WHEN Arthur Nobbs was a little boy he believed in fairies. If, for example, he ate part of his sister’s jam (as he constantly did), he assured her that the fairies would put it back. And if they didn’t, well that was because she didn’t believe in them.
When he grew older and became a business man he naturally continued to entertain that belief. When he was successful (as he generally was) in his business transactions, he ascribed his success to the fairies, though the persons he so continuously and cleverly ruined thought that he had got the name wrong.
One day he met a starving sculptor whose father he had been able to put out of business. “What are these horrible objects that you have in your tray?” he asked severely. “These,” said the sculptor, “are the seven fairies in which you believe.” “But,” objected Mr. Nobbs, “they are labelled ‘The Seven Deadly Sins,’ and they look it.” “Oh,” said the sculptor, “the title is only a matter of taste.” “You are an impostor, sir,” exclaimed Mr. Nobbs; “but fortunately we are in a law-abiding country.” And he gave the young man in charge for seeking to obtain money by false pretences.
But you will be glad to learn that Arthur Nobbs was subsequently raised to the peerage and died universally beloved and respected, and on his tombstone they carved the simple phrase:
“He believed in fairies.”