An Auction in Florida.

Evening Post, Volume LXXVI, Issue 106, 31 October 1908, Page 10

An Auction in Florida.

"Notice. — A public auction, of live 6tock, togs, and personal truck, the property of poor old Bailey, deceased, will j bo held on Wednesday next an hour after 6un-down at Bailey's clearing." This was the brief announcement posted up at Christie's general store, and accounted for tho mixed crowd of Englishmen and Southerners, coloured and discoloured, who assembled at Bailey's unoccupied house to acquire 'bargains or swap yarns. I had not met Bailey in the flesh, but he had already become canonised as "poor old Bailey," although but twentytwo when ho "passed in his checks," as the amateur auctioneer lightly put it. His career as an orange-culturist and truck farmer in Florida had lasted but a year when he succumbed to an attack of local fever, induced by careless living and no particular thinking. From the furniture of his house, which only consisted of living-room, bedroom, and kitchen, it was not possible to judge of his proclivities ; but from his personal belongings and impedimenta it was obvious that he was a bit of a sport and a large portion of dandy. The usual scanty stock of store furniture, tables, rocker-chairs, and swinging oil-lamps, stretcher-bed, chest of drawers, trunks, and simple kitchen requirements, were common to all houses in the little settlement. There- were the ordinary makeshift home-made shelves for books, racks for gune, hook and peg contrivances. Bailey's taste in 'pictures favoured the sporting and theatrical, the timber wall being liberally covered with prints from the illustrated papers. Horsee approaching the winning-pos-te, pugilists sparring for an opening, beautiful actresses in various costumes adapted for summer wear in fairyland — theee formed the bulk of the art gallery. He evidently had a penchant for rococo vests ,- for his wardrobe, when displayed to view, was a plentiful one. Though not quite equal in scope and variety to that of the late Marquess of Anglesey, it was remarkable for a copious mase of crude colours. Fancy waistcoats which made the mouths of the darkies water almost audibly, ties -which for splendour rivalled the Florida eunsete, boots in which patent leather, pearl buttons, and light cloth uppers were strangely and weirdly combined — in fact, Bailey's trousseau would have created a sensation at a cake-walk. "Now, boys, let's get rid of the live stock 06 a start. What offers for good old Tinker? You all know Tinker, a genuine, English, spike-tailed smell-dog, known as a pointer in his native jungle. Fit as a flea and full o 'em. Wants cleaning and kicking a bit, and he'll point the way to — well, heaven if you prefer it. I'll start this big myself ; it's against any eort of rules, but hang rules! Five dollars!' Come, boyb, don't be bluffed, the skin of the derned thing is worth' that. Six, rights- go on, boys — seven— keep carving him. Eight — good —any other idiot? No? Well, let him go at that—guess it's more than he's worth. Here, take him out; — while he's alive." "Now we come to the library," eaid the auctioneer, indicating Che shelf containing some dozen volumes. "This library is just the pick of the written wisdom of the old and new worlds. 'Mrs. Beeton'e Cookery Book.' There's a book for you. You can't afford to let that slide. I tell you what, if poor old Bailey had consulted that book a bit more he would have been here now, and We should not be nosing round his truck. Then there's the 'Book of the Horse,' that speaks for itself •, illustrated too, so as you'll know a horse if you ever see one in these parts. 'Orange Culture for Pleasure and Profit'— it don't give the address of the liar -who wrote it — maybe some one's shot him. Anyway, let's hope for the worst. 'Phryne's Adventures in Pimlico' — guess we have all borrowed and road that book, etc., etc. But nobody listened to the voice of the charmer until the cooking-stove and fixings were included in the same lot. A double-barrelled shotgun, or two6hoot scatter-guii in the vernacular, and a Winchester rifle ant? cartridge layout fetched good prices, and an English hunting-saddle was eagerly competed for. A revolver was lumped with a variety of kitchen things, and finally knocked down, to the youngest and most recent recruit 'from the Old Country, who appaiently considered the possession of a firearm indispensable to success in life, and a valuable adjunct to orange-cul-ture. With this dispersal of Bailey's ar&enaJ. the white interest died down, and some of the moro rigidly utilitarian among us made tracks for home with jour loot. But the real fun of the fair was only just beginning for the- coloured gentieraeu. To them, th© auction of the dazzling wardrobe was the event of the day. The waistcoats of rainbow hues were >run <up to alarming figures, and the happy purchasers of the silk mufflers \/ere the objects of admiring envy. The patent boots with weird uppers were secured by a buck nigger of herculean 'proportions, whoso enormous feet werenot likely to find comfort-able harbourage in the tight and tasty receptacles that had once been Bailey's delight. But in the heat of contest for possession, who could bother about fit or fitness? The simplicity of the contending coloured folk was ludicrous to the point of pathos, as regarded l the intrinsic value of things. For instance, among the trash acquired by Bailey during his short) sojourn in the States was an absurd wooden box, flimsily constructed, but bearing the most wonderful and delusive appearance of strength. It was elaborately crossed and recrossed by bands of imitation leather studded with brass-headed tacks. The inside was lined with gorgeously patterned paper," having margins of gold tineel, with centrepieces which portrayed such highly coloured types of female beauty as are i generally found inside the lids of Hay- i ana cigar-boxes. The- bidding for this j hideous object eventually reached a price which would have purchased four similar boxes at any store in the neighbouring township, and the proud proprietor, the cynosure of all rolling' darkey eyes, toted off his bargain amid a storm of choei a. Last, but not least, came Bailey's familar banjo. For some inscrutable reason this so-called musical instrument had acquired a sudden significance in our eyes. We regarded it, for the time being, at any rate, as a purely British institution — " the drum of the white man ronnd the earth." It had said its say to each of us in particular: — "In the twilight, on a bucket upside " down. Hear me babble what the weakest won't confess ! I am memory and torment — I am Town— I am all that ever went with evening dress." The immediate suggestion of a banjo is not usually pathetic, but on this occasion it seemed to awaken and personify all tho pathos ot the situation, which I must confess, had hitherto taken a back seat. After all, Bailey had been but a lad ; moreover, he was an English lad. One began to remember all his queer personal charm and the little weaknesses which were the defects of his qualities. He had only been one short year in the settlement — he had hoped so largely and achieved so little — and hero were we all assisting at the total dispersal of his quaint belongings, as if we more than half enjoyed it. A sudden disgust came upon one at the sight of th.q niggers gloating over the suits and

vests which were once synonymous with qualities — and w« unanimously resolved that the banjo must become the property of a white man, and a Briton at that. It was a matter where national honour was concerned. Most of us were already nearly broke, but we clubbed, our slender resources, and an all-British syndicate, which I had the_ pride of representing, snatched the banjo from under the very noses of the astounded darkies, by topping their most preposterous bid. We "tink-a-tinked" monotonously all the way home m a blend of paean and funeral march. It was our only possible tribute to the memory of tho hapless Bailey.— St. James's Budget.