Pool_2

him work? That takes TRAINING" dragging that word out "TRAAAAAY_ NINGGG. Training takes time, and money and - jobs. Where in hell's bells do we get five new jobs a day? You're killing us," he seethed. "Easy Jazz. You are the best thing we've got around here. We can't lose you. We need you. You keep the heart beat for all of us, we know that. You are good in it's purest sense." Josephiah Morgan knew to keep the praise going until his apparent adversary came down in blood pressure. First the salve. "More than anybody, you show the way." "But Joe," only Jazz Man called him that, "every day these guys get off the bus with that paper shirt box filled with cookies and maps. Cookies and MAPS! What the hell are you doing dragging these people away from their homes and bringing them here! One or two - OK - but five!" "No. No. WE don't bring them here," as Jazz squinted anticipating Morgan's next analysis," God and fate bring them here. We just pack a lunch." As unconvinced eyes now rolled, Morgan pressed on, "You have to go to our holding house. See it yourself. I will take you personally. We get them dragged in, near death, beaten senseless. We keep as many there as we can, but survival, theirs, dictates we send some North. Not just here, all the cities. They're dying. They're hunted for not bowing or groveling. We need you. Don't close the railroad down." He was, of course, referring to the old salvation of the slave days. Jazz Man was softening, but Morgan pressed on, "I'll bet this man has children. What's your name, sir?" "Lucius Fabian Williams," a very timid voice and then a prouder but weak "and I have a son. He boycotted, and they beat us all. I just tried to protect him. I held him, is all."