These people had no misgivings about themselves, and they passed judgment on others with entire assurance. In their slang all with whom they came into contact were either "hearses" or "live Mollies." There was nothing racial, local, or social in this division. A family might be divided, one member being a live Molly, and all the rest the most dismal of hearses. Occasionally a stranger might be brought along. He did not know it, but always he was very carefully watched and appraised: his status discussed and decided at the supper to which the same people--minus all strangers--gathered later. At one of these discussions a third estate came into being. Teeny McFarlane had that day brought with her a young man of about twenty-four or twenty-five, well dressed, of pleasant features, agreeable in manner, well spoken, but quiet. "He isn't a live Molly," stated Sally positively. "Well, Sally took a walk with him," observed Sam Brannan dryly; "she ought to know!" "Don't need to take a walk with him," countered Sally; "just take a talk with him--or try to.". "I did try to," interpolated Mrs. Morrell. "May as well make it unanimous, looks like," said Sam. "He goes for a hearse." But Teeny McFarlane interposed in her positive, precise little way. "I object," she drawled. "He certainly isn't as bad as all that. He's a nice boy, and he never bored anybody in his life. Did he bore you, Sally?" "I can't say he did, now you mention it. He's one of those nice doggy people you don't mind having around." They discussed the matter animatedly. Teeny McFarlane developed an unexpected obstinacy. She did not suggest that the young man was to be included in any of the future parties; indeed, she answered the direct question decidedly in the negative; no, there was no use trying to include anybody unless they decidedly "belonged." "You wouldn't call him a live Molly, now would you, Teeny?" implored Cal Bennett. "No," she answered slowly, "I suppose not. But he is _not_ a hearse." The men, all but Popsy McFarlane, were inspecting Teeny's cool, unrevealing exterior with covert curiosity. She was always an enigma to them. Each man was asking himself why her interest in the mere labelling of this stranger. "He isn't a live Molly and she objects to his being a hearse," laughed Sally. "He must be something between them. What," she inquired, with the air of propounding a conundrum, "is between a live Molly and a hearse?" "Give it up!" they cried unanimously. Sally looked nonplussed, then shrieked: "Why, the pallbearers, of course!" The silly phrase caught. Thereafter, those who were acknowledged to be all right enough but not of their feather were known as "pallbearers."