knowledge through his eyes.
Chewing his betel-nut, he stares at stall and pen, at rack and shelf, at fish and flesh, at fruit and herb, without a brightening smile or puzzling frown; yet when he turns away, he wears the visage and expression of a man who could build that stall and pen, set up that rack and shelf, dress that fish and flesh, and sell that fruit and greenstuff.
At night we meet him in a sham-auction room, watching, with intentest unconcern, the cheap-jack put up his lots of rags, cotton, paper shoes, zinc razors, glass jewels, and shoddy skins for sale.
He never makes a bid; but when the cheap-jack passes off his spurious wares, mostly on poor old Negresses, a smile of approval lights his face.
Our Yellow brother is evidently at school.
A little later in the night we find him at a shooting-gallery; not firing away his cents, like the Yankees
and Negroes, but looking on, and noticing the scores.
If any difference can be traced in his impassive eyes, he seems less at home in the shooting-gallery than in the cheap market-place and sham auction-room.
The bells ring too often.
Hitting bull's-eyes appears to pain as well as puzzle him.