She had had a little black profile of him done for a shilling, and this

was hung up by the side of another portrait over her bed. One day the

boy came on his accustomed visit, galloping down the little street at

Brompton, and bringing, as usual, all the inhabitants to the windows to

admire his splendour, and with great eagerness and a look of triumph in

his face, he pulled a case out of his great-coat--it was a natty white

great-coat, with a cape and a velvet collar--pulled out a red morocco

case, which he gave her.

"I bought it with my own money, Mamma," he said. "I thought you'd like

it."

Amelia opened the case, and giving a little cry of delighted affection,

seized the boy and embraced him a hundred times. It was a miniature-of

himself, very prettily done (though not half handsome enough, we may be

sure, the widow thought). His grandfather had wished to have a picture

of him by an artist whose works, exhibited in a shop-window, in

Southampton Row, had caught the old gentleman's eye; and George, who

had plenty of money, bethought him of asking the painter how much a

copy of the little portrait would cost, saying that he would pay for it

out of his own money and that he wanted to give it to his mother. The

pleased painter executed it for a small price, and old Osborne himself,

when he heard of the incident, growled out his satisfaction and gave

the boy twice as many sovereigns as he paid for the miniature.

But what was the grandfather's pleasure compared to Amelia's ecstacy?

That proof of the boy's affection charmed her so that she thought no

child in the world was like hers for goodness. For long weeks after,

the thought of his love made her happy. She slept better with the

picture under her pillow, and how many many times did she kiss it and

weep and pray over it! A small kindness from those she loved made that

timid heart grateful. Since her parting with George she had had no

such joy and consolation.

At his new home Master George ruled like a lord; at dinner he invited

the ladies to drink wine with the utmost coolness, and took off his

champagne in a way which charmed his old grandfather. "Look at him,"

the old man would say, nudging his neighbour with a delighted purple

face, "did you ever see such a chap? Lord, Lord! he'll be ordering a

dressing-case next, and razors to shave with; I'm blessed if he won't."

The antics of the lad did not, however, delight Mr. Osborne's friends

so much as they pleased the old gentleman. It gave Mr. Justice Coffin

no pleasure to hear Georgy cut into the conversation and spoil his

stories. Colonel Fogey was not interested in seeing the little boy half

tipsy. Mr. Sergeant Toffy's lady felt no particular gratitude, when,

with a twist of his elbow, he tilted a glass of port-wine over her

yellow satin and laughed at the disaster; nor was she better pleased,

although old Osborne was highly delighted, when Georgy "whopped" her

third boy (a young gentleman a year older than Georgy, and by chance

home for the holidays from Dr. Tickleus's at Ealing School) in Russell

Square. George's grandfather gave the boy a couple of sovereigns for

that feat and promised to reward him further for every boy above his

own size and age whom he whopped in a similar manner. It is difficult

to say what good the old man saw in these combats; he had a vague

notion that quarrelling made boys hardy, and that tyranny was a useful

accomplishment for them to learn. English youth have been so educated

time out of mind, and we have hundreds of thousands of apologists and

admirers of injustice, misery, and brutality, as perpetrated among

children. Flushed with praise and victory over Master Toffy, George

wished naturally to pursue his conquests further, and one day as he was

strutting about in prodigiously dandified new clothes, near St.

Pancras, and a young baker's boy made sarcastic comments upon his

appearance, the youthful patrician pulled off his dandy jacket with

great spirit, and giving it in charge to the friend who accompanied him

(Master Todd, of Great Coram Street, Russell Square, son of the junior

partner of the house of Osborne and Co.), George tried to whop the

little baker. But the chances of war were unfavourable this time, and

the little baker whopped Georgy, who came home with a rueful black eye

and all his fine shirt frill dabbled with the claret drawn from his own

little nose. He told his grandfather that he had been in combat with a

giant, and frightened his poor mother at Brompton with long, and by no

means authentic, accounts of the battle.




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