One morning shortly after the opening of the hospital, while Dr. Miller¹ was making his early rounds, a new patient walked in with a smile on his face and a broken arm hanging limply by his side. Miller recognized in him a black giant by the name of Josh Green, who for many years had worked on the docks for Miller's father,—and simultaneously³ identified him as the dust-begrimed negro who had stolen a ride to Wellington on the trucks of a passenger car.  
"Well, Josh," asked the doctor, as he examined the fracture, "how did you get this? Been fighting again?"
 
"No, suh, I don' s'pose you could ha'dly call it a fight. One er dem dagoes off'n a Souf American boat gimme some er his jaw⁵, an' I give 'im a back answer, an' here I is wid a broken arm. He got holt er a belayin'-pin befo' I could hit 'im."
 
"What became of the other man?" demanded Miller suspiciously. He perceived, from the indifference⁶ with which Josh bore the manipulation of the fractured limb, that such an accident need not have interfered⁷ seriously with the use of the remaining arm, and he knew that Josh had a reputation for absolute fearlessness.
 
"Lemme see," said Josh reflectively, "ef I kin² 'member w'at did become er him! Oh, yes, I 'member now! Dey tuck him ter de Marine⁸ Horspittle in de amberlance, 'cause his leg wuz broke, an' I reckon somethin' must 'a' accident'ly hit 'im in de jaw, fer he wuz scatt'rin' teeth all de way 'long de street. I didn' wan⁹' ter kill de man, fer he might have somebody dependin' on 'im, an' I knows how dat'd be ter dem. But no man kin call me a damn' low-down nigger and keep on enjoyin' good health right along."
 
"It was considerate of you to spare his life," said Miller dryly, "but you'll hit the wrong man some day. These are bad times for bad negroes. You'll get into a quarrel with a white man, and at the end of it there'll be a lynching, or a funeral. You'd better be peaceable and endure a little injustice¹⁰, rather than run the risk of a sudden and violent death."
 
"I expec's ter die a vi'lent death in a quarrel wid a w'ite man," replied Josh, in a matter-of-fact tone, "an' fu'thermo', he's gwine ter die at the same time, er a little befo'. I be'n takin' my own time 'bout¹¹ killin' 'im; I ain' be'n crowdin' de man, but I'll be ready after a w'ile, an' den⁴ he kin look out!"
 
"And I suppose you're merely keeping in practice on these other fellows who come your way. When I get your arm dressed, you'd better leave town till that fellow's boat sails; it may save you the expense of a trial and three months in the chain-gang. But this talk about killing¹² a man is all nonsense. What has any man in this town done to you, that you should thirst for his blood?"
 
"No, suh, it ain' nonsense,—it's straight, solem' fac'. I'm gwine ter kill dat man as sho' as I'm settin' in dis cheer; an' dey ain' nobody kin say I ain' got a right ter kill 'im. Does you 'member de Ku-Klux?" "Yes, but I was a child at the time, and recollect¹³ very little about them. It is a page of history which most people are glad to forget."
 
"Yas, suh; I was a chile, too, but I wuz right in it, an' so I 'members mo' erbout it 'n you does. My mammy an' daddy lived 'bout ten miles f'm here, up de river. One night a crowd er w'ite men come ter ou' house an' tuck my daddy out an' shot 'im ter death, an' skeered my mammy so she ain' be'n herse'f f'm dat day ter dis. I wa'n't mo' 'n ten years ole at de time, an' w'en my mammy seed de w'ite men comin', she tol' me ter run. I hid in de bushes an' seen de whole thing, an' it wuz branded on my mem'ry, suh, like a red-hot iron bran's de skin. De w'ite folks had masks on, but one of 'em fell off,—he wuz de boss, he wuz de head man, an' tol' de res' w'at ter do,—an' I seen his face. It wuz a easy face ter 'member; an' I swo' den, 'way down deep in my hea't, little ez I wuz, dat some day er 'nother I'd kill dat man. I ain't never had no doubt erbout it; it's jus' w'at I'm livin' fer, an' I know I ain' gwine ter die till I've done it. Some lives fer one thing an' some fer another, but dat's my job. I ain' be'n in no has'e, fer I'm not ole yit, an' dat man is in good health. I'd like ter see a little er de worl' befo' I takes chances on leavin' it sudden; an', mo'over, somebody's got ter take keer er de ole 'oman. But her time'll come some er dese days, an den his time'll be come—an' prob'ly mine. But I ain' keerin' 'bout myse'f: w'en I git thoo wid him, it won' make no diff'ence 'bout me."
 
Josh was evidently in dead earnest. Miller recalled, very vividly¹⁴, the expression he had seen twice on his patient's face, during the journey to Wellington.
 
He had often seen Josh's mother, old Aunt Milly,—"Silly Milly," the children called her,—wandering aimlessly about the street, muttering to herself incoherently. He had felt a certain childish awe¹⁵ at the sight of one of God's creatures who had lost the light of reason, and he had always vaguely¹⁶ understood that she was the victim............