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“For God’s sake, Julie!” cried Stacey, his face white.

The proud smile suddenly vanished from his sister’s face. She stared at him in hurt surprise. “What’s the matter, Stacey?” she stammered. “Don’t you like him? Don’t you like Junior?”

“Of course I like him!” he muttered. “It’s just the uniform. Don’t put it on him, Julie.” He swung the boy up in his arms. “Don’t salute, old fellow!” he said, sweeping off the little cap from the blond curls. “Give us a kiss!”

“Oh, I thought you’d like it!” said Julie wretchedly. “I trained him so carefully to salute.”

“It’s all right, old girl!” said Stacey, putting the child down. His wave of emotion had disappeared. He was vaguely sorry to have hurt his sister’s feelings.

Other people had crowded up. The station rang with greetings. But, through the insistent pressure forward of Mr. Carroll, Senior, who had hold of his son’s arm, Stacey presently found himself at the waiting motor car, into which the train porter (thanks to Jimmy Prout’s directions) had piled Stacey’s bags.