“I am glad if you are satisfied, Uncle Phil,” he said.  “But there isn’t any credit coming to me.  It was the least I could do after making such a confounded mess of things.  Let’s forget it.”

But Ted Holiday was not quite the same unthinking young barbarian in September that he had been in June.  Nobody could work as he had worked that summer without gaining something in character and self-respect.  Moreover, being constantly as he was with his brother and uncle, he would have been duller than he was not to get a “hunch,” as he would have called it, of what it meant to be a Holiday of the authentic sort.  Larry’s example was particularly salutary.  The younger Holiday could not help comparing his own weak-willed irresponsibility of conduct with the older one’s quiet self-control and firmness of principle.  Larry’s love for Ruth was the real thing.  Ted could see that, and it made his own random, ill-judged attraction to Madeline Taylor look crude and cheap if nothing worse.  He hated to remember that affair in Cousin Emma’s garden.  He made up his mind there would be no more things like that to have to remember.

“You can tell old Bob Caldwell,” he wrote from college to his uncle, “that he’ll sport no more caddies and golf balls at my expense.  Flunking is too damned expensive every way, saving your presence, Uncle Phil.  No more of it for this child.  But don’t get it into your head I am a violently reformed character.  I am nothing of the kind and don’t want to be.  If I see any signs of angel pin-feathers cropping out I’ll shave ’em.  I’d hate to be conspicuously virtuous.  All the same if I have a few grains more sense than I had last year they are mostly to your credit.  Fact is, Uncle Phil, you are a peach and I am just beginning to realize it, more fool I.”

Tony also flitted from the Hill that September for her new work and life in the big city.  Rather against her will she had ensconced herself in a Student Hostelry where Jean Lambert, Phil’s older sister, had been living several years very happily, first as a student and later as a successful illustrator.  Tony had objected that she did not want anything so “schooly,” and that the very fact that Jean liked the Hostelry would be proof positive that she, Tony, would not like it.  What she really wanted to do was either to have a studio of her own or accept Felice Norman’s invitation to make her home with her.  Mrs. Norman was a cousin of Tony’s mother, a charming widow of wealth and wide social connections whom Tony had always adored and admired extravagantly.  Just visiting her had always been like taking a trip to fairy land and to live with her—­well, it would be just too wonderful, Tony thought.  But Doctor Holiday had vetoed decidedly both these pleasant and impractical propositions.  Tony was far too young and pretty to live alone.  That was out of the question.  And he was scarcely more willing that she should go to Mrs. Norman, though he liked the latter very well and was glad that his niece would have her to go to in any emergency.  He knew Tony, and knew that in such an environment as Mrs. Norman’s home offered the girl would all but inevitably drift into being a gay little social butterfly and forget she ever came to the city to do serious work.  Life with Mrs. Norman would be “too wonderful” indeed.