“I thought,” he said, “as this is a real occasion, not exactly Robert’s coming of age, but marking his arrival at years of discretion, the period when he ceases to be a small boy and becomes a big one, we might drink a toast to it.”
“Robert!” objected the big boy’s mother.
“A teaspoonful each, honey,” he begged. “It changes it from a mere supper to a festivity.”
He poured a few drops of wine into the children’s glasses, and filled them up with water. Then he filled the others, and sat smiling, this big young man, who had brought his loved ones across the sea, and was trying to make them happy up a flight of stone stairs, above a concierge’s bureau that smelled of garlic.
“First,” he said, “I believe it is customary to toast the King. Friends, I give you the good King and brave soldier, Ferdinand of Livonia.”
They stood up to drink it, and even Pepy had a glass.
Ferdinand William Otto was on his feet first. He held his glass up in his right hand, and his eyes shone. He knew what to do. He had seen the King’s health drunk any number of times.
“To His Majesty, Ferdinand of Livonia,” he said solemnly. “God keep the King!”
Over their glasses Mrs. Thorpe’s eyes met her husband’s. How they trained their children here!
But Ferdinand William Otto had not finished. “I give you,” he said, in his clear young treble, holding his glass, “the President of the United States—The President!”