A millionaire at sixteen

Mr. Frinks Fobbington was not over twenty-five years old, was well dressed in seemly black, and used the English language as though he was liberally educated. The only inconsistency Louis noticed about him was that his hands were hard, rough, and discolored, as though he used them in some manual labor, to which, however, he did not object.

The hotel at Von Blonk Park was a very respectable establishment, usually filled with boarders engaged in business in New York, distant less than half an hour’s ride. Mr. Fobbington appeared to be a guest there, and had taken considerable trouble to make the acquaintance of Louis Belgrave; but he seemed to be a stranger, and there was no one to introduce him.

Professor Seveignien was a boarder at the hotel. Louis had taken lessons of him two years, though he had now discontinued them; but he and his instructor were still warm friends, and his pupil occasionally called upon him. While waiting to see him on the piazza one day, Mr. Fobbington spoke to him. He was very polite, and the young millionaire endeavored to make himself agreeable.

Of course they talked about the weather in due form, as an introduction to more inviting topics. Then the stranger thought the Park was a beautiful place, and as Louis was a native of the delightful resort, as few of its present inhabitants were, he was duly appreciative of the compliment; but by this time the resident of the town could not help seeing that the stranger had some object in view, and he began to wonder what he was driving at.

“I sat within hearing of you last evening, Mr. Belgrave, when you were in conversation with Professor Seveignien,” said Mr. Fobbington, apparently coming a little nearer to the subject.

“Are you acquainted with the professor, sir?” asked Louis.

“No, sir; not at all, I regret to say, for he is a very attractive person.” Mr. Fobbington had inquired about him of the clerk.

“But we were speaking in French,” added Louis, looking with interest into the face of the stranger.

“Precisely so,” replied Mr. Fobbington, with an expressive smile.

“I always talk French with the professor for the sake of practice.”

“It requires a great deal of practice to enable one to speak French fluently,” said the stranger, using that language. “I was very much surprised to observe how well you spoke it. You handle it better than I do, though I have lived a year in Paris.”

Louis suggested that he had lived there long enough to acquire the art of complimenting. Mr. Fobbington had made a long reach into the good-will of Louis by speaking French to him, for the young man was a very enthusiastic student of the language. Still using it the accomplished gentleman from Louis knew not where, though he thought his companion must be an Englishman, for his English was even better than his French, came still nearer the subject he was clearly trying to introduce.

“You were talking with the professor about yachting,” continued Mr. Fobbington. “I was exceedingly pleased with your views on that subject, especially as they fully conform to my own.”

“I am happy to meet a gentleman whose views agree with mine.”

“More than that, Mr. Belgrave, I have had no little experience in carrying out those views,” added the stranger, with a gush of enthusiasm.

“Indeed?”

“I am an Englishman, an Oxford graduate as you would say in America, and it was my good or evil fortune to inherit an estate which yields a large income. Of course I have to look about me to find the means to spend this income,” Mr. Fobbington proceeded, laughing heartily at the gigantic witticism he had perpetrated, though Louis thought Uncle Moses had exhausted that fountain. “Well, I had some trouble about it, for I am not a fast man. In fact, I never had any wild oats to sow.”

“You are fortunate,” added the embryo yachtsman.

“I don’t even drink wine or beer; and which way should a poor fellow with ten thousand pounds a year turn to get rid of his income?”

Mr. Fobbington laughed heartily again; but Louis had just come from a banquet of precisely this sort of humor.

“You said you had had some experience in carrying out the views we hold in common,” suggested the Park millionaire.

“Exactly so. My friends, when they found I had a taste for the sea, recommended me to purchase a yacht that would cost from ten to twenty thousand pounds. I had been on a yacht cruise to the Mediterranean, and on another to Norway; but I did not like the style of the thing, or rather there was too much style about it,” Mr. Fobbington explained.

“That’s just the idea—too much style,” added Louis, who was beginning to find his new friend a man after his own heart.

“In fact, I thought my two excursions would have been more enjoyable if they had been made in an ordinary sort of vessel. There was too much varnish, too much discipline, and everything was too nice and precise for a free-and-easy time.”

“Just my own opinion,” said Louis, with growing enthusiasm.

“Badly as I wished to spend my income, I did not desire a yacht like the Daydream, which was the name of my friend’s craft. To cut the story short, I bought a nice schooner that had been used for a packet. She was a good vessel, and she was built in America.”

“Built in America!” exclaimed Louis, who thought it very strange that an English gentleman should cruise in an American-built vessel; but he was not posted in navigation laws, and he made no objection.

“That is what her papers show,” added the stranger. “But I am wearying you with this long story.”

“Not at all; I am very much interested in it. You seem to have abandoned your schooner, and come to the United States to see the country.”

“Not at all, my dear fellow, for I came over here in her. She is at anchor at a place they call Southfield. But I have changed my plans,” continued Mr. Fobbington, looking inquiringly into the face of his companion, as if to ascertain what impression his narrative had made.

“Then you have become tired of yachting in accordance with your views and mine?” Louis inquired.

“Far from it; but I am going around the world, and I find it would take me about three years to do it in the Oxford,” replied the British millionaire. “I cannot give so much time to it.”

“Then time is more valuable to you than money, is it?”

“Not exactly that, Mr. Belgrave,” replied Mr. Fobbington, looking intently at the floor of the piazza as though he were in doubt whether it was advisable to explain his position. “Money is no object to me, as I have already hinted. But I am going to be frank with you, my friend, though you may laugh at me for it.”

“If you say anything that is funny I shall be apt to laugh, but not otherwise.”

“Whether you laugh or not I shall tell you what is in my mind; for I must say, candidly, that I have a purpose in view,” continued the yachtsman, his brow knitting as though he was engaged in doing some very heavy thinking at that moment.

“I certainly do not wish you to reveal your private affairs to me.”

“But I shall do so none the less, for I begin to believe that we shall yet be strong friends. My case is like that of a lobster: I have a lady in my head.”

“Which is quite as proper in your case as in that of the lobster,” replied Louis, refraining from even a smile that might hurt the feelings of his new friend.

“She is the daughter of Sir William Lambold; and Ethel thinks her life of me. I have received a letter from her since I came to America,” Mr. Fobbington proceeded, drawing an envelope from his pocket, and pressing it to his lips. “She says she cannot endure the separation for three long years. That is the reason I have changed my plans.”

“I should say that was reason enough,” added Louis very seriously.

“I see, Mr. Belgrave; you are in love yourself!” exclaimed the owner of the Oxford. “You can understand me.”

“I can understand you, though not for the reason you suggest,” answered Louis, laughing heartily, and with a blush on his handsome face. “Perhaps you may not believe it, but I am only sixteen years old, though I am rather large for my age.”

“I should have said you were twenty, at least; but you might be in love for all that.”

“Hardly, at sixteen,” said Louis, shaking his head.

“Boys in the States are frightfully precocious; and some of them are married at that age.”

“Not one in a million; and I am not inclined to take even the first steps at that age. Then you are going back to England by a steamer, Mr. Fobbington, in order to meet the lady the sooner,” suggested Louis.

“Not a bit of it. I should be the laughing-stock of all my friends if I did that, and backed out of my journey around the world. No; I shall get rid of the Oxford, go by rail to San Francisco, and then by steamer to Yokohama. In that way I shall be at home in less than six months, and my friends cannot ridicule me.”

The embryo yachtsman thought they might ridicule him; but he began to see that his agreeable companion had an axe to grind, and thought it best to be a little more reserved.

“You will surely save time, though you will not have the pleasure of yachting in strange climes,” added Louis indifferently. “I have an idea that I shall go around the world in my yacht when I have one. I would not miss the South Sea Islands in any event.”

“It has occurred to me that there would not be much pleasure in yachting it around Cape Horn, or even through the Straits of Magellan. To come to the point, I have been considering whether to burn the Oxford or sink her in deep water.”

“It would be a pity to burn or sink her; you could do better than that by giving her away,” suggested Louis, laughing at the apparent desperation of the British millionaire.

“Give her away!” exclaimed he, springing to his feet as though the new idea overwhelmed him. “By the great and moist Neptune I never thought of that! Isn’t it strange how stupid a fellow can be when he gets into a difficult situation?”

“It seems to me that presenting her to some friend would be a more comfortable way of getting rid of her than sinking or burning her,” said Louis, amused, but not greatly impressed by the conduct of his British prototype.

“You are right, my dear friend; and I am under a thousand obligations to you for solving this knotty problem for me. Now, Mr. Belgrave, would you do me just one additional favor, and then be entitled to my everlasting gratitude?” And Fobbington looked at him with an earnestness which seemed to indicate that he was desperately in need of further assistance in getting rid of the Oxford.

“I should be very glad to do anything I can to aid you,” replied Louis.

“I knew you would. Then do me the very great favor to accept the Oxford as my free gift!” exclaimed the owner, grasping both of his new friend’s hands, and with a pleading expression on his face.

“Excuse me, but I cannot do that,” protested Louis. “You may not be aware of it, but I have an income, and I am distressed to find the means to spend it.”

“Poor fellow!” But Fobbington evidently believed that Louis had borrowed this idea from him.

“But after I have looked at her, I may be willing to buy the Oxford.”

“Then you shall see her at once,” added Mr. Fobbington.