There was his father, his face rigid with repressed emotion, his hand shaking Stacey’s vigorously. And there were half a dozen of his old friends standing back to let the family have free play. And here was his sister, Julie, fatter than in 1914, laughing and crying and kissing him and trying to talk all at once, while her pleasant-faced husband, Jimmy Prout, smilingly held out a hand across her shoulder and managed to grasp one of Stacey’s fingers.
Did they really care so much as all this for him? Stacey wondered, with remorse at feeling so little himself. Or was it just the dramatic moment?
Then all at once his coolness was swept away by a gust of genuine emotion, the last he should have felt—anger and something like horror. For Julie had bent over and lifted high her five-year-old son, and the child had on a tiny khaki uniform and was saluting his uncle solemnly, fingers stiffly touching his over-seas cap.
“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.
“Good-bye for now,” said Julie, giving her brother another kiss. “We’re going to take Junior home, but we’ll be out at dad’s for dinner.”
And Stacey was in the tonneau of his father’s car, with only his father by his side. The car moved off.
Mr. Carroll drew a long breath. “Ouf!” he exclaimed. “So you’re back at last, son!” he said, after a moment.