Archibald coughed.

“Rather well,” he said modestly. “Pretty decently. In fact, not badly. As a matter of fact, I won the championship.”

“The championship!” whispered Margaret. “Of America?”

“Well, not absolutely of America,” said Archibald. “But all the same, a championship.”

“My hero.”

“You won’t be wanting me for a while, I guess?” said Stuyvesant nonchalantly. “Think I’ll smoke a cigarette on the porch.”

And sobs from the stairs told that Mrs. Milsom was already on her way to her room.