Flute and Violin, and Other Kentucky Tales and RomancesAllen, James Lane
General
Flute and Violin, and Other Kentucky Tales and Romances
Allen, James Lane
Kentucky -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Short stories, American
"One dollah!" said the owner of a hemp factory, who had walked forward
and felt the vagrant's arm, laughing, but coloring up also as the
eyes of all were quickly turned upon him. In those days it was not an
unheard-of thing for the muscles of a human being to be thus examined
when being sold into servitude to a new master.
"Thank you!" cried the sheriff, cheerily. "One precinc' heard from! One
dollah! I am offahed one dollah foh ole King Sol'mon. One dollah foh
the king! Make it a half. One dollah an' a half. Make it a half. One
dol-dol-dol-dollah!"
Two medical students, returning from lectures at the old Medical Hall,
now joined the group, and the sheriff explained:
"One dollah is bid foh the vagrant ole King Sol'mon, who is to be sole
into labah foh a twelvemonth. Is there any othah bid? Are you all done?
One dollah, once--"
"Dollah and a half," said one of the students, and remarked half
jestingly under his breath to his companion, "I'll buy him on the
chance of his dying. We'll dissect him."
"Would you own his body if he _should_ die?"
"If he dies while bound to me, I'll arrange _that_."
"One dollah an' a half," resumed the sheriff; and falling into the tone
of a facile auctioneer he rattled on:
"One dollah an' a half foh ole Sol'mon--sol, sol, sol,--do, re, mi,
fa, sol--do, re, mi, fa, sol! Why, gentlemen, you can set the king to
music!"
All this time the vagrant had stood in the centre of that close ring
of jeering and humorous by-standers--a baffling text from which to
have preached a sermon on the infirmities of our imperfect humanity.
Some years before, perhaps as a master-stroke of derision, there had
been given to him that title which could but heighten the contrast of
his personality and estate with every suggestion of the ancient sacred
magnificence; and never had the mockery seemed so fine as at this
moment, when he was led forth into the streets to receive the lowest
sentence of the law upon his poverty and dissolute idleness. He was
apparently in the very prime of life--a striking figure, for nature at
least had truly done some royal work on him. Over six feet in height,
erect, with limbs well shaped and sinewy, with chest and neck full
of the lines of great power, a large head thickly covered with long
reddish hair, eyes blue, face beardless, complexion fair but discolored
by low passions and excesses--such was old King Solomon. He wore a
stiff, high, black Castor hat of the period, with the crown smashed in
and the torn rim hanging down over one ear; a black cloth coat in the
old style, ragged and buttonless; a white cotton shirt, with the broad
collar crumpled, wide open at the neck and down his sunburnt bosom;
blue jeans pantaloons, patched at the seat and the knees; and ragged
cotton socks that fell down over the tops of his dusty shoes, which
were open at the heels.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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