evious
efforts, for, surely, Fillmore would not lightly have dismissed one who
had come to him under her special protection.

"Where is Mr. Nicholas?" she asked. It seemed to her that Fillmore was
the only possible source of information. "Did you say he was out?"

"Really out, miss," said the office-boy, with engaging candour. "He went
off to White Plains in his automobile half-an-hour ago."

"White Plains? What for?"

The pimpled stripling had now given himself up wholeheartedly to
social chit-chat. Usually he liked his time to himself and resented the
intrusion of the outer world, for he who had chosen jugglery for
his walk in life must neglect no opportunity of practising: but so
favourable was the impression which Sally had made on his plastic mind
that he was delighted to converse with her as long as she wished.

"I guess what's happened is, he's gone up to take a look at Bugs
Butler," he said.

"Whose butler?" said Sally mystified.

The office-boy smiled a tolerant smile. Though an admirer of the sex, he
was aware that women were seldom hep to the really important things in
life. He did not blame them. That was the way they were constructed, and
one simply had to accept it.

"Bugs Butler is training up at White Plains, miss."

"Who is Bugs Butler?"

Something of his former bleakness of aspect returned to the office-boy.
Sally's question had opened up a subject on which he felt deeply.

"Ah!" he replied, losing his air of respectful deference as he
approached the topic. "Who is he! That's what they're all saying, all
the wise guys. Who has Bugs Butler ever licked?"

"I don't know," said Sally, for he had fixed her with a penetrating gaze
and seemed to be pausing for a reply.

"Nor nobody else," said the stripling vehemently. "A lot of stiffs out
on the coast, that's all. Ginks nobody has ever heard of, except Cyclone
Mullins, and it took that false alarm fifteen rounds to get a referee's
decision over him. The boss would go and give him a chance against the
champ, but I could have told him that the legitimate contender was
K-leg Binns. K-leg put Cyclone Mullins out in the fifth. Well," said the
office-boy in the overwrought tone of one chafing at human folly, "if
anybody thinks Bugs Butler can last six rounds with Lew Lucas, I've two
bucks right here in my vest pocket that says it ain't so."

Sally began to see daylight.

"Oh, Bugs--Mr. Butler is one of the boxers in this fight that my brother
is