"Three cheers for Ceddie Errol!" yelled the little boys. "Hooray for
Ceddie Errol!"

Mr. Havisham drew his head in at the window of his coupe and leaned back
with a dry smile.

"Bravo, Lord Fauntleroy!" he said.

As his carriage stopped before the door of Mrs. Errol's house, the
victor and the vanquished were coming toward it, attended by the
clamoring crew. Cedric walked by Billy Williams and was speaking to him.
His elated little face was very red, his curls clung to his hot, moist
forehead, his hands were in his pockets.

"You see," he was saying, evidently with the intention of making defeat
easy for his unsuccessful rival, "I guess I won because my legs are a
little longer than yours. I guess that was it. You see, I'm three days
older than you, and that gives me a 'vantage. I'm three days older."

And this view of the case seemed to cheer Billy Williams so much that
he began to smile on the world again, and felt able to swagger a little,
almost as if he had won the race instead of losing it. Somehow, Ceddie
Errol had a way of making people feel comfortable. Even in the first
flush of his triumphs, he remembered that the person who was beaten
might not feel so gay as he did, and might like to think that he MIGHT
have been the winner under different circumstances.

That morning Mr. Havisham had quite a long conversation with the winner
of the race--a conversation which made him smile his dry smile, and rub
his chin with his bony hand several times.