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I think they were the brightest eyes I ever saw as keen and intelligent as a wicked old woman's, withal as trustful and cheery as the eyes of a setter pup. "HOO-ray!" Thus the Honorable Mr. Beasley, waving a handkerchief thrice around his head and thrice cheering. And the child, in that cricket's voice of his, replied: "Br-r-ra-vo!" This was the form of salutation familiarly in use between them.
And he was masterful: still, Beasley and 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?"
"He tells ME," said Beasley, "he'll be mighty glad to. And there's a plate of bones for Simpledoria." "You lead the way," cried the child; "you and Mrs. Hunchberg." "Are we all in line?" Beasley glanced back over his shoulder. "HOO-ray! Now, let us on. Ho! there!" "BR-R-RA-vo!" applauded Mister Swift.
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