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.