'Peeps,' Douglas corrected, then remarked, 'You know, Jeremiah, you read much better now than you did when you started working for me last summer. That's the first time you've slipped in a couple of weeks, and no one could blame you for stumbling over that tongue twister.'
'Practice,'Jeremiah said. He held up the book. 'What is this, anyhow?'
'It just might interest you, come to think of it. It's the book that sets forth the transformational theory of life: that the kinds of living things change over time.'
'That's not what the Bible says.'
'I know. Churchmen hate Pepys's theories. As a lawyer, though, I find them attractive, because he presents the evidence for them.
Genesis is so much hearsay by comparison.'
'You never were no churchgoing man, sir,' Jeremiah said reproachfully.
He started to read al the same; working with Douglas had given him a good bit of the lawyer's attitude. And he respected his boss's brains.
If Douglas thought there was something to this, what had he called it?, transformational theory, there probably was.
The book was almost I50 years old, and written in the ornate style of the seventeenth century. Jeremiah had to ask Douglas to help him with several words and complex phrases. He soon saw what the lawyer meant.
Pepys firmly based his argument on facts, with no pleading to unverifiable
'authorities.' Despite himself, Jeremiah was impressed Someone squelched up the walk toward Douglas's door. No, a couple of people, by the sound. It was that transitional time between winter and spring. The rain was Still cold, but Jeremiah knew only relief that he did not have to shovel snow anymore.
Douglas had heard the footsteps too. He rammed quil into inkpot and started writing furiously. 'Put Pepys down and get busy for a while, Jeremiah,' he said. 'It's probably Jasper Carruthers and his son, here for that will I should've finished three days ago. Since it's not done, we ought at least to look busy.'
Grinning, Jeremiah got up and started reshelving some, of the books that got pulled down every day. He had his back to the door when it swung open, but heard Douglas's relieved chuckle.
'Good to see you, Zachary,' the lawyer said. 'Saves me the embarrassment of pleading guilty to nonfeasance.'
Hayes let out a dry laugh. 'A problem we all face from time to time, Alfred; I'm glad you escaped it here. Do you own an English version of Justinian's Digest? I'm afraid the Latin of my young friend here isn't up to his reading it in the original.'
The volume happened to be in front of Jeremiah's face. He pul ed it from the shelf before Douglas had to ask him for it, turned with a smug smile to offer it to Hayes's student.
The smile congealed on his face like fat getting cold in a pan.
The youngster with Hayes was Caleb Gillen.
The tableau held for several frozen seconds, the two of them staring at each other while the lawyers, not understanding what was going on, stared at them both.
'Jeremiah!' Caleb exclaimed. 'It's my father's runaway nigger!'
he shouted to Hayes at the same moment Jeremiah bolted for the door.
Pepys's book proved his undoing. It went flying out from under his foot and sent him sprawling. Caleb Gillen landed on his back.
Before he could shake free of the youngster Hayes also grabbed him.
The lawyer was stronger than he looked. Between them, he and Caleb held Jeremiah pinned to the floor.
Panting, his gray hair awry, Hayes said, 'You told me he was a free nigger, Alfred.'
'He said he was. I had no reason to doubt him,' Douglas answered calmly. He had made no move to rise from his desk and help seize Jeremiah, or indeed even to put down - his quil . Now he went on, 'For that matter, I still have no reason to do so.'
'What? I recognize him!' Caleb Gillen shouted, his voice breaking from excitement. 'And what if I didn't? He and That proves it!'
'If I were a free nigger and someone said I was a slave, I'd run too,' Douglas said. 'Wouldn't you, young sir? (I'm sorry, I don't know your name.) Wouldn't you, Zachary, regardless of the truth or falsehood of the claim?'
'Now you just wait one minute here, Alfred,' Hayes snapped.
'Young master Caleb Gillen here told me last year of the absconding from his father's farm of their nigger, Jeremiah. My only regret is not associating the name with this wretch here so he could have been recaptured sooner.'
He twisted Jeremiah's arm behind his back.
'That you failed to do so demonstrates the obvious fact that the name may be borne by more than one individual,' - Douglas said.
'You see here, sir,' Caleb Gillen said, 'I've known that nigger as long as I can remember. I'm not likely to make a mistake about who he is.'
'If he is free, he'll have papers to prove it.' Hayes wrenched Jeremiah's arm again. The black gasped. 'Can you show us papers, nigger?'
'You need not answer that, save in a court of law,' Douglas said sharply, keeping Jeremiah from surrendering on the spot. He was sunk in despair, tears dripping from his face to the floor. Once sent back to the Gillen estate, he would never regain the position of trust that had let him escape, and probably would never be able to buy his
