again, the third gentleman tips his hat and proceeds on his way with an appreciative nodding of his head—while the other two continue toward Finn.
“New in town?” says Finn from his seat by the fencepost. “Your friend I mean.” Looking straight at the white man and the white man only, with an intensity that makes a show of excluding the other.
The white man has been so long so far beyond contact with an individual like Finn that he accepts his question without reservation and stops as eagerly as if he has been invited to dance. “Why, yes,” he says, and again: “Why, yes indeed.”
“Thought so.”
The white man folds his hands at his sternum and begins to declaim. “Professor Morris is visiting from Ohio, where he teaches at Kenyon College. He’ll be speaking tonight at the Reform Church.”
“You fixing to sell him?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Not that he’s likely to fetch much.” Here he permits his gaze to wander over the black man’s regally slim figure. “Not by the look of him.”
“Sir.”
“Ain’t nothing worth any less than a puny nigger. Other’n a puny nigger in a ten-dollar suit, putting on airs.”
“Come along, Professor,” says the white man to the black. “We’re late for your introductions at the church.” He takes his associate by the elbow but finds him immovable, for the professor has been turned to stone by Finn’s effrontery. He spreads wide his legs and cocks his head to one side and leans forward upon his cane, transfixed by their interlocutor as he would be by a Siberian tiger in a circus parade.
“You mind your master,” says Finn with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Git along now, boy.”
“No man is my master,” intones the black man, with the theatrical air of an individual winding up to deliver a lecture or a sermon.
“Is that so?” Addressing the white man, parting his knees to scratch at his crotch.
“If you please, sir,” interrupts the black man with a schoolroom kind of sarcasm, “you may direct your questions to me. Dr. Bale here is my colleague, not my translator. And above all he is most assuredly not my keeper.”
“I told you,” the white man puts in, “he’s a college professor. From Ohio.”
“I got ears.”
“He’s a scholar.”
“I heard.”
“He comes from an extremely progressive state—a state where a man like Professor Morris is not only free, but free to vote.”
“Bullshit,” says Finn.
“Not at all.”
Finn grunts.
“You have a lot to learn,” says the professor.
“I might.”
“Change is afoot.”
Finn cogitates for a minute. “If a nigger can vote,” he says, “then I don’t reckon I’ll ever vote again.”
“Suit yourself.”
“I don’t care what state.”
“Time and events will overtake you.”
“Maybe they will.”
“Perhaps they already have.”
As the gentlemen go on their way Finn has an idea. He returns to the jail where he finds the marshal on his knees in the one cell, bent over a bucket and bearing a rag, cleaning up after Finn’s own mess of the night prior.
“You tell me something?”
“What is it?”
“What’s the rule for claiming a loose nigger in this state?”
“Depends.”
“What on?”
“Where he’s from. Certain conditions.”
“From Ohio, let’s say.”
“You be talking about a free man?”
“So far.”
The marshal drops the rag into the water and sits back upon his heels. “Anybody particular in mind?”
“I won’t lie to you. That professor.”
“The one over to the church tonight.”
“That’s the one.”
“Finn, you’re either the smartest man in this town or the stupidest.”
“I need money. You heard that judge same as me.”
“I did.”
“Lawsuits cost.”
“I wonder how much you’d need before you couldn’t spend every bit of it on whiskey.”
“I aim to find out.”
“You never will.”
“We’ll see. So what’s the rule on that professor?”
“You won’t like it.” He goes back to
“New in town?” says Finn from his seat by the fencepost. “Your friend I mean.” Looking straight at the white man and the white man only, with an intensity that makes a show of excluding the other.
The white man has been so long so far beyond contact with an individual like Finn that he accepts his question without reservation and stops as eagerly as if he has been invited to dance. “Why, yes,” he says, and again: “Why, yes indeed.”
“Thought so.”
The white man folds his hands at his sternum and begins to declaim. “Professor Morris is visiting from Ohio, where he teaches at Kenyon College. He’ll be speaking tonight at the Reform Church.”
“You fixing to sell him?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Not that he’s likely to fetch much.” Here he permits his gaze to wander over the black man’s regally slim figure. “Not by the look of him.”
“Sir.”
“Ain’t nothing worth any less than a puny nigger. Other’n a puny nigger in a ten-dollar suit, putting on airs.”
“Come along, Professor,” says the white man to the black. “We’re late for your introductions at the church.” He takes his associate by the elbow but finds him immovable, for the professor has been turned to stone by Finn’s effrontery. He spreads wide his legs and cocks his head to one side and leans forward upon his cane, transfixed by their interlocutor as he would be by a Siberian tiger in a circus parade.
“You mind your master,” says Finn with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Git along now, boy.”
“No man is my master,” intones the black man, with the theatrical air of an individual winding up to deliver a lecture or a sermon.
“Is that so?” Addressing the white man, parting his knees to scratch at his crotch.
“If you please, sir,” interrupts the black man with a schoolroom kind of sarcasm, “you may direct your questions to me. Dr. Bale here is my colleague, not my translator. And above all he is most assuredly not my keeper.”
“I told you,” the white man puts in, “he’s a college professor. From Ohio.”
“I got ears.”
“He’s a scholar.”
“I heard.”
“He comes from an extremely progressive state—a state where a man like Professor Morris is not only free, but free to vote.”
“Bullshit,” says Finn.
“Not at all.”
Finn grunts.
“You have a lot to learn,” says the professor.
“I might.”
“Change is afoot.”
Finn cogitates for a minute. “If a nigger can vote,” he says, “then I don’t reckon I’ll ever vote again.”
“Suit yourself.”
“I don’t care what state.”
“Time and events will overtake you.”
“Maybe they will.”
“Perhaps they already have.”
As the gentlemen go on their way Finn has an idea. He returns to the jail where he finds the marshal on his knees in the one cell, bent over a bucket and bearing a rag, cleaning up after Finn’s own mess of the night prior.
“You tell me something?”
“What is it?”
“What’s the rule for claiming a loose nigger in this state?”
“Depends.”
“What on?”
“Where he’s from. Certain conditions.”
“From Ohio, let’s say.”
“You be talking about a free man?”
“So far.”
The marshal drops the rag into the water and sits back upon his heels. “Anybody particular in mind?”
“I won’t lie to you. That professor.”
“The one over to the church tonight.”
“That’s the one.”
“Finn, you’re either the smartest man in this town or the stupidest.”
“I need money. You heard that judge same as me.”
“I did.”
“Lawsuits cost.”
“I wonder how much you’d need before you couldn’t spend every bit of it on whiskey.”
“I aim to find out.”
“You never will.”
“We’ll see. So what’s the rule on that professor?”
“You won’t like it.” He goes back to
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