the prophecy proved inaccurate.
Wilbur and Isabel did not have children; they had only one.

"Only one," Mrs. Henry Franklin Foster admitted. "But I'd like to know
if he isn't spoiled enough for a whole carload!"

Again she found none to challenge her.

At the age of nine, George Amberson Minafer, the Major's one grandchild,
was a princely terror, dreaded not only in Amberson Addition but in many
other quarters through which he galloped on his white pony. "By golly,
I guess you think you own this town!" an embittered labourer complained,
one day, as Georgie rode the pony straight through a pile of sand the
man was sieving. "I will when I grow up," the undisturbed child replied.
"I guess my grandpa owns it now, you bet!" And the baffled workman,
having no means to controvert what seemed a mere exaggeration of the
facts could only mutter "Oh, pull down your vest!"

"Don't haf to! Doctor says it ain't healthy!" the boy returned promptly.
"But I'll tell you what I'll do: I'll pull down my vest if you'll wipe
off your chin!"

This was stock and stencil: the accustomed argot of street badinage of
the period; and in such matters Georgie was an expert. He had no vest
to pull down; the incongruous fact was that a fringed sash girdled the
juncture of his velvet blouse and breeches, for the Fauntleroy period
had set in, and Georgie's mother had so poor an eye for appropriate
things, where Georgie was concerned, that she dressed him according to
the doctrine of that school in boy decoration. Not only did he wear a
silk sash, and silk stockings, and a broad lace collar, with his little
black velvet suit: he had long brown curls, and often came home with
burrs in them.

Except upon the surface (which was not his own work, but his mother's)
Georgie bore no vivid resemblance to the fabulous little Cedric.
The storied boy's famous "Lean on me, grandfather," would have been
difficult to imagine upon the lips of Georgie. A month after his ninth
birthday anniversary, when the Major gave him his pony, he had already
become acquainted with the toughest boys in various distant parts of
the town, and had convinced them that the toughness of a rich little boy
with long curls might be considered in many respects superior to their
own. He fought them, learning how to go berserk at a certain point in a
fight, bursting into tears of anger, reaching for rocks, uttering wailed
threats of murder and attempting to fulfil them. Fights often led to