"I imagine," said I, "that this sort of business is out of your line."
He looked at me a moment, and then with earnestness exclaimed:
"Entirely! utterly! absolutely! I am altogether unfitted for this
calling, and it is an injustice to those who send me out for me to
longer continue in it. Some other person might sell their tickets; I
cannot. And yet," he said, with a sigh, "what is there that I may do?"
The idea that that strong, well-grown man should have any difficulty in
finding something to do surprised me. If he chose to go out and labor
with his hands--and surely no man who was willing to wander about
selling tickets should object to that--there would be no difficulty in
his obtaining a livelihood in our town.
"If you want regular employment," I said, "I think you can easily find
it."
"I want it," he answered, his face clouded by a troubled expression,
"but I cannot take it."
"Cannot take it!" I exclaimed.
"No," he said, "I am not my own master. I am as much a slave as any
negro hereabouts!"
I was rather surprised at this meaningless allusion, but contented
myself with asking him what he meant by not being his own master.
He looked on the floor and then he looked at me, with a steady, earnest
gaze. "I should like well to tell you my story," he said.
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