"In trouble, Josiah? Come in, the front door is open."
As he entered the rector's study, Rivers said, "Sit down."
Something in the look of the man made him think of hunted animals. "No one else is in the house. What is it?" The black poured out his story.
"So then," said Rivers, "he lied to you about the doctor and threatened you with a lie. Why, Josiah, if he had known who was your master, he would have told you, and whether or not you ran away from slavery is none of his business. Mr. Penhallow believes you did, others suspect it, but no one cares. You are liked and you have the respect of the town. There would be trouble if any man tried to claim you."
"I'd like to tell you all about it, sir."
"No—no—on no account. Tell no one. Now go home. I will settle with that drunken liar."
"Thank you. May God bless—and thank you."
The clergyman sat in thought a while, and the more he considered the matter which he had made light of to the scared black, the less he liked it. He dismissed it for a time as a lie told to secure whisky, but the fear Josiah showed was something pitiful in this strong black giant. He knew Lamb well enough to feel sure that Josiah would now have in him an enemy who was sure in some way to get what he called "even" with the barber, and was a man known and spoken of in Westways as "real spiteful."
When next day Rivers entered the room where Lamb lay abed, he saw at once that he was better. He meant to make plain to a revengeful man that Josiah had friends and that the attempt to blackmail him would be dangerous. Lamb was sitting up in bed apparently relieved, and was reading a newspaper. The moment he spoke Rivers knew that he was a far more intelligent person than the man of yesterday.
Lamb said, "Billy, set a chair for Mr. Rivers. The heat's awful for
October." Billy obeyed and stepped out glad to escape.