Little Lord Fauntleroy HTML version

Chapter XI
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: