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 **** should make a visit to the store and keep Mr.
Hobbs company. The plan pleased **** 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 ****. "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 ****, "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 **** 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 ****'s visit. Before **** 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 **** 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 ****, 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 ****, though he looked rather anxious himself;"ye see this 'ere un isn't the one that's bossin' things now. Iknow 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 ****, and had also read the letter **** got about the same time, that he became composed again.
