Dowden and I were never directly chidden for insubordination, though
made to wince painfully by the look of troubled surprise that met us
when we were not quick enough to catch his meaning.

The order of the day with him always began with the "HOO-ray" and
"BR-R-RA-vo" of greeting; after which we were to inquire, "Who's with us
to-day?" Whereupon he would make known the character in which he elected
to be received for the occasion. If he announced himself as "Mister
Swift," everything was to be very grown-up and decorous indeed.
Formalities and distances were observed; and Mr. Corley Linbridge (an
elderly personage of great dignity and distinction as a
mountain-climber) was much oftener included in the conversation than
Bill Hammersley. If, however, he declared himself to be "Hamilton Swift,
Junior," which was his happiest mood, Bill Hammersley and Simpledoria
were in the ascendant, and there were games and contests. (Dowden,
Beasley, and I all slid down the banisters on one of the Hamilton Swift,
Junior, days, at which really picturesque spectacle the boy almost cried
with laughter--and old Bob and his wife, who came running from the
kitchen, DID cry.) He had a third appellation for himself--"Just little
Hamilton"; but this was only when the creaky voice could hardly chirp at
all and the weazened face was drawn to one side with suffering. When he
told us he was "Just little Hamilton" we were very quiet.

Once, for ten days, his Invisibles all went away on a visit: Hamilton
Swift, Junior, had become interested in bears. While this lasted, all of
Beasley's trousers were, as Dowden said, "a sight." For that matter,
Dowden himself was quite hoarse in court from growling so much. The
bears were dismissed abruptly: Bill Hammersley and Mr. Corley Linbridge
and Simpledoria came trooping back, and with them they brought that
wonderful family, the Hunchbergs.