The Tragedy of Pudd’nhead Wilson by Mark Twain

buy some mo’ dat don’t now de chillen–so _dat’s_ all right. When I takes

de chillen out to git de air, de minute I’s roun’ de corner I’s gwine

to gaum dey mouths all roun’ wid jam, den dey can’t _nobody_ notice

dey’s changed. Yes, I gwine ter do dat till I’s safe, if it’s a year.

“Dey ain’t but one man dat I’s afeard of, en dat’s dat Pudd’nhead Wilson.

Dey calls him a pudd’nhead, en says he’s a fool. My lan, dat man

ain’t no mo’ fool den I is! He’s de smartes’ man in dis town,

lessn’ it’s Jedge Driscoll or maybe Pem Howard. Blame dat man,

he worries me wid dem ornery glasses o’ his’n; _I_ b’lieve he’s a witch.

But nemmine, I’s gwine to happen aroun’ dah one o’ dese days en let

on dat I reckon he wants to print a chillen’s fingers ag’in; en if HE

don’t notice dey’s changed, I bound dey ain’t nobody gwine to notice it,

en den I’s safe, sho’. But I reckon I’ll tote along a hoss-shoe to

keep off de witch work.”

The new Negros gave Roxy no trouble, of course. The master gave her none,

for one of his speculations was in jeopardy, and his mind was so

occupied that he hardly saw the children when he looked at them,

and all Roxy had to do was to get them both into a gale of laughter

when he came about; then their faces were mainly cavities exposing gums,

and he was gone again before the spasm passed and the little creatures

resumed a human aspect.

Within a few days the fate of the speculation became so dubious that

Mr. Percy went away with his brother, the judge, to see what could be

done with it. It was a land speculation as usual, and it had gotten

complicated with a lawsuit. The men were gone seven weeks. Before they

got back, Roxy had paid her visit to Wilson, and was satisfied.

Wilson took the fingerprints, labeled them with the names and with the date–

October the first–put them carefully away, and continued his chat

with Roxy, who seemed very anxious that he should admire the great

advance in flesh and beauty which the babes had made since he took

their fingerprints a month before. He complimented their improvement

to her contentment; and as they were without any disguise of jam

or other stain, she trembled all the while and was miserably frightened

lest at any moment he–

But he didn’t. He discovered nothing; and she went home jubilant,

and dropped all concern about the matter permanently out of her mind.

CHAPTER 4

The Ways of the Changelings

Adam and Eve had many advantages, but the principal one was,

that they escaped teething.

–Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar

There is this trouble about special providences–namely, there is

so often a doubt as to which party was intended to be the beneficiary.

In the case of the children, the bears, and the prophet,

the bears got more real satisfaction out of the episode than

the prophet did, because they got the children.

–Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar

This history must henceforth accommodate itself to the change which

Roxana has consummated, and call the real heir “Chambers” and the

usurping little slave, “Thomas `a Becket”–shortening this latter

name to “Tom,” for daily use, as the people about him did.

“Tom” was a bad baby, from the very beginning of his usurpation.

He would cry for nothing; he would burst into storms of devilish

temper without notice, and let go scream after scream and squall

after squall, then climax the thing with “holding his breath”–

that frightful specialty of the teething nursling, in the throes of

which the creature exhausts its lungs, then is convulsed with noiseless

squirmings and twistings and kickings in the effort to get its breath,

while the lips turn blue and the mouth stands wide and rigid,

offering for inspection one wee tooth set in the lower rim of a hoop

of red gums; and when the appalling stillness has endured until one

is sure the lost breath will never return, a nurse comes flying,

and dashes water in the child’s face, and–presto! the lungs fill,

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