Forshou, the very sensitive and gentlemanly vender-he has
dropped the title of honourable, which was given him on account of
his having been a member of the State Senate-takes Harry by the
right hand, and leads him round, where, at the front of the tribune,
customers may have a much better opportunity of seeing for
themselves.
"Yes! he's a swell-a right good fellow." Mr. Forshou turns to his
schedule, glancing his eye up and down. "I see; it's put down here
in the invoice: a minister-warranted sound in every respect. It does
seem to me, gentlemen, that here 's a right smart chance for a
planter who 'tends to the pious of his niggers, giving them a little
preaching once in a while. Now, let the generous move; shake your
dimes; let us turn a point, and see what can be done in the way of
selling the lot,--preacher, wife, and family. The boy, Harry, is a
preacher by nature; has by some unknown process tumbled into the
profession. He's a methodist, I reckon! But there's choice field
property in him; and his wife, one of the primest wenches in the
gang, never says die when there's plenty of cotton to pick. As for
the young uns, they are pure stock. You must remember, gentlemen,
preachers are not in the market every day; and when one's to be got
that'll preach the right stripe, there's no knowing the value of
him-"
"We don't want so much of this," interrupts a voice in the crowd.
"Rather anxious to buy the feller," Mr. Forshou replies, affecting
much indifference.
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