," said Sally, examining the envelope as they went
into the kitchen. "And about time, too. I haven't had a word from him
for months."

She sat down and opened the letter. Ginger, heaving himself on to the
table, wriggled into a position of comfort and started to read his
evening paper. But after he had skimmed over the sporting page he
lowered it and allowed his gaze to rest on Sally's bent head with a
feeling of utter contentment.

Although a married man of nearly a year's standing, Ginger was still
moving about a magic world in a state of dazed incredulity, unable fully
to realize that such bliss could be. Ginger in his time had seen many
things that looked good from a distance, but not one that had borne the
test of a closer acquaintance--except this business of marriage.

Marriage, with Sally for a partner, seemed to be one of the very few
things in the world in which there was no catch. His honest eyes glowed
as he watched her. Sally broke into a little splutter of laughter.

"Ginger, look at this!"

He reached down and took the slip of paper which she held out to him.
The following legend met his eye, printed in bold letters:

POPP'S

OUTSTANDING

SUCCULENT----APPETIZING----NUTRITIOUS.

(JUST SAY "POP!" A CHILD

CAN DO IT.)

Ginger regarded this cipher with a puzzled frown.

"What is it?" he asked.

"It's Fillmore."

"How do you mean?"

Sally gurgled.

"Fillmore and Gladys have started a little restaurant in Pittsburg."

"A restaurant!" There was a shocked note in Ginger's voice. Although
he knew that the managerial career of that modern Napoleon, his
brother-in-law, had terminated in something of a smash, he had
never quite lost his reverence for one whom he considered a bit of a
master-mind. That Fillmore Nicholas, the Man of Destiny, should have
descended to conducting a restaurant--and a little restaurant at
that--struck him as almost indecent.

Sally, on the other hand--for sisters always seem to fail in proper
reverence for the greatness of their brothers--was delighted.

"It's the most splendid idea," she said with enthusiasm. "It really does
look as if Fillmore was going to amount to something at last. Apparently
they started on quite a small scale, just making pork-pies..."

"Why Popp?" interrupted Ginger, ventilating a question which was
p