Chapter XI

Little Lord Fauntleroy

by Francis Hodgson Burnett

When Mr. Hobbs's young friend left him to go to Dorincourt Castle
and become Lord Fauntleroy, and the grocery-man had time to realize
that the Atlantic Ocean lay between himself and the small companion
who had spent so many agreeable hours in his society, he really began
to feel very lonely indeed. The fact was, Mr. Hobbs was not a clever
man nor even a bright one; he was, indeed, rather a slow and heavy
person, and he had never made many acquaintances. He was not
mentally energetic enough to know how to amuse himself, and in truth
he never did anything of an entertaining nature but read the
newspapers and add up his accounts. It was not very easy for him to
add up his accounts, and sometimes it took him a long time to bring
them out right; and in the old days, little Lord Fauntleroy, who had
learned how to add up quite nicely with his fingers and a slate and
pencil, had sometimes even gone to the length of trying to help him;
and, then too, he had been so good a listener and had taken such an
interest in what the newspaper said, and he and Mr. Hobbs had held
such long conversations about the Revolution and the British and the
elections and the Republican party, that it was no wonder his going
left a blank in the grocery store. At first it seemed to Mr. Hobbs
that Cedric was not really far away, and would come back again; that
some day he would look up from his paper and see the little lad
standing in the door-way, in his white suit and red stockings, and
with his straw hat on the back of his head, and would hear him say in
his cheerful little voice: "Hello, Mr. Hobbs! This is a hot
day--isn't it?" But as the days passed on and this did not happen,
Mr. Hobbs felt very dull and uneasy. He did not even enjoy his
newspaper as much as he used to. He would put the paper down on his
knee after reading it, and sit and stare at the high stool for a long
time. There were some marks on the long legs which made him feel
quite dejected and melancholy. They were marks made by the heels of
the next Earl of Dorincourt, when he kicked and talked at the same
time. It seems that even youthful earls kick the legs of things they
sit on;--noble blood and lofty lineage do not prevent it. After
looking at those marks, Mr. Hobbs would take out his gold watch and
open it and stare at the inscription: "From his oldest friend, Lord
Fauntleroy, to Mr. Hobbs. When this you see, remember me." And after
staring at it awhile, he would shut it up with a loud snap, and sigh
and get up and go and stand in the door-way--between the box of
potatoes and the barrel of apples--and look up the street. At night,
when the store was closed, he would light his pipe and walk slowly
along the pavement until he reached the house where Cedric had lived,
on which there was a sign that read, "This House to Let"; and he
would stop near it and look up and shake his head, and puff at his
pipe very hard, and after a while walk mournfully back again.

This went on for two or three weeks before any new idea came to
him. Being slow and ponderous, it always took him a long time to
reach a new idea. As a rule, he did not like new ideas, but
preferred old ones. After two or three weeks, however, during which,
instead of getting better, matters really grew worse, a novel plan
slowly and deliberately dawned upon him. He would go to see Dick.
He smoked a great many pipes before he arrived at the conclusion, but
finally he did arrive at it. He would go to see Dick. He knew all
about Dick. Cedric had told him, and his idea was that perhaps Dick
might be some comfort to him in the way of talking things over.

So one day when Dick was very hard at work blacking a customer's
boots, a short, stout man with a heavy face and a bald head stopped
on the pavement and stared for two or three minutes at the
bootblack's sign, which read:

           "PROFESSOR DICK TIPTON                           
    CAN'T BE BEAT."

He stared at it so long that Dick began to
take a lively interest in him, and when he had put the finishing
touch to his customer's boots, he said:

"Want a shine, sir?"

The stout man came forward deliberately and put his foot on the
rest.

"Yes," he said.

Then when Dick fell to work, the stout man looked from Dick to
the sign and from the sign to Dick.

"Where did you get that?" he asked.

"From a friend o' mine," said Dick,--"a little feller. He guv'
me the whole outfit. He was the best little feller ye ever saw.
He's in England now. Gone to be one o' them lords."

"Lord--Lord--" asked Mr. Hobbs, with ponderous slowness, "Lord
Fauntleroy--Goin' to be Earl of Dorincourt?"

Dick almost dropped his brush.

"Why, boss!" he exclaimed, "d' ye know him yerself?"

"I've known him," answered Mr. Hobbs, wiping his warm forehead,
"ever since he was born. We was lifetime acquaintances--that's what
we was."

It really made him feel quite agitated to speak of it. He
pulled the splendid gold watch out of his pocket and opened it, and
showed the inside of the case to Dick.

"`When this you see, remember me,'" he read. "That was his
parting keepsake to me `I don't want you to forget me'--those was his
words--I'd ha' remembered him," he went on, shaking his head, "if he
hadn't given me a thing an' I hadn't seen hide nor hair on him again.
He was a companion as any man would remember."

"He was the nicest little feller I ever see," said Dick. "An'
as to sand--I never seen so much sand to a little feller. I thought
a heap o' him, I did,--an' we was friends, too--we was sort o' chums
from the fust, that little young un an' me. I grabbed his ball from
under a stage fur him, an' he never forgot it; an' he'd come down
here, he would, with his mother or his nuss and he'd holler: `Hello,
Dick!' at me, as friendly as if he was six feet high, when he warn't
knee high to a grasshopper, and was dressed in gal's clo'es. He was
a gay little chap, and when you was down on your luck, it did you
good to talk to him."

"That's so," said Mr. Hobbs. "It was a pity to make a earl out
of him. He would have shone in the grocery business--or dry goods
either; he would have shone!" And he shook his head with deeper
regret than ever.

It proved that they had so much to say to each other that it was
not possible to say it all at one time, and so it was agreed that the
next night Dick should make a visit to the store and keep Mr. Hobbs
company. The plan pleased Dick well enough. He had been a street
waif nearly all his life, but he had never been a bad boy, and he had
always had a private yearning for a more respectable kind of
existence. Since he had been in business for himself, he had made
enough money to enable him to sleep under a roof instead of out in
the streets, and he had begun to hope he might reach even a higher
plane, in time. So, to be invited to call on a stout, respectable
man who owned a corner store, and even had a horse and wagon, seemed
to him quite an event.

"Do you know anything about earls and castles?" Mr. Hobbs
inquired. "I'd like to know more of the particklars."

"There's a story about some on 'em in the Penny Story Gazette,"
said Dick. "It's called the `Crime of a Coronet; or, The Revenge of
the Countess May.' It's a boss thing, too. Some of us boys 're
takin' it to read."

"Bring it up when you come," said Mr. Hobbs, "an' I'll pay for
it. Bring all you can find that have any earls in 'em. If there are
n't earls, markises'll do, or dooks--though he never made mention of
any dooks or markises. We did go over coronets a little, but I never
happened to see any. I guess they don't keep 'em 'round here."

"Tiffany 'd have 'em if anybody did," said Dick, "but I don't
know as I'd know one if I saw it."

Mr. Hobbs did not explain that he would not have known one if he
saw it. He merely shook his head ponderously.

"I s'pose there is very little call for 'em," he said, and that
ended the matter.

This was the beginning of quite a substantial friendship. When
Dick went up to the store, Mr. Hobbs received him with great
hospitality. He gave him a chair tilted against the door, near a
barrel of apples, and after his young visitor was seated, he made a
jerk at them with the hand in which he held his pipe, saying:

"Help yerself."

Then he looked at the story papers, and after that they read and
discussed the British aristocracy; and Mr. Hobbs smoked his pipe very
hard and shook his head a great deal. He shook it most when he
pointed out the high stool with the marks on its legs.

"There's his very kicks," he said impressively; "his very kicks.
I sit and look at 'em by the hour. This is a world of ups an' it's
a world of downs. Why, he'd set there, an' eat crackers out of a
box, an' apples out of a barrel, an' pitch his cores into the street;
an' now he's a lord a-livin' in a castle. Them's a lord's kicks;
they'll be a earl's kicks some day. Sometimes I says to myself, says
I, `Well, I'll be jiggered!'"

He seemed to derive a great deal of comfort from his reflections
and Dick's visit. Before Dick went home, they had a supper in the
small back-room; they had crackers and cheese and sardines, and other
canned things out of the store, and Mr. Hobbs solemnly opened two
bottles of ginger ale, and pouring out two glasses, proposed a
toast.

"Here's to him!" he said, lifting his glass, "an' may he teach
'em a lesson--earls an' markises an' dooks an' all!"

After that night, the two saw each other often, and Mr. Hobbs
was much more comfortable and less desolate. They read the Penny
Story Gazette, and many other interesting things, and gained a
knowledge of the habits of the nobility and gentry which would have
surprised those despised classes if they had realized it. One day
Mr. Hobbs made a pilgrimage to a book store down town, for the
express purpose of adding to their library. He went to the clerk and
leaned over the counter to speak to him.

"I want," he said, "a book about earls."

"What!" exclaimed the clerk.

"A book," repeated the grocery-man, "about earls."

"I'm afraid," said the clerk, looking rather queer, "that we
haven't what you want."

"Haven't?" said Mr. Hobbs, anxiously. "Well, say markises
then--or dooks."

"I know of no such book," answered the clerk.

Mr. Hobbs was much disturbed. He looked down on the
floor,--then he looked up.

"None about female earls?" he inquired.

"I'm afraid not," said the clerk with a smile.

"Well," exclaimed Mr. Hobbs, "I'll be jiggered!"

He was just going out of the store, when the clerk called him
back and asked him if a story in which the nobility were chief
characters would do. Mr. Hobbs said it would--if he could not get an
entire volume devoted to earls. So the clerk sold him a book called
"The Tower of London," written by Mr. Harrison Ainsworth, and he
carried it home.

When Dick came they began to read it. It was a very wonderful
and exciting book, and the scene was laid in the reign of the famous
English queen who is called by some people Bloody Mary. And as Mr.
Hobbs heard of Queen Mary's deeds and the habit she had of chopping
people's heads off, putting them to the torture, and burning them
alive, he became very much excited. He took his pipe out of his
mouth and stared at Dick, and at last he was obliged to mop the
perspiration from his brow with his red pocket handkerchief.

"Why, he ain't safe!" he said. "He ain't safe! If the women
folks can sit up on their thrones an' give the word for things like
that to be done, who's to know what's happening to him this very
minute? He's no more safe than nothing! Just let a woman like that
get mad, an' no one's safe!"

"Well," said Dick, though he looked rather anxious himself; "ye
see this 'ere un isn't the one that's bossin' things now. I know her
name's Victory, an' this un here in the book, her name's Mary."

"So it is," said Mr. Hobbs, still mopping his forehead; "so it
is. An' the newspapers are not sayin' anything about any racks,
thumb-screws, or stake-burnin's,--but still it doesn't seem as if 't
was safe for him over there with those queer folks. Why, they tell
me they don't keep the Fourth o' July!"

He was privately uneasy for several days; and it was not until
he received Fauntleroy's letter and had read it several times, both
to himself and to Dick, and had also read the letter Dick got about
the same time, that he became composed again.

But they both found great pleasure in their letters. They read
and re-read them, and talked them over and enjoyed every word of
them. And they spent days over the answers they sent and read them
over almost as often as the letters they had received.

It was rather a labor for Dick to write his. All his knowledge
of reading and writing he had gained during a few months, when he had
lived with his elder brother, and had gone to a night-school; but,
being a sharp boy, he had made the most of that brief education, and
had spelled out things in newspapers since then, and practiced
writing with bits of chalk on pavements or walls or fences. He told
Mr. Hobbs all about his life and about his elder brother, who had
been rather good to him after their mother died, when Dick was quite
a little fellow. Their father had died some time before. The
brother's name was Ben, and he had taken care of Dick as well as he
could, until the boy was old enough to sell newspapers and run
errands. They had lived together, and as he grew older Ben had
managed to get along until he had quite a decent place in a store.

"And then," exclaimed Dick with disgust, "blest if he didn't go
an' marry a gal! Just went and got spoony an' hadn't any more sense
left! Married her, an' set up housekeepin' in two back rooms. An' a
hefty un she was,--a regular tiger-cat. She'd tear things to pieces
when she got mad,--and she was mad all the time.

Had a baby just like her,--yell day 'n' night! An' if I didn't
have to 'tend it! an' when it screamed, she'd fire things at me.

She fired a plate at me one day, an' hit the baby--cut its chin.
Doctor said he'd carry the mark till he died. A nice mother she
was! Crackey! but didn't we have a time--Ben 'n' mehself 'n' the
young un. She was mad at Ben because he didn't make money faster;
'n' at last he went out West with a man to set up a cattle ranch.
An' hadn't been gone a week'fore one night, I got home from sellin'
my papers, 'n' the rooms wus locked up 'n' empty, 'n' the woman o'
the house. she told me Minna 'd gone--shown a clean pair o' heels.
Some un else said she'd gone across the water to be nuss to a lady as
had a little baby, too. Never heard a word of her since--nuther has
Ben. If I'd ha' bin him, I wouldn't ha' fretted a bit--'n' I guess
he didn't. But he thought a heap o' her at the start. Tell you, he
was spoons on her. She was a daisy-lookin' gal, too, when she was
dressed up 'n' not mad. She'd big black eyes 'n' black hair down to
her knees; she'd make it into a rope as big as your arm, and twist it
'round 'n' 'round her head; 'n' I tell you her eyes 'd snap! Folks
used to say she was part _I_tali-un--said her mother or father 'd
come from there, 'n' it made her queer. I tell ye, she was one of
'em--she was!"

He often told Mr. Hobbs stories of her and of his brother Ben,
who, since his going out West, had written once or twice to Dick.

Ben's luck had not been good, and he had wandered from place to
place; but at last he had settled on a ranch in California, where he
was at work at the time when Dick became acquainted with Mr Hobbs.

"That gal," said Dick one day, "she took all the grit out o'
him. I couldn't help feelin' sorry for him sometimes."

They were sitting in the store door-way together, and Mr. Hobbs
was filling his pipe.

"He oughtn't to 've married," he said solemnly, as he rose to
get a match. "Women--I never could see any use in 'em myself."

As he took the match from its box, he stopped and looked down on
the counter.

"Why!" he said, "if here isn't a letter! I didn't see it
before. The postman must have laid it down when I wasn't noticin',
or the newspaper slipped over it."

He picked it up and looked at it carefully.

"It's from him!" he exclaimed. "That's the very one it's
from!"

He forgot his pipe altogether. He went back to his chair quite
excited and took his pocket-knife and opened the envelope.

"I wonder what news there is this time," he said.

And then he unfolded the letter and read as follows:

"Dorincourt Castle"

My dear Mr. Hobbs

"I write this in a great hury becaus i have something curous to
tell you i know you will be very mutch suprised my dear frend when i
tel you. It is all a mistake and i am not a lord and i shall not
have to be an earl there is a lady whitch was marid to my uncle bevis
who is dead and she has a little boy and he is lord fauntleroy becaus
that is the way it is in England the earls eldest sons little boy is
the earl if every body else is dead i mean if his farther and
grandfarther are dead my grandfarther is not dead but my uncle bevis
is and so his boy is lord Fauntleroy and i am not becaus my papa was
the youngest son and my name is Cedric Errol like it was when i was
in New York and all the things will belong to the other boy i thought
at first i should have to give him my pony and cart but my
grandfarther says i need not my grandfarther is very sorry and i
think he does not like the lady but preaps he thinks dearest and i
are sorry because i shall not be an earl i would like to be an earl
now better than i thout i would at first becaus this is a beautifle
castle and i like every body so and when you are rich you can do so
many things i am not rich now becaus when your papa is only the
youngest son he is not very rich i am going to learn to work so that
i can take care of dearest i have been asking Wilkins about grooming
horses preaps i might be a groom or a coachman. the lady brought her
little boy to the castle and my grandfarther and Mr. Havisham talked
to her i think she was angry she talked loud and my grandfarther was
angry too i never saw him angry before i wish it did not make them
all mad i thort i would tell you and Dick right away becaus you would
be intrusted so no more at present with love from
"your old
frend

"Cedric Errol (Not lord Fauntleroy)."

Mr. Hobbs fell back in his chair, the letter dropped on his
knee, his pen-knife slipped to the floor, and so did the envelope.

"Well!" he ejaculated, "I am jiggered!"

He was so dumfounded that he actually changed his exclamation.
It had always been his habit to say, "I will be jiggered," but this
time he said, "I am jiggered." Perhaps he really was jiggered. There
is no knowing.

"Well," said Dick, "the whole thing's bust up, hasn't it?"

"Bust!" said Mr. Hobbs. "It's my opinion it's a put-up job o'
the British ristycrats to rob him of his rights because he's an
American. They've had a spite agin us ever since the Revolution, an'
they're takin' it out on him. I told you he wasn't safe, an' see
what's happened! Like as not, the whole gover'ment's got together to
rob him of his lawful ownin's."

He was very much agitated. He had not approved of the change in
his young friend's circumstances at first, but lately he had become
more reconciled to it, and after the receipt of Cedric's letter he
had perhaps even felt some secret pride in his young friend's
magnificence. He might not have a good opinion of earls, but he knew
that even in America money was considered rather an agreeable thing,
and if all the wealth and grandeur were to go with the title, it must
be rather hard to lose it.

"They're trying to rob him!" he said, "that's what they're
doing, and folks that have money ought to look after him."

And he kept Dick with him until quite a late hour to talk it
over, and when that young man left, he went with him to the corner of
the street; and on his way back he stopped opposite the empty house
for some time, staring at the "To Let," and smoking his pipe, in much
disturbance of mind.