The pictures he spoke of were on the front page, and Dick was staring at one of them with his eyes and mouth open, and his sharp face almost pale with excitement.
He pointed to the picture, under which was written:
“Mother of Claimant (Lord Fauntleroy).”
It was the picture of a handsome woman, with large eyes and heavy braids of black hair wound around her head.
“Her!” said Dick. “I know her [better’n] I know you! An’ I’ve struck work for this mornin’.”
And in less than five minutes from that time he was tearing through the streets on his way to Mr. Hobbs and the corner store. Mr. Hobbs could scarcely believe the evidence of his senses when he looked across the counter and saw Dick rush in with the paper in his hand. The boy was out of breath with running; so much out of breath, in fact, that he could scarcely speak as he threw the paper down on the counter.
“Look at it!” panted Dick. “Look at that woman in the picture! That’s what you look at! She [aint] no ’ristocrat, she aint!” with withering scorn. “She’s no lord’s wife. [You may eat me,] if it aint Minna—Minna! I’d know her [anywheres,] an’ [so’d] Ben. [Jest ax] him.”
Mr. Hobbs dropped into his seat.
“I [knowed] it was a put-up job,” he said. “I knowed it; and [they done it] on account o’ him bein’ a [’Merican!”]
“Done it!” cried Dick, with disgust. [“She done] it, that’s who done it. [I’ll tell yer wot come to me,] the [minnit] I saw her [pictur.] There was one [o’ them papers] we saw had a letter in it that said somethin’ ’bout her boy, an’ it said he had a scar on his chin. Put them together—her ’n’ that scar! Why that boy o’ hers aint no more a lord than I am! It’s Ben’s boy.”