
“We’ll start him at— What’ll we start him at, gentlemen?”
“Five dollars,” said a voice.
“Five dollars!” The auctioneer scornfully repeated. “Somebody here expects to get a good workin’ animal for nothing just because his coat’s a little rough. Five dollars would be just a-givin’ him away. Why, all he needs to be a playmate for the children is a clippin’ and a red ribbon tied round his tail. What am I bid, bid, bid—what am I bid? Ten dollars, young man, did you say?” He pointed to Ben, and the latter nodded.
“Here’s a young gentleman who knows a good animal for the saddle when he sees one.”
This sally brought a laugh from the crowd and added to Ben’s discomfiture.