His eyes, which saw everything, were keen to detect the least changes in the arrangement of his home, even when mere knickknacks had been moved about. At each visit he found the house ornamented with some new trophy of his exploits. He was delighted to find that a miniature barkentine, which he had built with corks, paper, and thread when he was seven years old, still stood on his mother's mantelpiece. Even at that age his powers of observation had been evident, and he had forgotten no detail of sails or rigging.
He had taken again so naturally his old place in the family circle that his mother forgot once and called the tall, famous young man by his old familiar name, "Bébé." She quickly corrected herself, but he said:
"I am always that to you, Mother."
"I was happier when you were little," she observed.
"I hope you are not vexed with me, Mother."
"Vexed for what?"
"For having grown up."
He was naturally full of the one subject that interested him, airplanes and chasing, and he would go round the house collecting audiences. Strange bits of narration could be overheard from different rooms as he held forth:
"Then I embusqued myself became a slacker...."
"What!"