Puddnhead Wilson | Page 7

he was in fact only
preparing for it by taking an hour's rest before beginning. In front of
Wilson's porch stood Roxy, with a local handmade baby wagon, in
which sat her two charges--one at each end and facing each other. From
Roxy's manner of speech, a stranger would have expected her to be
black, but she was not. Only one sixteenth of her was black, and that
sixteenth did not show. She was of majestic form and stature, her
attitudes were imposing and statuesque, and her gestures and
movements distinguished by a noble and stately grace. Her complexion
was very fair, with the rosy glow of vigorous health in her cheeks, her
face was full of character and expression, her eyes were brown and
liquid, and she had a heavy suit of fine soft hair which was also brown,

but the fact was not apparent because her head was bound about with a
checkered handkerchief and the hair was concealed under it. Her face
was shapely, intelligent, and comely--even beautiful. She had an easy,
independent carriage--when she was among her own caste--and a high
and "sassy" way, withal; but of course she was meek and humble
enough where white people were.
To all intents and purposes Roxy was as white as anybody, but the one
sixteenth of her which was black outvoted the other fifteen parts and
made her a Negro. She was a slave, and salable as such. Her child was
thirty-one parts white, and he, too, was a slave, and by a fiction of law
and custom a Negro. He had blue eyes and flaxen curls like his white
comrade, but even the father of the white child was able to tell the
children apart--little as he had commerce with them--by their clothes;
for the white babe wore ruffled soft muslin and a coral necklace, while
the other wore merely a coarse tow-linen shirt which barely reached to
its knees, and no jewelry.
The white child's name was Thomas a Becket Driscoll, the other's name
was Valet de Chambre: no surname--slaves hadn't the privilege.
Roxana had heard that phrase somewhere, the fine sound of it had
pleased her ear, and as she had supposed it was a name, she loaded it on
to her darling. It soon got shorted to "Chambers," of course.
Wilson knew Roxy by sight, and when the duel of wits begun to play
out, he stepped outside to gather in a record or two. Jasper went to
work energetically, at once, perceiving that his leisure was observed.
Wilson inspected the children and asked:
"How old are they, Roxy?"
"Bofe de same age, sir--five months. Bawn de fust o' Feb'uary."
"They're handsome little chaps. One's just as handsome as the other,
too."
A delighted smile exposed the girl's white teeth, and she said:

"Bless yo' soul, Misto Wilson, it's pow'ful nice o' you to say dat, 'ca'se
one of 'em ain't on'y a nigger. Mighty prime little nigger, I al'ays says,
but dat's 'ca'se it's mine, o' course."
"How do you tell them apart, Roxy, when they haven't any clothes on?"
Roxy laughed a laugh proportioned to her size, and said:
"Oh, I kin tell 'em 'part, Misto Wilson, but I bet Marse Percy couldn't,
not to save his life."
Wilson chatted along for awhile, and presently got Roxy's fingerprints
for his collection--right hand and left--on a couple of his glass strips;
then labeled and dated them, and took the "records" of both children,
and labeled and dated them also.
Two months later, on the third of September, he took this trio of finger
marks again. He liked to have a "series," two or three "takings" at
intervals during the period of childhood, these to be followed at
intervals of several years.
The next day--that is to say, on the fourth of September--something
occurred which profoundly impressed Roxana. Mr. Driscoll missed
another small sum of money--which is a way of saying that this was not
a new thing, but had happened before. In truth, it had happened three
times before. Driscoll's patience was exhausted. He was a fairly
humane man toward slaves and other animals; he was an exceedingly
humane man toward the erring of his own race. Theft he could not
abide, and plainly there was a thief in his house. Necessarily the thief
must be one of his Negros. Sharp measures must be taken. He called
his servants before him. There were three of these, besides Roxy: a man,
a woman, and a boy twelve years old. They were not related. Mr.
Driscoll said:
"You have all been warned before. It has done no good. This time I will
teach you a lesson. I will sell the thief. Which of you is the guilty one?"
They all shuddered at the threat, for here they