But it was making
the nigger sick, and the doctor was afraid to go
too fur with it, fur Sam might die and we would
be at the expense of another nigger. Peroxide of
hidergin hadn't even phased him. Nor a lot of
other things we tried onto him.
You never seen a nigger with his colour running
into him so deep as Sam's did. Sam, he was always
apologizing about it, too. You could see it made
him feel real bad to think his colour was so stubborn.
He felt like it wasn't being polite to the doctor and
me, Sam did, fur his skin to act that-a-way. He
was a willing nigger, Sam was. The doctor, he
says he will find out the right stuff if he has to start
at the letter A and work Sam through every drug
in the hull blame alphabet down to Z.
Which he finally struck it. I don't exactly know
what she had in her, but she was a mixture of some
kind. The only trouble with her was she didn't
work equal and even--left Sam's face looking
peeled and spotty in places. But still, in them
spots, Sam was six shades lighter. The doctor
says that is jest what he wants, that there passing-
on-to-the-next-cage-we-have-the-spotted-girocutus-
look, as he calls it. The chocolate brown and the
lighter spots side by side, he says, made a regular
Before and After out of Sam's face, and was the
best advertisement you could have.
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