The other complied; and, at length, after no few surly objections, prevailed upon the one-legged individual to return for a moment. Upon which, the man in gray thus addressed him: “This reverend gentleman tells me, sir, that a certain cripple, a poor negro, is by you considered an ingenious impostor. Now, I am not unaware that there are some persons in this world, who, unable to give better proof of being wise, take a strange delight in showing what they think they have sagaciously read in mankind by uncharitable suspicions of them. I hope you are not one of these. In short, would you tell me now, whether you were not merely joking in the notion you threw out about the negro. Would you be so kind?”
“No, I won’t be so kind, I’ll be so cruel.”
“As you please about that.”
“Well, he’s just what I said he was.”
“A white masquerading as a black?”
“Exactly.”
The man in gray glanced at the young clergyman a moment, then quietly whispered to him, “I thought you represented your friend here as a very distrustful sort of person, but he appears endued with a singular credulity.—Tell me, sir, do you really think that a white could look the negro so? For one, I should call it pretty good acting.”
“Not much better than any other man acts.”
“How? Does all the world act? Am I, for instance, an actor? Is my reverend friend here, too, a performer?”
“Yes, don’t you both perform acts? To do, is to act; so all doers are actors.”