Mr. Mordaunt’s interest began to increase. Fauntleroy did as he was told very deftly. In a few moments, the sheet of paper, the big inkstand, and the pen were ready.
“There!” he said gaily, “now you can write it.”
“You are to write it,” said the Earl.
“I!” exclaimed Fauntleroy, and a flush overspread bis forehead. “Will it do if I write it? I don’t always spell quite right when I haven’t a dictionary and nobody tells me.”
“It will do,” answered the Earl. “Higgins will not complain of the spelling. I’m not the philanthropist; you are. Dip your pen in the ink.”
Fauntleroy took up the pen and dipped it in the ink-bottle, then he arranged himself in position, leaning on the table.
“Now,” he inquired, “what must I say?”
“You may say, [’Higgins is not to be interfered with,] for the present,’ and sign it ’Fauntleroy,’” said the Earl.
Fauntleroy dipped his pen in the ink again, and resting his arm, began to write. It was rather a slow and serious process, but he gave his whole soul to it. After a while, however, the manuscript was complete, and he handed it to his grandfather with a smile slightly tinged with anxiety.
“Do you think it will do?” he asked.