"I broke it to you just now that my brother's name was Fillmore."

"Oh, your brother. Oh, ah, yes."

"He was always picking on poor Fill. And I'm bound to say that Fill
rather laid himself out as what you might call a pickee. He was always
getting into trouble. One day, about three years ago, he was expelled
from Harvard, and my uncle vowed he would have nothing more to do with
him. So I said, if Fill left, I would leave. And, as this seemed to be
my uncle's idea of a large evening, no objection was raised, and Fill
and I departed. We went to New York, and there we've been ever since.
About six months' ago Fill passed the twenty-five mark and collected his
money, and last month I marched past the given point and got mine. So it
all ends happily, you see. Now tell me about yourself."

"But, I say, you know, dash it, you've skipped a lot. I mean to say,
you must have had an awful time in New York, didn't you? How on earth
did you get along?"

"Oh, we found work. My brother tried one or two things, and finally
became an assistant stage-manager with some theatre people. The only
thing I could do, having been raised in enervating luxury, was ballroom
dancing, so I ball-room danced. I got a job at a place in Broadway
called 'The Flower Garden' as what is humorously called an
'instructress,' as if anybody could 'instruct' the men who came there.
One was lucky if one saved one's life and wasn't quashed to death."

"How perfectly foul!"

"Oh, I don't know. It was rather fun for a while. Still," said Sally,