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his papers and smoke cigars in peace until the appointed hour and so effectively dismissed Henry for the rest of the morning.
    “Here, Henry,” Father said. “Amuse yourself.” He handed Henry a twenty dollar bill and waved him off.
    Slightly wounded by Father’s curt dismissal, Henry left the club, squinting in the bright sun. Avoiding the crowds milling before the auction hall, Henry headed further south, toward the business district and the Blackwell Building. There was a newsstand in the lobby and he thought he might loiter there reading magazines for a bit, hopefully getting his mind off of Martin and the auction, if only for a moment.
    A block from the auction hall, Henry saw one of his classmates, Adam Pettibone buying a hot dog from a street vendor. Adam was perhaps the person Henry disliked most in all the world. Having recognized Adam’s porcine visage and blond curls from some distance away, Henry stopped in his tracks but resisted the urge to cross the street to avoid an encounter, being somewhat more inclined to satisfy his curiosity about the boy standing behind Adam, his head bowed, face nearly hidden by the brim of his hat.
    Upon catching sight of Henry, Adam broke out in a smug sneer. He had mustard smeared on the corner of his mouth. “Henry! Hello!”
    “Hello, Adam,” Henry said reluctantly. He shoved his fists in his pockets so as to avoid shaking Adam’s hand, which had not been offered in any case.
    “Oh, you knew, didn’t you? I’ve already had my slave for months now.” The boy stood to Adam’s right and slightly behind, eyes lowered, hands clasped behind his back. He was quite a bit smaller than Adam, short and slight, though Henry supposed this wasn’t necessarily a sign of dubious quality. In fact, with his milky skin, black hair and delicate features, he was a pretty little thing, though not really to Henry’s own taste. Henry noted that the slave was empty-handed; Adam had not bought him a hot dog of his own. “I’ve had him since April.”
    “I know,” Henry admitted grudgingly. Naturally, Henry had been envious of Adam with his early acquisition, and even more so because of their mutual antipathy. However, Henry had consoled himself with the knowledge that Adam’s slave was not of the first order; Louis and his other friends had assured Henry that the stock made available at the end of August would be of much higher quality.
    Henry knew his father already held a low opinion of Adam’s father, but that poor opinion had been solidified when Mr. Pettibone had purchased a slave left over from the previous year’s auction immediately following Adam’s April birthday. Indeed, Hiram Blackwell thought poorly of any father who succumbed to wheedling and supplied his son with a companion ahead of schedule. Tradition dictated that companion slaves be purchased at the end of summer before the start of a boy’s eleventh year of school and not a moment sooner. At the time of Henry’s June birthday, without actually discussing any of the impulses that might make a boy impatient to receive his companion, Father had made it clear that Henry should expect to wait until the end of the summer to have any help satisfying those urges.
    “ My father didn’t make me wait,” Adam said, gloating.
    While it might have been true that Adam’s slave had been taken from amongst the dregs, Adam had used the fact that he had one at all to lord it over his peers. He couldn’t do much more than brag, however; he hadn’t yet been allowed to bring his slave to school to attend him, as no accommodation was made for slaves before the eleventh year.
    “Do you want to meet him?” He took another oversized bite of his hot dog and began to chew.
    Henry shrugged, which was encouragement enough for Adam. He commanded, “Sam, come here,” and the boy stepped promptly forward to stand at Adam’s side with hat in hand, though he seemed somewhat ill at ease. “Introduce yourself,” Adam said around the