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Updated: September 28, 2025
But he was his mother's son, learning to the last. He told me one day that literature was not a trade; that it was no craft; that the professed author was merely an amateur with a door-plate. 'Very well, said I, 'the first time you get a proof, I will demonstrate that it is as much a trade as bricklaying, and that you do not know it. By the very next post, a proof came.
When the cottages were being built, the lad and his grandfather used to ride over to Earl's Court together to look at them, and Fauntleroy was full of interest. He would dismount from his pony and go and make acquaintance with the workmen, asking them questions about building and bricklaying, and telling them things about America.
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