The Mayor of Casterbridge | Page 4

the kick of another, her own sister, coming along the road."
"For my part I don't see why men who have got wives and don't want
'em, shouldn't get rid of 'em as these gipsy fellows do their old horses,"
said the man in the tent. "Why shouldn't they put 'em up and sell 'em by
auction to men who are in need of such articles? Hey? Why, begad, I'd
sell mine this minute if anybody would buy her!"
"There's them that would do that," some of the guests replied, looking
at the woman, who was by no means ill-favoured.
"True," said a smoking gentleman, whose coat had the fine polish about
the collar, elbows, seams, and shoulder-blades that long-continued
friction with grimy surfaces will produce, and which is usually more
desired on furniture than on clothes. From his appearance he had
possibly been in former time groom or coachman to some neighbouring
county family. "I've had my breedings in as good circles, I may say, as
any man," he added, "and I know true cultivation, or nobody do; and I
can declare she's got it--in the bone, mind ye, I say--as much as any
female in the fair--though it may want a little bringing out." Then,
crossing his legs, he resumed his pipe with a nicely-adjusted gaze at a
point in the air.
The fuddled young husband stared for a few seconds at this unexpected
praise of his wife, half in doubt of the wisdom of his own attitude
towards the possessor of such qualities. But he speedily lapsed into his
former conviction, and said harshly--
"Well, then, now is your chance; I am open to an offer for this gem o'
creation."

She turned to her husband and murmured, "Michael, you have talked
this nonsense in public places before. A joke is a joke, but you may
make it once too often, mind!"
"I know I've said it before; I meant it. All I want is a buyer."
At the moment a swallow, one among the last of the season, which had
by chance found its way through an opening into the upper part of the
tent, flew to and from quick curves above their heads, causing all eyes
to follow it absently. In watching the bird till it made its escape the
assembled company neglected to respond to the workman's offer, and
the subject dropped.
But a quarter of an hour later the man, who had gone on lacing his
furmity more and more heavily, though he was either so strong-minded
or such an intrepid toper that he still appeared fairly sober, recurred to
the old strain, as in a musical fantasy the instrument fetches up the
original theme. "Here--I am waiting to know about this offer of mine.
The woman is no good to me. Who'll have her?"
The company had by this time decidedly degenerated, and the renewed
inquiry was received with a laugh of appreciation. The woman
whispered; she was imploring and anxious: "Come, come, it is getting
dark, and this nonsense won't do. If you don't come along, I shall go
without you. Come!"
She waited and waited; yet he did not move. In ten minutes the man
broke in upon the desultory conversation of the furmity drinkers with.
"I asked this question, and nobody answered to 't. Will any Jack Rag or
Tom Straw among ye buy my goods?"
The woman's manner changed, and her face assumed the grim shape
and colour of which mention has been made.
"Mike, Mike," she said; "this is getting serious. O!--too serious!"
"Will anybody buy her?" said the man.

"I wish somebody would," said she firmly. "Her present owner is not at
all to her liking!"
"Nor you to mine," said he. "So we are agreed about that. Gentlemen,
you hear? It's an agreement to part. She shall take the girl if she wants
to, and go her ways. I'll take my tools, and go my ways. 'Tis simple as
Scripture history. Now then, stand up, Susan, and show yourself."
"Don't, my chiel," whispered a buxom staylace dealer in voluminous
petticoats, who sat near the woman; "yer good man don't know what
he's saying."
The woman, however, did stand up. "Now, who's auctioneer?" cried the
hay-trusser.
"I be," promptly answered a short man, with a nose resembling a
copper knob, a damp voice, and eyes like button-holes. "Who'll make
an offer for this lady?"
The woman looked on the ground, as if she maintained her position by
a supreme effort of will.
"Five shillings," said someone, at which there was a laugh.
"No insults," said the husband. "Who'll say a guinea?"
Nobody answered; and the female dealer in staylaces interposed.
"Behave yerself moral, good man, for Heaven's love! Ah, what a
cruelty is the poor soul married to!