Free Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackeray

Sainte,
bristling with ten thousand bayonets, and crowned with twenty
eagles—it was the shout of the beef-eating British, as leaping down
the hill they rushed to hug the enemy in the savage arms of battle—
in other words, Cuff coming up full of pluck, but quite reeling and
groggy, the Fig-merchant put in his left as usual on his adversary's
nose, and sent him down for the last time.
    "I think that will do for him," Figs said, as his opponent dropped
as neatly on the green as I have seen Jack Spot's ball plump into
the pocket at billiards; and the fact is, when time was called, Mr.
Reginald Cuff was not able, or did not choose, to stand up again.
    And now all the boys set up such a shout for Figs as would have made
you think he had been their darling champion through the whole
battle; and as absolutely brought Dr. Swishtail out of his study,
curious to know the cause of the uproar. He threatened to flog Figs
violently, of course; but Cuff, who had come to himself by this
time, and was washing his wounds, stood up and said, "It's my fault,
sir—not Figs'—not Dobbin's. I was bullying a little boy; and he
served me right." By which magnanimous speech he not only saved his
conqueror a whipping, but got back all his ascendancy over the boys
which his defeat had nearly cost him.
    Young Osborne wrote home to his parents an account of the
transaction.
    Sugarcane House, Richmond, March, 18—
    DEAR MAMA,—I hope you are quite well. I should be much obliged to
you to send me a cake and five shillings. There has been a fight
here between Cuff & Dobbin. Cuff, you know, was the Cock of the
School. They fought thirteen rounds, and Dobbin Licked. So Cuff is
now Only Second Cock. The fight was about me. Cuff was licking me
for breaking a bottle of milk, and Figs wouldn't stand it. We call
him Figs because his father is a Grocer—Figs & Rudge, Thames St.,
City—I think as he fought for me you ought to buy your Tea & Sugar
at his father's. Cuff goes home every Saturday, but can't this,
because he has 2 Black Eyes. He has a white Pony to come and fetch
him, and a groom in livery on a bay mare. I wish my Papa would let
me have a Pony, and I am
    Your dutiful Son, GEORGE SEDLEY OSBORNE
    P.S.—Give my love to little Emmy. I am cutting her out a Coach in
cardboard. Please not a seed-cake, but a plum-cake.
    In consequence of Dobbin's victory, his character rose prodigiously
in the estimation of all his schoolfellows, and the name of Figs,
which had been a byword of reproach, became as respectable and
popular a nickname as any other in use in the school. "After all,
it's not his fault that his father's a grocer," George Osborne said,
who, though a little chap, had a very high popularity among the
Swishtail youth; and his opinion was received with great applause.
It was voted low to sneer at Dobbin about this accident of birth.
"Old Figs" grew to be a name of kindness and endearment; and the
sneak of an usher jeered at him no longer.
    And Dobbin's spirit rose with his altered circumstances. He made
wonderful advances in scholastic learning. The superb Cuff himself,
at whose condescension Dobbin could only blush and wonder, helped
him on with his Latin verses; "coached" him in play-hours: carried
him triumphantly out of the little-boy class into the middle-sized
form; and even there got a fair place for him. It was discovered,
that although dull at classical learning, at mathematics he was
uncommonly quick. To the contentment of all he passed third in
algebra, and got a French prize-book at the public Midsummer
examination. You should have seen his mother's face when Telemaque
(that delicious romance) was presented to him by the Doctor in the
face of the whole school and the parents and company, with an
inscription to Gulielmo Dobbin. All the boys clapped hands in token
of applause and sympathy. His blushes, his stumbles, his
awkwardness, and the number of feet which he crushed as he went back
to his place, who shall describe or calculate? Old