He hated America and Americans, but it amused him to see how serious and
interested this small patriot was. He thought that so good an American
might make a rather good Englishman when he was a man.

They had not time to go very deep into the Revolution again--and
indeed Lord Fauntleroy felt some delicacy about returning to the
subject--before dinner was announced.

Cedric left his chair and went to his noble kinsman. He looked down at
his gouty foot.

"Would you like me to help you?" he said politely. "You could lean on
me, you know. Once when Mr. Hobbs hurt his foot with a potato-barrel
rolling on it, he used to lean on me."

The big footman almost periled his reputation and his situation by
smiling. He was an aristocratic footman who had always lived in the best
of noble families, and he had never smiled; indeed, he would have felt
himself a disgraced and vulgar footman if he had allowed himself to be
led by any circumstance whatever into such an indiscretion as a smile.
But he had a very narrow escape. He only just saved himself by staring
straight over the Earl's head at a very ugly picture.

The Earl looked his valiant young relative over from head to foot.

"Do you think you could do it?" he asked gruffly.

"I THINK I could," said Cedric. "I'm strong. I'm seven, you know. You
could lean on your stick on one side, and on me on the other. Dick says