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TLDR: Effective code comments serve to elucidate the reasoning behind code design choices, rather than merely describing its functionality while avoiding redundancy and confusion. They should be concise yet informative, providing clarity for non-obvious code segments and explanations for unconventional approaches. Following established rules such as avoiding code duplication and ensuring comments do not obscure unclear code is essential. This text is a resume of the Clean Code Chapter 4 - Comments, with some insights from me and other articles. The Uncle Bob book helps you question your comments to understand if the comment is good or bad, and here you can find these questions more easily. After some time reflecting on the comments, these questions become obvious practices that we internalize, becoming something natural. This kind of knowledge and evolution marks a significant milestone in a developer's growth, demonstrating more maturity and mastery over what they're doing. Uncle Bob has a more purist view and describes comments as failures most of the time because they represent a failure on the part of the developer to create code that doesn't need explanation. I don't believe comments are failures, but rather a tool that, when misused, can hinder more than help. As we'll see, some comments are extremely useful. However, to better understand what constitutes good comments, let's first look at what to avoid when we're creating comments. Bad Explaining the Code Itself When you need to create a comment to explain what the code is doing, your comment is useless because anyone reading your code can already understand what it does. If your code is bad, and you need to explain, you should check the names of variables, functions, and the organization of the code itself. When the code uses variables and functions with explanatory names, following an organized structure, it is easy to understand what is being done. TODO Comments as "notes" of what needs to be done are comments that can be useful but should be avoided. You need to verify if this type of note is something that needs to be explicitly stated in the code if it is something that anyone will understand the need, and if you should not do this or if you cannot do it in this delivery One way to avoid the existence of TODO is to create an ESLint Rule. Mumbling Worse than an unnecessary comment is a comment that only makes sense to the author. You can understand what is commented on, but it makes no sense to anyone other than the author. The comment needs to be easily understandable for other people. Misleading When you make a comment that contradicts your code, for example, when a function should return a boolean false, but in your comment, you say that the function returns a boolean true, or that the variables used are different from the ones that are truly used. This usually occurs when you try to explain the code that shouldn't need an explanation of what it does. Mandated and Noise When your comment has no value but is made out of a "need" to organize something that should not be described through the code. These are comments that only create noise and their existence makes no difference. Comments that can be ignored; their existence can only cause some misunderstanding or error because to understand what the code does its existence is not necessary. Journal, Atrributions and Bylines The Developer should not describe how they reached the final product of their code, informing the journey they followed to reach that code is irrelevant to the code. Another problem is the comment made to inform who made this addition, something that is extremely unnecessary since we have version control tools that make it clear who modified where the code. Position Markers Some developers like to divide a file with one line per comment, just to separate what is being done. This goes against the organization and clarity of the code, bringing only more pollution. If new features need to be created in the code, this comment will confuse instead of guiding other developers on the organization of the code. Too Much Information If there is too much information that should be described in the created code, this should be in the PR, not in the code. Including too much information, with all certainty, will add irrelevant information, the comment should be made with the necessary information, nothing more. Good This is a bit about comments that should be avoided, but now, we enter those that should be questioned to see if the comment is necessary. Informative Comments that provide necessary information that cannot be demonstrated through the code itself, such as the type of time formatting that is used. Although the code explains what it does, the comment that shows time formatting is useful. Clarification When the code, even if well done, is still a bit obscure, or returns something that is too large or easily confused, it is also useful to create a comment that clarifies what the code does. Warning of Consequences It is also useful a comment that warns other developers of the consequences of that code, the problems it can generate, or that the change in it can generate changes in other parts of the code that are not evident in the code itself. Amplifications When you need to amplify the importance of something that is done by the code since the code itself cannot explain what is most important in it. Using these tips to write code comments creates more readable and maintainable code. Helpful comments in your code enable other developers to more quickly understand the design of your codebase.

Comments: The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

Page 1 The New York Times.

The Fugitive.

The Corner Pub.

And now the important day of the election had arrived

The $30,000 Bequest, and Other Stories by Mark Twain, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . Chapter IV here Chapter IV “Chose yet again.” It was the fairy's voice. “Two gifts remain. And do not despair. In the beginning there was but one that was precious, and it is still here.” “Wealth—which is power! How blind I was!” said the man. “Now, at last, life will be worth the living. I will spend, squander, dazzle. These mockers and despisers will crawl in the dirt before me, and I will feed my hungry heart with their envy. I will have all luxuries, all joys, all enchantments of the spirit, all contentments of the body that man holds dear. I will buy, buy, buy! deference, respect, esteem, worship—every pinchbeck grace of life the market of a trivial world can furnish forth. I have lost much time, and chosen badly heretofore, but let that pass; I was ignorant then, and could but take for best what seemed so.” Three short years went by, and a day came when the man sat shivering in a mean garret; and he was gaunt and wan and hollow-eyed, and clothed in rags; and he was gnawing a dry crust and mumbling: “Curse all the world's gifts, for mockeries and gilded lies! And miscalled, every one. They are not gifts, but merely lendings. Pleasure, Love, Fame, Riches: they are but temporary disguises for lasting realities—Pain, Grief, Shame, Poverty. The fairy said true; in all her store there was but one gift which was precious, only one that was not valueless. How poor and cheap and mean I know those others now to be, compared with that inestimable one, that dear and sweet and kindly one, that steeps in dreamless and enduring sleep the pains that persecute the body, and the shames and griefs that eat the mind and heart. Bring it! I am weary, I would rest.” About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Mark Twain (2004). The $30,000 Bequest, and Other Stories. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/142/pg142-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

Wealth—which is power!

The $30,000 Bequest, and Other Stories by Mark Twain, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . CHAPTER III here CHAPTER III The three last named stood by the bed; the aunts austere, the transgressor softly sobbing. The mother turned her head on the pillow; her tired eyes flamed up instantly with sympathy and passionate mother-love when they fell upon her child, and she opened the refuge and shelter of her arms. “Wait!” said Aunt Hannah, and put out her hand and stayed the girl from leaping into them. “Helen,” said the other aunt, impressively, “tell your mother all. Purge your soul; leave nothing unconfessed.” Standing stricken and forlorn before her judges, the young girl mourned her sorrowful tale through the end, then in a passion of appeal cried out: “Oh, mother, can't you forgive me? won't you forgive me?—I am so desolate!” “Forgive you, my darling? Oh, come to my arms!—there, lay your head upon my breast, and be at peace. If you had told a thousand lies—” There was a sound—a warning—the clearing of a throat. The aunts glanced up, and withered in their clothes—there stood the doctor, his face a thunder-cloud. Mother and child knew nothing of his presence; they lay locked together, heart to heart, steeped in immeasurable content, dead to all things else. The physician stood many moments glaring and glooming upon the scene before him; studying it, analyzing it, searching out its genesis; then he put up his hand and beckoned to the aunts. They came trembling to him, and stood humbly before him and waited. He bent down and whispered: “Didn't I tell you this patient must be protected from all excitement? What the hell have you been doing? Clear out of the place!” They obeyed. Half an hour later he appeared in the parlor, serene, cheery, clothed in sunshine, conducting Helen, with his arm about her waist, petting her, and saying gentle and playful things to her; and she also was her sunny and happy self again. “Now, then;” he said, “good-by, dear. Go to your room, and keep away from your mother, and behave yourself. But wait—put out your tongue. There, that will do—you're as sound as a nut!” He patted her cheek and added, “Run along now; I want to talk to these aunts.” She went from the presence. His face clouded over again at once; and as he sat down he said: “You too have been doing a lot of damage—and maybe some good. Some good, yes—such as it is. That woman's disease is typhoid! You've brought it to a show-up, I think, with your insanities, and that's a service—such as it is. I hadn't been able to determine what it was before.” With one impulse the old ladies sprang to their feet, quaking with terror. “Sit down! What are you proposing to do?” “Do? We must fly to her. We—” “You'll do nothing of the kind; you've done enough harm for one day. Do you want to squander all your capital of crimes and follies on a single deal? Sit down, I tell you. I have arranged for her to sleep; she needs it; if you disturb her without my orders, I'll brain you—if you've got the materials for it.” They sat down, distressed and indignant, but obedient, under compulsion. He proceeded: “Now, then, I want this case explained. wanted to explain it to me—as if there hadn't been emotion or excitement enough already. You knew my orders; how did you dare to go in there and get up that riot?” They Hester looked appealing at Hannah; Hannah returned a beseeching look at Hester—neither wanted to dance to this unsympathetic orchestra. The doctor came to their help. He said: “Begin, Hester.” Fingering at the fringes of her shawl, and with lowered eyes, Hester said, timidly: “We should not have disobeyed for any ordinary cause, but this was vital. This was a duty. With a duty one has no choice; one must put all lighter considerations aside and perform it. We were obliged to arraign her before her mother. She had told a lie.” The doctor glowered upon the woman a moment, and seemed to be trying to work up in his mind an understanding of a wholly incomprehensible proposition; then he stormed out: “She told a lie! she? God bless my soul! I tell a million a day! And so does every doctor. And so does everybody—including you—for that matter. And was the important thing that authorized you to venture to disobey my orders and imperil that woman's life! Look here, Hester Gray, this is pure lunacy; that girl tell a lie that was intended to injure a person. The thing is impossible—absolutely impossible. You know it yourselves—both of you; you know it perfectly well.” did that couldn't Hannah came to her sister's rescue: “Hester didn't mean that it was that kind of a lie, and it wasn't. But it was a lie.” “Well, upon my word, I never heard such nonsense! Haven't you got sense enough to discriminate between lies! Don't you know the difference between a lie that helps and a lie that hurts?” “ lies are sinful,” said Hannah, setting her lips together like a vise; “all lies are forbidden.” All The Only Christian fidgeted impatiently in his chair. He went to attack this proposition, but he did not quite know how or where to begin. Finally he made a venture: “Hester, wouldn't you tell a lie to shield a person from an undeserved injury or shame?” “No.” “Not even a friend?” “No.” “Not even your dearest friend?” “No. I would not.” The doctor struggled in silence awhile with this situation; then he asked: “Not even to save him from bitter pain and misery and grief?” “No. Not even to save his life.” Another pause. Then: “Nor his soul?” There was a hush—a silence which endured a measurable interval—then Hester answered, in a low voice, but with decision: “Nor his soul?” No one spoke for a while; then the doctor said: “Is it with you the same, Hannah?” “Yes,” she answered. “I ask you both—why?” “Because to tell such a lie, or any lie, is a sin, and could cost us the loss of our own souls— , indeed, if we died without time to repent.” would “Strange... strange... it is past belief.” Then he asked, roughly: “Is such a soul as that saving?” He rose up, mumbling and grumbling, and started for the door, stumping vigorously along. At the threshold he turned and rasped out an admonition: “Reform! Drop this mean and sordid and selfish devotion to the saving of your shabby little souls, and hunt up something to do that's got some dignity to it! your souls! risk them in good causes; then if you lose them, why should you care? Reform!” worth Risk The good old gentlewomen sat paralyzed, pulverized, outraged, insulted, and brooded in bitterness and indignation over these blasphemies. They were hurt to the heart, poor old ladies, and said they could never forgive these injuries. “Reform!” They kept repeating that word resentfully. “Reform—and learn to tell lies!” Time slipped along, and in due course a change came over their spirits. They had completed the human being's first duty—which is to think about himself until he has exhausted the subject, then he is in a condition to take up minor interests and think of other people. This changes the complexion of his spirits—generally wholesomely. The minds of the two old ladies reverted to their beloved niece and the fearful disease which had smitten her; instantly they forgot the hurts their self-love had received, and a passionate desire rose in their hearts to go to the help of the sufferer and comfort her with their love, and minister to her, and labor for her the best they could with their weak hands, and joyfully and affectionately wear out their poor old bodies in her dear service if only they might have the privilege. “And we shall have it!” said Hester, with the tears running down her face. “There are no nurses comparable to us, for there are no others that will stand their watch by that bed till they drop and die, and God knows we would do that.” “Amen,” said Hannah, smiling approval and endorsement through the mist of moisture that blurred her glasses. “The doctor knows us, and knows we will not disobey again; and he will call no others. He will not dare!” “Dare?” said Hester, with temper, and dashing the water from her eyes; “he will dare anything—that Christian devil! But it will do no good for him to try it this time—but, laws! Hannah! after all's said and done, he is gifted and wise and good, and he would not think of such a thing.... It is surely time for one of us to go to that room. What is keeping him? Why doesn't he come and say so?” They caught the sound of his approaching step. He entered, sat down, and began to talk. “Margaret is a sick woman,” he said. “She is still sleeping, but she will wake presently; then one of you must go to her. She will be worse before she is better. Pretty soon a night-and-day watch must be set. How much of it can you two undertake?” “All of it!” burst from both ladies at once. The doctor's eyes flashed, and he said, with energy: “You ring true, you brave old relics! And you do all of the nursing you can, for there's none to match you in that divine office in this town; but you can't do all of it, and it would be a crime to let you.” It was grand praise, golden praise, coming from such a source, and it took nearly all the resentment out of the aged twin's hearts. “Your Tilly and my old Nancy shall do the rest—good nurses both, white souls with black skins, watchful, loving, tender—just perfect nurses!—and competent liars from the cradle.... Look you! keep a little watch on Helen; she is sick, and is going to be sicker.” do shall The ladies looked a little surprised, and not credulous; and Hester said: “How is that? It isn't an hour since you said she was as sound as a nut.” The doctor answered, tranquilly: “It was a lie.” The ladies turned upon him indignantly, and Hannah said: “How can you make an odious confession like that, in so indifferent a tone, when you know how we feel about all forms of—” “Hush! You are as ignorant as cats, both of you, and you don't know what you are talking about. You are like all the rest of the moral moles; you lie from morning till night, but because you don't do it with your mouths, but only with your lying eyes, your lying inflections, your deceptively misplaced emphasis, and your misleading gestures, you turn up your complacent noses and parade before God and the world as saintly and unsmirched Truth-Speakers, in whose cold-storage souls a lie would freeze to death if it got there! Why will you humbug yourselves with that foolish notion that no lie is a lie except a spoken one? What is the difference between lying with your eyes and lying with your mouth? There is none; and if you would reflect a moment you would see that it is so. There isn't a human being that doesn't tell a gross of lies every day of his life; and you—why, between you, you tell thirty thousand; yet you flare up here in a lurid hypocritical horror because I tell that child a benevolent and sinless lie to protect her from her imagination, which would get to work and warm up her blood to a fever in an hour, if I were disloyal enough to my duty to let it. Which I should probably do if I were interested in saving my soul by such disreputable means. “Come, let us reason together. Let us examine details. When you two were in the sick-room raising that riot, what would you have done if you had known I was coming?” “Well, what?” “You would have slipped out and carried Helen with you—wouldn't you?” The ladies were silent. “What would be your object and intention?” “Well, what?” “To keep me from finding out your guilt; to beguile me to infer that Margaret's excitement proceeded from some cause not known to you. In a word, to tell me a lie—a silent lie. Moreover, a possibly harmful one.” The twins colored, but did not speak. “You not only tell myriads of silent lies, but you tell lies with your mouths—you two.” “ is not so!” That “It is so. But only harmless ones. You never dream of uttering a harmful one. Do you know that that is a concession—and a confession?” “How do you mean?” “It is an unconscious concession that harmless lies are not criminal; it is a confession that you constantly that discrimination. For instance, you declined old Mrs. Foster's invitation last week to meet those odious Higbies at supper—in a polite note in which you expressed regret and said you were very sorry you could not go. It was a lie. It was as unmitigated a lie as was ever uttered. Deny it, Hester—with another lie.” make Hester replied with a toss of her head. “That will not do. Answer. Was it a lie, or wasn't it?” The color stole into the cheeks of both women, and with a struggle and an effort they got out their confession: “It was a lie.” “Good—the reform is beginning; there is hope for you yet; you will not tell a lie to save your dearest friend's soul, but you will spew out one without a scruple to save yourself the discomfort of telling an unpleasant truth.” He rose. Hester, speaking for both, said; coldly: “We have lied; we perceive it; it will occur no more. To lie is a sin. We shall never tell another one of any kind whatsoever, even lies of courtesy or benevolence, to save any one a pang or a sorrow decreed for him by God.” “Ah, how soon you will fall! In fact, you have fallen already; for what you have just uttered is a lie. Good-by. Reform! One of you go to the sick-room now.” About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Mark Twain (2004). The $30,000 Bequest, and Other Stories. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/142/pg142-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

If you had told a thousand lies—

The Tragedy of Pudd'nhead Wilson by Mark Twain, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . Roxana Insists Upon Reform here Roxana Insists Upon Reform The true Southern watermelon is a boon apart, and not to be mentioned with commoner things. It is chief of this world’s luxuries, king by the grace of God over all the fruits of the earth. When one has tasted it, he knows what the angels eat. It was not a Southern watermelon that Eve took: we know it because she repented. —Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar. About the time that Wilson was bowing the committee out, Pembroke Howard was entering the next house to report. He found the old Judge sitting grim and straight in his chair, waiting. “Well, Howard—the news?” “The best in the world.” “Accepts, does he?” and the light of battle gleamed joyously in the Judge’s eye. “Accepts? Why, he jumped at it.” “Did, did he? Now that’s fine—that’s very fine. I like that. When is it to be?” “Now! Straight off! To-night! An admirable fellow—admirable!” “Admirable? He’s a darling! Why, it’s an honor as well as a pleasure to stand up before such a man. Come—off with you! Go and arrange everything—and give him my heartiest compliments. A rare fellow, indeed; an admirable fellow, as you have said!” Howard hurried away, saying— “I’ll have him in the vacant stretch between Wilson’s and the haunted house within the hour, and I’ll bring my own pistols.” Judge Driscoll began to walk the floor in a state of pleased excitement; but presently he stopped, and began to think—began to think of Tom. Twice he moved toward the secretary, and twice he turned away again; but finally he said— “This may be my last night in the world—I must not take the chance. He is worthless and unworthy, but it is largely my fault. He was intrusted to me by my brother on his dying bed, and I have indulged him to his hurt, instead of training him up severely, and making a man of him. I have violated my trust, and I must not add the sin of desertion to that. I have forgiven him once already, and would subject him to a long and hard trial before forgiving him again, if I could live; but I must not run that risk. No, I must restore the will. But if I survive the duel, I will hide it away, and he will not know, and I will not tell him until he reforms, and I see that his reformation is going to be permanent.” He re-drew the will, and his ostensible nephew was heir to a fortune again. As he was finishing his task, Tom, wearied with another brooding tramp, entered the house and went tiptoeing past the sitting-room door. He glanced in, and hurried on, for the sight of his uncle had nothing but terrors for him to-night. But his uncle was writing! That was unusual at this late hour. What could he be writing? A chill of anxiety settled down upon Tom’s heart. Did that writing concern him? He was afraid so. He reflected that when ill luck begins, it does not come in sprinkles, but in showers. He said he would get a glimpse of that document or know the reason why. He heard some one coming, and stepped out of sight and hearing. It was Pembroke Howard. What could be hatching? Howard said, with great satisfaction: “Everything’s right and ready. He’s gone to the battle-ground with his second and the surgeon—also with his brother. I’ve arranged it all with Wilson—Wilson’s his second. We are to have three shots apiece.” “Good! How is the moon?” “Bright as day, nearly. Perfect, for the distance—fifteen yards. No wind—not a breath; hot and still.” “All good; all first-rate. Here, Pembroke, read this, and witness it.” Pembroke read and witnessed the will, then gave the old man’s hand a hearty shake and said: “Now that’s right, York—but I knew you would do it. You couldn’t leave that poor chap to fight along without means or profession, with certain defeat before him, and I knew you wouldn’t, for his father’s sake if not for his own.” “For his dead father’s sake I couldn’t, I know; for poor Percy—but you know what Percy was to me. But mind—Tom is not to know of this unless I fall to-night.” “I understand. I’ll keep the secret.” The Judge put the will away, and the two started for the battle-ground. In another minute the will was in Tom’s hands. His misery vanished, his feelings underwent a tremendous revulsion. He put the will carefully back in its place, and spread his mouth and swung his hat once, twice, three times around his head, in imitation of three rousing huzzas, no sound issuing from his lips. He fell to communing with himself excitedly and joyously, but every now and then he let off another volley of dumb hurrahs. He said to himself: “I’ve got the fortune again, but I’ll not let on that I know about it. And this time I’m going to hang on to it. I take no more risks. I’ll gamble no more, I’ll drink no more, because—well, because I’ll not go where there is any of that sort of thing going on, again. It’s the sure way, and the only sure way; I might have thought of that sooner—well, yes, if I had wanted to. But now—dear me, I’ve had a scare this time, and I’ll take no more chances. Not a single chance more. Land! I persuaded myself this evening that I could fetch him around without any great amount of effort, but I’ve been getting more and more heavy-hearted and doubtful straight along, ever since. If he tells me about this thing, all right; but if he doesn’t, I sha’n’t let on. I—well, I’d like to tell Pudd’nhead Wilson, but—no, I’ll think about that; perhaps I won’t.” He whirled off another dead huzza, and said, “I’m reformed, and this time I’ll stay so, sure!” He was about to close with a final grand silent demonstration, when he suddenly recollected that Wilson had put it out of his power to pawn or sell the Indian knife, and that he was once more in awful peril of exposure by his creditors for that reason. His joy collapsed utterly, and he turned away and moped toward the door moaning and lamenting over the bitterness of his luck. He dragged himself up-stairs, and brooded in his room a long time disconsolate and forlorn, with Luigi’s Indian knife for a text. At last he sighed and said: “When I supposed these stones were glass and this ivory bone, the thing hadn’t any interest for me because it hadn’t any value, and couldn’t help me out of my trouble. But now—why, now it is full of interest; yes, and of a sort to break a body’s heart. It’s a bag of gold that has turned to dirt and ashes in my hands. It could save me, and save me so easily, and yet I’ve got to go to ruin. It’s like drowning with a life-preserver in my reach. All the hard luck comes to me, and all the good luck goes to other people—Pudd’nhead Wilson, for instance; even his career has got a sort of a little start at last, and what has he done to deserve it, I should like to know? Yes, he has opened his own road, but he isn’t content with that, but must block mine. It’s a sordid, selfish world, and I wish I was out of it.” He allowed the light of the candle to play upon the jewels of the sheath, but the flashings and sparklings had no charm for his eye; they were only just so many pangs to his heart. “I must not say anything to Roxy about this thing,” he said, “she is too daring. She would be for 186digging these stones out and selling them, and then—why, she would be arrested and the stones traced, and then—” The thought made him quake, and he hid the knife away, trembling all over and glancing furtively about, like a criminal who fancies that the accuser is already at hand. Should he try to sleep? Oh, no, sleep was not for him; his trouble was too haunting, too afflicting for that. He must have somebody to mourn with. He would carry his despair to Roxy. He had heard several distant gunshots, but that sort of thing was not uncommon, and they had made no impression upon him. He went out at the back door, and turned westward. He passed Wilson’s house and proceeded along the lane, and presently saw several figures approaching Wilson’s place through the vacant lots. These were the duelists returning from the fight; he thought he recognized them, but as he had no desire for white people’s company, he stooped down behind the fence until they were out of his way. Roxy was feeling fine. She said: “Whah was you, child? Warn’t you in it?” “In what?” “In de duel.” “Duel? Has there been a duel?” “’Co’se dey has. De ole Jedge has be’n havin’ a duel wid one o’ dem twins.” “Great Scott!” Then he added to himself: “That’s what made him re-make the will; he thought he might get killed, and it softened him toward me. And that’s what he and Howard were so busy about.… Oh dear, if the twin had only killed him, I should be out of my—” “What is you mumblin’ bout, Chambers? Whah was you? Didn’t you know dey was gwyne to be a duel?” “No, I didn’t. The old man tried to get me to fight one with Count Luigi, but he didn’t succeed, so I reckon he concluded to patch up the family honor himself.” He laughed at the idea, and went rambling on with a detailed account of his talk with the Judge, and how shocked and ashamed the Judge was to find that he had a coward in his family. He glanced up at last, and got a shock himself. Roxana’s bosom was heaving with suppressed passion, and she was glowering down upon him with measureless contempt written in her face. “En you refuse’ to fight a man dat kicked you, ’stid o’ jumpin’ at de chance! En you ain’t got no mo’ feelin’ den to come en tell me, dat fetched sich a po’ low-down ornery rabbit into de worl’! Pah! it make me sick! It’s de nigger in you, dat’s what it is. Thirty-one parts o’ you is white, en on’y one part nigger, en dat po’ little one part is yo’ . Tain’t wuth savin’; tain’t wuth totin’ out on a shovel en throwin’ in de gutter. You has disgraced yo’ birth. What would yo’ pa think o’ you? It’s enough to make him turn in his grave.” soul The last three sentences stung Tom into a fury, and he said to himself that if his father were only alive and in reach of assassination his mother would soon find that he had a very clear notion of the size of his indebtedness to that man, and was willing to pay it up in full, and would do it too, even at risk of his life; but he kept this thought to himself; that was safest in his mother’s present state. “Whatever has come o’ yo’ Essex blood? Dat’s what I can’t understan’. En it ain’t on’y jist Essex blood dat’s in you, not by a long sight—’deed it ain’t! My great-great-great-gran’father en yo’ great-great-great-great-gran’father was Ole Cap’n John Smith, de highest blood dat Ole Virginny ever turned out, en great-great-gran’mother or somers along back dah, was Pocahontas de Injun queen, en her husbun’ was a nigger king outen Africa—en yit here you is, a slinkin’ outen a duel en disgracin’ our whole line like a ornery low-down hound! Yes, it’s de nigger in you!” his She sat down on her candle-box and fell into a reverie. Tom did not disturb her; he sometimes lacked prudence, but it was not in circumstances of this kind, Roxana’s storm went gradually down, but it died hard, and even when it seemed to be quite gone, it would now and then break out in a distant rumble, so to speak, in the form of muttered ejaculations. One of these was, “Ain’t nigger enough in him to show in his finger-nails, en dat takes mighty little—yit dey’s enough to paint his soul.” Presently she muttered. “Yassir, enough to paint a whole thimbleful of ’em.” At last her ramblings ceased altogether, and her countenance began to clear—a welcome sign to Tom, who had learned her moods, and knew she was on the threshold of good-humor, now. He noticed that from time to time she unconsciously carried her finger to the end of her nose. He looked closer and said: “Why, mammy, the end of your nose is skinned. How did that come?” She sent out the sort of whole-hearted peal of laughter which God had vouchsafed in its perfection to none but the happy angels in heaven and the bruised and broken black slave on the earth, and said: “Dad fetch dat duel, I be’n in it myself.” “Gracious! did a bullet do that?” “Yassir, you bet it did!” “Well, I declare! Why, how did that happen?” “Happened dis-away. I ’uz a-sett’n’ here kinder dozin’ in de dark, en goes a gun, right out dah. I skips along out towards t’other end o’ de house to see what’s gwyne on, en stops by de ole winder on de side towards Pudd’nhead Wilson’s house dat ain’t got no sash in it,—but dey ain’t none of ’em got any sashes, fur as dat’s concerned,—en I stood dah in de dark en look out, en dar in de moonlight, right down under me ’uz one o’ de twins a-cussin’—not much, but jist a-cussin’ soft—it ’uz de brown one dat ’uz cussin’, ’ca’se he ’uz hit in de shoulder. En Doctor Claypool he ’uz a-workin’ at him, en Pudd’nhead Wilson he ’uz a-he’pin’, en ole Jedge Driscoll en Pem Howard ’uz a-standin’ out yonder a little piece waitin’ for ’em to git ready agin. En treckly dey squared off en give de word, en went de pistols, en de twin he say, ‘Ouch!’—hit him on de han’ dis time,—en I hear dat same bullet go ag’in, de logs under de winder; en de nex’ time dey shoot, de twin say, ‘Ouch!’ ag’in, en I done it too, ’ca’se de bullet glance’ on his cheek-bone en skip up here en glance on de side o’ de winder en whiz right acrost my face en tuck de hide off’n my nose—why, if I’d ’a’ be’n jist a inch or a inch en a half furder ’t would ’a’ tuck de whole nose en disfiggered me. Here’s de bullet; I hunted her up.” che-bang! bang-bang spat! “Did you stand there all the time?” “Dat’s a question to ask, ain’t it? What else would I do? Does I git a chance to see a duel every day?” “Why, you were right in range! Weren’t you afraid?” The woman gave a sniff of scorn. “’Fraid! De Smith-Pocahontases ain’t ’fraid o’ nothin’, let alone bullets.” “They’ve got pluck enough, I suppose; what they lack is judgment. wouldn’t have stood there.” I “Nobody’s accusin’ you!” “Did anybody else get hurt?” “Yes, we all got hit ’cep’ de blon’ twin en de doctor en de seconds. De Jedge didn’t git hurt, but I hear Pudd’nhead say de bullet snip some o’ his ha’r off.” “’George!” said Tom to himself, “to come so near being out of my trouble, and miss it by an inch. Oh dear, dear, he will live to find me out and sell me to some nigger-trader yet—yes, and he would do it in a minute.” Then he said aloud, in a grave tone— “Mother, we are in an awful fix.” Roxana caught her breath with a spasm, and said— “Chile! What you hit a body so sudden for, like dat? What’s be’n en gone en happen’?” “Well, there’s one thing I didn’t tell you. When I wouldn’t fight, he tore up the will again, and—” Roxana’s face turned a dead white, and she said— “Now you’s —done forever! Dat’s de end. Bofe un us is gwyne to starve to—” done! “Wait and hear me through, can’t you! I reckon that when he resolved to fight, himself, he thought he might get killed and not have a chance to forgive me any more in this life, so he made the will again, and I’ve seen it, and it’s all right. But—” “Oh, thank goodness, den we’s safe ag’in!—safe! en so what did you want to come here en talk sich dreadful—” “Hold , I tell you, and let me finish. The swag I gathered won’t half square me up, and the first thing we know, my creditors—well, you know what’ll happen.” on Roxana dropped her chin, and told her son to leave her alone—she must think this matter out. Presently she said impressively: “You got to go mighty keerful now, I tell you! En here’s what you got to do. He didn’t git killed, en if you gives him de least reason, he’ll bust de will ag’in, en dat’s de time, now you hear me! So—you’s got to show him what you kin do in de nex’ few days. You’s got to be pison good, en let him see it; you got to do everything dat’ll make him b’lieve in you, en you got to sweeten aroun’ ole Aunt Pratt, too,—she’s pow’ful strong wid de Jedge, en de bes’ frien’ you got. Nex’, you’ll go ’long away to Sent Louis, en dat’ll him in yo’ favor. Den you go en make a bargain wid dem people. You tell ’em he ain’t gwyne to live long—en dat’s de fac’, too,—en tell ’em you’ll pay ’em intrust, en big intrust, too,—ten per—what you call it?” las’ keep “Ten per cent. a month?” “Dat’s it. Den you take and sell yo’ truck aroun’, a little at a time, en pay de intrust. How long will it las’?” “I think there’s enough to pay the interest five or six months.” “Den you’s all right. If he don’t die in six months, dat don’t make no diff’rence—Providence’ll provide. You’s gwyne to be safe—if you behaves.” She bent an austere eye on him and added, “En you gwyne to behave—does you know dat?” is He laughed and said he was going to try, anyway. She did not unbend. She said gravely: “Tryin’ ain’t de thing. You’s gwyne to it. You ain’t gwyne to steal a pin—’ca’se it ain’t safe no mo’; en you ain’t gwyne into no bad comp’ny—not even once, you understand; en you ain’t gwyne to drink a drop—nary single drop; en you ain’t gwyne to gamble one single gamble—not one! Dis ain’t what you’s gwyne to to do, it’s what you’s gwyne to . En I’ll tell you how I knows it. Dis is how. I’s gwyne to foller along to Sent Louis my own self; en you’s gwyne to come to me every day o’ yo’ life, en I’ll look you over; en if you fails in one single one o’ dem things—jist —I take my oath I’ll come straight down to dis town en tell de Jedge you’s a nigger en a slave—en it!” She paused to let her words sink home. Then she added, “Chambers, does you b’lieve me when I says dat?” do try do one prove Tom was sober enough now. There was no levity in his voice when he answered: “Yes, mother, I know, now, that I am reformed—and permanently. Permanently—and beyond the reach of any human temptation.” “Den g’ long home en begin!” About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Mark Twain (2004). The Tragedy of Pudd'nhead Wilson. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/102/pg102-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

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