In one corner of his sensual mouth rested the stump of a cigan. Once during the proceedings he had produced another, lighted it, and continued quietly smoking. If he took to himself any shame as central figure of this ignoble performance, no one knew it.
There was something almost royal in his unconcern. The humor, the badinage, the open contempt, of which he was the public target, fell thick and fast upon him, but as harmlessly as would balls of pitch upon a coat of pail. In truth, there was that in his great, lazy, gentle, good-humored bulk and bearing which made the gibes seem all but despicable. He shuffled from one foot to the other as though he found it a trial to stand up so long, but all the while looking the spectators full in the eyes without the least impatience.
He suffered the man of the factory to walk round him and push and pinch his muscles as calmly as though he had been the show bull at a country fair. Once only, when the sheriff had pointed across the street at the figure of Mr. Clay, he had looked quickly in that direction with a kindling light in his eye and a passing flush on his face. For the rest, he seemed like a man who has drained his cup of human life and has nothing left him but to fill again and drink without the least surprise or eagerness.
The bidding between the man of the factory and the student had gone slowly on. The price had reached ten dollars. The heat was intense, the sheriff tired. Then something occurred to revivify the scene. Across the market-place and towards the steps of the courthouse there suddenly came trundling along in breathless haste a huge oldnegress, carrying on one arm a large shallow basket containing apple crab-lanterns and fresh gingerbread.
Pushed and Scolded
With a series of half-articulate grunts and snorts she approached the edge of the crowd and tried to force her way through. She coaxed, she begged, she elbowed and pushed and scolded, now laughing, and now with a passion of tears in her thick, excited voice. All at once, catching sight of the sheriff, she lifted one ponderous brown arm, naked to the elbow, and waved her hand to him above the heads of those in front.
“Hole on, marster! Hole on!” she cried, in a tone of humorous entreaty. “Don` knock `im off till I come! Gim me bid at `im!”
The sheriff paused and smiled. The crowd made way tumultuously, with broad laughter and comment.
Stan` aside theah an` let Aun` Charlotte in!”
“Now you`ll see biddin`!”
“Get out of the way foh Aun` Charlotte!”
“Up, my free niggah! Hurrah foh Kentucky!”
A moment more and she stood inside the ring of spectators, her basket on the pavement at her feet, her hands plumped akimbo into her fathomless sides, her head up, and the soft, motherly eyes turned eagerly upon the sheriff. Of the crowd she seemed unconscious, and on the vagrant before her she had not cast a single glance.
Read More about Ibn Battuta part 50
