"But why?"

"Oh, Fill!" Sally had expected that realization of the facts would
produce these symptoms in him, but now that they had presented
themselves she was finding them rasping to the nerves. "I should have
thought the reason was obvious."

"You mean you don't like him?"

"I don't know whether I do or not. I certainly don't like him enough to
marry him."

"He's a darned good fellow."

"Is he? You say so. I don't know."

The imperious desire for bodily sustenance began to compete successfully
for Fillmore's notice with his spiritual anguish.

"Let's go to the hotel and talk it over. We'll go to the hotel and I'll
give you something to eat."

"I don't want anything to eat, thanks."

"You don't want anything to eat?" said Fillmore incredulously. He
supposed in a vague sort of way that there were eccentric people of
this sort, but it was hard to realize that he had met one of them. "I'm
starving."

"Well, run along then."

"Yes, but I want to talk..."

He was not the only person who wanted to talk. At the moment a small
man of sporting exterior hurried up. He wore what his tailor's
advertisements would have called a "nobbly" suit of checked tweed
and--in defiance of popular prejudice--a brown bowler hat. Mr. Lester
Burrowes, having dealt with the business which had interrupted their
conversation a few minutes before, was anxious to resume his remarks
on the subject of the supreme excellence in every respect of his young
charge.

"Say, Mr. Nicholas, you ain't going'? Bugs is just getting ready to
spar."

He glanced inquiringly at Sally.

"My sister--Mr. Burrowes," said Fillmore faintly. "Mr. Burrowes is Bugs
Butler's manager."

"How do you do?" said Sally.

"Pleased to meecher," said Mr. Burrowes. "Say..."

"I was just going to the hotel to get something to eat," said Fillmore.

Mr. Burrowes clutched at his coat-button with a swoop, and held him with
a glittering eye.

"Yes, but, say, before-you-go-lemme-tell-ya-somef'n. You've never seen
this boy of mine, not when he was feeling right. Believe me, he's there!
He's a wizard. He's a Hindoo! Say, he's been practising up a left shift
that..."

Fillmore's eye met Sally's wanly, and she pitied him. Presently she
would require him to explain to her how he had dared to dismiss Ginger
from his employment--and make that explanation a good one: but in the
meantime she remembered that he was her brother and was suffering.

"He's the cleverest light