Grey was much amused and agreeably instructed in regard to Mrs. Ann's sentiments, as he realized the simple fellow's mental condition. "A fishing-pole-tax--well--well--" and would tell John of his joke. "Any barber in this town?" he asked.
"Yes, there's Josiah," and Billy was no longer to be detained.
Mr. Grey mailed a letter, but the post-mistress would not talk politics and was busy. At last, wandering eastward, he came upon the only unoccupied person in Westways. Peter Lamb, slowly recovering strength, was seated on his mother's doorstep. His search for money had been defeated by the widow's caution, and the whisky craving was being felt anew.
"Good morning," said Grey. "You seem to be the only man here with nothing to do."
"Yes, sir. I've been sick, and am not quite fit to work. Sickness is hard on a working man, sir."
Grey, a kindly person, put his hand in his pocket, "Quite right, it is hard. How are the people here going to vote? I hope the good old ticket."
"Oh! Buchanan and Breckenridge, sir, except one or two and the darkey barber. He's a runaway--I guess. Been here these three or four years. Squire likes him because he's clever about breaking colts."
"He's a lazy nigger, sir; ought to be sent back where he belongs."
"What is his name? I suppose he can shave me."
"Calls himself Josiah," said Peter. "Mighty poor barber--cut my face last time he shaved me. You see, he's lost two fingers--makes him awkwarder."
"What! what!" said Grey, of a sudden reflecting, "two fingers--"
"I--no--Do you suppose I know every runaway nigger?"
"Oh, of course not. Might I ask your name, sir?"
"I am a cousin of Mrs. Penhallow. My name is Grey." Peter became cautious and silent. "Here is a little help, my man, until you get work. Stick to the good old Party." He left two dollars in Lamb's eager hands.
Surprised at this unusual bounty, Peter said, "Thank you, sir. God bless you. It'll be a great help." It meant for the hapless drinker whisky, and he was quick to note the way in which Grey became interested in the man who had lost fingers.
Grey lingered. "I must risk your barber's awkwardness," he said.
"Oh, he can shave pretty well when he's sober. He's our only darkey, sir. You can't miss him. I might show you his shop." This Grey declined.