"I see," his uncle said dryly; "it was all on my account."
Billy seemed to feel the necessity of further explanation. "Of course I knew Merry—the Thatchers were here. Phil told me—"
"Too bad Philip couldn't have come with you," Mrs. Thatcher remarked.
"Yes; he went up to the Lawrences' house-party for over Christmas as he planned."
"How did you leave your worthy parents?" Huntington inquired.
A look of dismay passed over the boy's face. "I forgot to telegraph them from New York, and I meant to cable just as soon as I arrived." Then an expression of relief came to his assistance: "But they'll know I'm with you—somewhere."
Huntington sighed. "Another reckoning for me when I return!" he said resignedly; "but it's worth it all to know that you 'charged down here like a young dace' as soon as you realized your poor uncle's 'awful loneliness.'"
"Then it was you who tried to signal us from the tender?" Merry came to his rescue.
"Yes; I thought it was you; I wigwagged until I almost plunged overboard. I've got to go back Monday, to reach Cambridge in time to register, so I hated to lose a whole day out of three."
"There's one thing about a college education which Mr. Huntington didn't mention last evening," Thatcher remarked to Cosden as they walked toward the bar for the anteprandial cocktail; "it gives a boy freedom of action and breadth of imagination."