mpany I was greeted by the
ineffable smell of groceries in which the suggestion of parched coffee
prevailed. This is the sharpest remembrance of all, and even to-day
that odour affects me somewhat in the manner that the interior of a
ship affects a person prone to seasickness. My Cousin Robert, in his
well-worn alpaca coat, was already seated at his desk behind the clouded
glass partition next the alley at the back of the store, and as I
entered he gazed at me over his steel-rimmed spectacles with that same
disturbing look of clairvoyance I have already mentioned as one of his
characteristics. The grey eyes were quizzical, and yet seemed to express
a little commiseration.

"Well, Hugh, you've decided to honour us, have you?" he asked.

"I'm much obliged for giving me the place, Cousin Robert," I replied.

But he had no use for that sort of politeness, and he saw through me, as
always.

"So you're not too tony for the grocery business, eh?"

"Oh, no, sir."

"It was good enough for old Benjamin Breck," he said. "Well, I'll give
you a fair trial, my boy, and no favouritism on account of relationship,
any more than to Willie."

His strong voice resounded through the store, and presently my cousin
Willie appeared in answer to his summons, the same Willie who used to
lead me, on mischief bent, through the barns and woods and fields of
Claremore. He was barefoot no longer, though freckled still, grown lanky
and tall; he wore a coarse blue apron that fell below his knees, and a
pencil was stuck behind his ear.

"Get an apron for Hugh," said his father.

Willie's grin grew wider.

"I'll fit him out," he said.

"Start him in the shipping department," directed Cousin Robert, and
turned to his letters.

I was forthwith provided with an apron, and introduced to the slim and
anaemic but cheerful Johnny Hedges, the shipping clerk, hard at work in
the alley. Secretly I looked down on my fellow-clerks, as one destined
for a higher mission, made out of better stuff,--finer stuff. Despite
my attempt to hide this sense of superiority they were swift to discover
it; and perhaps it is to my credit as well as theirs that they did not
resent it. Curiously enough, they seemed to acknowledge it. Before the
week was out I had earned the nickname of Beau Brummel.

"Say, Beau," Johnny Hedges would ask, when I appeared of a morning,
"what happened in the great world last night?"

I had an affection for them, these fellow-clerks, an