“I’ll mount the car then, take the bits of list up, put ‘em into right shape, talk a little Connecticut Yankee to the old hoss, to set his ebenezer up, and make him rise inwardly, and then give the yell,” (which he uttered in his excitement in earnest; and a most diabolical one it was. It pierced me through and through, and curdled my very blood, it was the death shout of a savage.) “G’lang you skunk, and turn out your toes pretty,” said he, and he again repeated this long protracted, shrill, infernal yell, a second time.
Every eye was instantly turned upon us. Even Tattersall suspended his “he is five years old—a good hack—and is to be sold,” to give time for the general exclamation of surprise. “Who the devil is that? Is he mad? Where did he come from? Does any body know him? He is a devilish keen-lookin’ fellow that; what an eye he has! He looks like a Yankee, that fellow.”
“He’s been here, your honour, several days, examines every thing and says nothing; looks like a knowing one, your honour. He handles a hoss as if he’d seen one afore to-day, Sir.”
“Who is that gentleman with him?”
“Don’t know, your honour, never saw him before; he looks like a furriner, too.”
“Come, Mr. Slick,” said I, “we are attracting too much attention here, let us go.”
“Cuss ‘em,” said he, “I’ll attract more attention afore I’ve done yet, when Old Clay comes, and then I’ll tell ‘em who I am—Sam Slick, from Slickville, Onion County, State of Connecticut, United States of America. But I do suppose we had as good make tracks, for I don’t want folks to know me yet. I’m plaguy sorry I let put that countersign of Old Clay too, but they won’t onderstand it. Critters like the English, that know everything have generally weak eyes, from studyin’ so hard.
“Did you take notice of that critter I was a handlin’ of, Squire? that one that’s all drawed up in the middle like a devil’s darnin’ needle; her hair a standin’ upon eend as if she was amazed at herself, and a look out of her eye, as if she thort the dogs would find the steak kinder tough, when they got her for dinner. Well, that’s a great mare that ‘are, and there ain’t nothin’ onder the sun the matter of her, except the groom has stole her oats, forgot to give her water, and let her make a supper sometimes off of her nasty, mouldy, filthy beddin’. I hante see’d a hoss here equal to her a’most—short back, beautiful rake to the shoulder, great depth of chest, elegant quarter, great stifle, amazin’ strong arm, monstrous nice nostrils, eyes like a weasel, all outside, game ears, first chop bone and fine flat leg, with no gum on no part of it. She’s a sneezer that; but she’ll be knocked down for twenty or thirty pound, because she looks as if she was used up.
“I intended to a had that mare, for I’d a made her worth twelve hundred dollars. It was a dreadful pity, I let go, that time, for I actilly forgot where I was. I’ll know better next hitch, for boughten wit is the best in a general way. Yes, I’m peskily sorry about that mare. Well, swappin’ I’ve studied, but I doubt if it’s as much the fashion here as with us; and besides, swappin’ where you don’t know the county and its tricks, (for every county has its own tricks, different from others), is dangersome too. I’ve seen swaps where both sides got took in. Did ever I tell you the story of the “Elder and the grave-digger?”
“Never,” I replied; “but here we are at our lodgings. Come in, and tell it to me.”