"Cockatoos they call um, don't they?" Egbert inquired.
"That's right. Side of yer 'at," his father replied. "Tall 'at."
Egbert appeared to ponder gloomily on the prospect. It was the habit of this boy's sombre mind to suspect a hidden indignity in each change thrust into his life. Seeking it in the cockatoos, he presently found it.
"Make me a Guy-forx again, I suppose," he said. "Same as these 'ere buttons."
Mr. Hunt took a step forward, and peering over the gate gazed down at his son's buttons with considerable concern.
The inspection finished, "Different in the 'Ouse o' Lords," he consoled. "Expec' they'll all wear them wing things side of their 'ats there. Call 'em same as they call you, that's what you can do. Tall 'ats."
But this boy's pessimism was incurable. "I'll have the biggest, you'll find," Egbert responded. "Else they'll give me two an' make a Guy-forx of me that way."
Mr. Hunt mentally visualised cockades the size of albatross wings on each side of his son's hat. The picture made him unable to deny the slightly outré effect that would be produced, and he began to move away.
"Comin' in to see your mother to-night, I suppose?" he asked.
Egbert grunted.