“The man who lives across the creek—Mr. Goshawk—no—Mr. Gossett—got on the block with the Son of Ben Ali and put on his spectacles and looked at him, and felt of him, and thumped him on the back, and punched him in the sides. The Son of Ben Ali never flinched nor moved a muscle. He kept his eyes fixed on the Little Master. But, after all, what could the Little Master do? He was but a child.
“Mr. Gossett came down from the block, took off his spectacles, and said something to the trader, who then cried out:—
“‘What do you think, good people? I am asked to give this boy away! My friend here offers me five hundred dollars for the finest hand that ever stood on the block in this country. Five hundred dollars! I am offered five hundred dollars!’
“‘Seven hundred dollars!’ cried the Little Master.
“The trader stopped and looked at the Little Master, as if he thought the bid was a joke.
“‘Who said seven hundred?’ he asked.
“‘I did,’ cried the Little Master.
“‘Seven hundred it is,’ said the trader. ‘I am offered seven hundred—only seven hundred!’
“Mr. Gossett said something to the trader, who cried out: ‘Eight hundred! I am offered eight hundred!’