Маленький лорд Фаунтлерой

           Hobbs!Thisisahotday—isn’tit?”Butasthedayspassedonandthisdidnothappen,Mr.Hobbsfeltverydullanduneasy.Hedidnotevenenjoyhisnewspaperasmuchasheusedto.Hewouldputthepaperdownonhiskneeafterreadingit,andsitandstareatthehighstoolforalongtime.Thereweresomemarksonthelonglegswhichmadehimfeelquitedejectedandmelancholy.TheyweremarksmadebytheheelsofthenextEarlofDorincourt,whenhekickedandtalkedatthesametime.Itseemsthatevenyouthfulearlskickthelegsofthingstheysiton;—noblebloodandloftylineagedonotpreventit.Afterlookingatthosemarks,Mr.Hobbswouldtakeouthisgoldwatchandopenitandstareattheinscription:“Fromhisoldestfriend,LordFauntleroy,toMr.Hobbs.Whenthisyousee,rememberme.”Andafterstaringatitawhile,hewouldshutitupwithaloudsnap,andsighandgetupandgoandstandinthedoor-way—betweentheboxofpotatoesandthebarrelofapples—andlookupthestreet.Atnight,whenthestorewasclosed,hewouldlighthispipeandwalkslowlyalongthepavementuntilhereachedthehousewhereCedrichadlived,onwhichtherewasasignthatread,“ThisHousetoLet”;andhewouldstopnearitandlookupandshakehishead,andpuffathispipeveryhard,andafterawhilewalkmournfullybackagain.

           Thiswentonfortwoorthreeweeksbeforeanynewideacametohim.Beingslowandponderous,italwaystookhimalongtimetoreachanewidea.Asarule,hedidnotlikenewideas,butpreferredoldones.