“A moment!” mine host interposes, suddenly:  “there’s a keen point of law there; but it might be twisted to some account, if a body only had the right sort of a lawyer to twist it.”

The perplexed man rejoins by hoping he may not be interrupted just at this moment.  He is just getting the point of it straight in his mind.  “You see,” he says, “the thing begun to dissolve itself in my philosophy, and by that I discovered the pint the whole thing stands on.  Its entirely metaphysical, though,” he says, with a significant shake of the head.  He laughs at his discovery; his father, long since, told him he was exceedingly clever.  Quite a match for the publican in all matters requiring a comprehensive mind, he declares there are few lawyers his equal at penetrating into points.  “He warranted him in every particular,” he mutters, as mine host, watching his seriousness, endeavours to suppress a smile.  M’Fadden makes a most learned motion of the fore finger of the right hand, which he presses firmly into the palm of his left, while contracting his brows.  He will soon essay forth the point of logic he wishes to enforce.  The property being a certain man endowed with preaching propensities, soundness means the qualities of the man, mental as well as physical; and running away being an unsound quality, the auctioneer is responsible for all such contingencies.  “I have him there,—­I have!” he holds up his hands exultingly, as he exclaims the words; his face brightens with animation.  Thrusting his hands into his trowsers pockets he paces the room for several minutes, at a rapid pace, as if his mind had been relieved of some deep study.  “I will go directly into the city, and there see what I can do with the chap I bought that feller of.  I think when I put the law points to him, he’ll shell out.”

Making some preliminary arrangements with Jones of the tavern, he orders a horse to the door immediately, and in a few minutes more is hastening on his way to the city.

Arriving about noon-day, he makes his way through its busy thoroughfares, and is soon in the presence of the auctioneer.  There, in wondrous dignity, sits the seller of bodies and souls, his cushioned arm-chair presenting an air of opulence.  How coolly that pomp of his profession sits on the hard mask of his iron features, beneath which lurks a contempt of shame!  He is an important item in the political hemisphere of the state, has an honourable position in society (for he is high above the minion traders), joined the Episcopal church not many months ago, and cautions Mr. M’Fadden against the immorality of using profane language, which that aggrieved individual allows to escape his lips ere he enters the door.