Garry says that I might as well work in a faro bank." Peter leaned forward.

For the moment the hubbub was forgotten as he scrutinized the young man, who seemed scarcely twenty-one, his well-knit, well-dressed body, his soft brown hair curled about his scalp, cleanly modelled ears, steady brown eyes, white teeth--especially the mobile lips which seemed quivering from some suppressed emotion--all telling of a boy delicately nurtured.
"And do you really work in a faro bank ?" Peter's knowledge of human nature had failed him for once.
"Oh, no sir, that is only one of Garry's jokes.

I'm clerk in a stock broker's office on Wall Street.

Arthur Breen & Company.

My uncle is head of the firm." "Oh, that's it, is it ?" answered Peter in a relieved tone.
"And now will you tell me what your business is, sir ?" asked the young man.