“The trader said: ‘Walk right up, gentlemen, and I’ll tell you the truth. I’m selling this boy because he’s too tricky to travel with. He’s bad tempered and hard headed. What he needs is a master who will take time to make him buckle down to work.’
“The Little Master said: ‘Father, come. Oh, don’t wait any longer.’ The White-haired Master smiled. ‘Yes, yes!’ and placed his hand on my neck, whereupon I snorted and shook it off.
“The trader cried out at the top of his voice: ‘Come up, gentlemen! Come up! Look at this boy’s limbs. Look at his muscles. Not a flaw about him, except his temper. What am I offered, cash down, for this likely fellow?’
“The Little Master said: ‘Please, please hurry, father! You’ll be too late. The man is selling him now!’ The air was blue with state rights and constitutions. I shook my head and gave a loud whicker. This seemed to irritate the White-haired Master, for he ceased to smile and joke.
“‘Go buy him yourself,’ he said, sharply.
“‘How much shall I bid, father?’
“‘Up to twelve hundred dollars.’
“Before the Little Master could take the bridle reins in his hand, I wheeled and cantered toward the crowd that had gathered around the sheriff’s block, where the Son of Ben Ali stood.
“The trader was saying: ‘How much am I offered? How much? Look at him, gentlemen! As sound as a dollar!’