"Fathers and mothers never change, John, it's the children who do that," she answered him. "And look at all you've done and--" she was going to add, what a handsome fellow you've grown into, but she checked herself. She didn't believe in turning a boy's head. So the momentous day came. John, up very early, very scrupulously dressed, excited by a confirmatory telegram, was filled with anxiety as to whether the taxicab would be in time to meet the train. He slacked shamelessly in form that morning, but the master was indulgent. Something of his anxiety and excitement permeated his friends. Even Vernley became aware of the meaning of nerves, good old Vernley, fatter and more faithful than ever, sharer of all joys, woes, triumphs, disasters, and food. But the great moment came; the train drew up, the doors flew open, a sudden flooding of the platform, a boy's flushed face under a straw hat, an eager survey, with heart tremendously thumping, and a strong resolution not to ran or cry, a terrible fear that he had not come after all, and then-- There! His father! He had not changed! "Dad!" he shouted rapturously, waving a hand. The father stared a while. "John, my boy--what a great lad you are!" There was a swift, astonished survey. This tall, clean-limbed, laughing boy his son! This lad, with the glimmering grace of an athlete, the boy he had nursed at Amasia? His eyes lingered on every feature, noted the broadening shoulders, the straightness of his carriage, the direct level glance of the eyes. Presently they were seated side by side in the taxi, and then, absurdly enough, John found he had nothing to say, not one of those thousand premeditated questions to ask. The father, too, felt restrained, and waited. "Ali sends his love," he said, at last. "Dear old Ali! How is he, Dad?" "Grown, but not like you, and quite a grave married man now." "Married! What a joke--Ali married!" "He does not think it a joke, he is very serious about it. He was married the week before I left. I met his father in Constantinople. Ali seemed a little sad because you did not write oftener. I showed him your last photograph. He looked at it for a long time and then said you were a great lord. I told him you were more probably a great anxiety." Then followed lunch at Mr. Fletcher's--just his father and Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher, and, by the way of a great favour to John in celebration of the event--Vernley and Marsh as special guests. John was frightfully anxious about his friends. He wanted them to admire his father as he did, and in turn he hoped desperately that his father would take to Vernley and Marsh. He was not long in doubt, for the elderly man had soon won his way into the boys' hearts, and had broken down their stiff reserve.