Larry smiled at that.  It was so like Ted it was good to hear.  And irrationally enough he found himself more than a little reassured and comforted because the other lad declared he was going to be all right and have a bully time and come back safe when the job was done.

“And I say, Larry.”  Ted’s voice was soberer now.  “I have always wanted to tell you how I appreciated your standing by me so magnificently in that horrible mess of mine.  I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had felt like throwing me over for life after my being such a tarnation idiot and disgracing the family like that.  I’ll never forget how white you and Uncle Phil both were about it every way and maybe you won’t believe it but there’ll never be anything like that again.  There are some things I’m through with—­at least if I’m not I’m even more of a fool than I think I am.”

“Don’t, Ted.  I haven’t been such a model of virtue and wisdom that I can afford to sit in judgment on you.  I’ve learned a few things myself this year and I am not so cock sure in my views as I was by a long shot.  Anyway you have more than made up by what you have done since and what you are going to do over there.  Let’s forget the rest and just remember that we are both Holidays, and it is up to both of us to measure up to Dad and Uncle Phil, far as we can.”

“Some stunt, what?” Thus Ted flippantly mixed his familiar American and newly acquired British vernacular.  “You are dead right, Larry.  I am afraid I’m doomed to land some nine miles or so below the mark but I’m going to make a stab at it anyway.”

Later there was a gala dinner party, an occasion almost as gay as that Round Table banquet over eight years ago had been when Dick Carson had been formally inducted into the order and Doctor Holiday had announced that he was going to marry Miss Margery.  And as before there was laughter and gay talk and teasing, affectionate jest and prophecy mingled with the toasting.

There were toasts to the reigning bride and groom, Larry and Ruth, to the coming bride and groom Philip and Carlotta, to Tony, the understudy that was, the star that was to be; to Dick Carson that had been, John Massey that was, foreign correspondent, and future famous author.  There was a particularly stirring toast to Sergeant Ted who would some day be returning to his native shore at least a captain if not a major with all kinds of adventures and honors to his credit.  Everybody smiled gallantly over this toast.  Not one of them would let a shadow of grief or dread for Teddy the beloved cloud this one happy home evening of his before he left the Hill perhaps forever.  The Holidays were like that.

And then Larry on his feet raised his hand for silence.

“Last and best of all,” he said, “I give you—­the Head of the House of Holiday—­the best friend and the finest man I know—­Uncle Phil!”

Larry smiled down at his uncle as he spoke but there was deep feeling in his fine gray eyes.  Better than any one else he knew how much of his present happiness he owed to that good friend and fine man Philip Holiday.