"Yes; we'll put our heads together in the morning."
Thatcher was as gay as the young people when they sat down to dinner, and entered into the enjoyment of the home-coming so heartily that Marian was relieved.
"All you needed, Harry, was to have Phil come home," she said. "Couldn't you telephone for another ticket and go with us?"
"Not to-night; I have work to do. To-morrow Phil is going to lend a hand, and then perhaps we'll have some play together.—Tell us of your uncle, Billy."
"Oh, Uncle Monty is all right,—except that he's become so terribly sober and serious. What did you people do to him down at Bermuda? He hasn't been the same since."
"He was serious down there," Merry asserted.
"Oh, he never was a cut-up, of course," Billy explained; "but he was always saying things to make you laugh, and I could jolly him just as if he was one of the fellows."
"Can't you do it now?" Mrs. Thatcher inquired.
"No; if I do he gets sore. Why, only the other night Phil and I went in there to dinner. I made some remark about his being a woman-hater, and he got huffed up in a minute. Didn't he, Phil?"
"Monty Huntington a woman-hater?" Mrs. Thatcher laughed. "No wonder he was 'huffed'!"