d they are set free to flutter
where they will.

THE SERPENT

Rose Wiley had the brightest eyes in Edgewood. It was impossible to look
at her without realizing that her physical sight was perfect. What
mysterious species of blindness is it that descends, now and then, upon
human creatures, and renders them incapable of judgment or
discrimination?

Claude Merrill was a glove salesman in a Boston fancy-goods store. The
calling itself is undoubtedly respectable, and it is quite conceivable
that a man can sell gloves and still be a man; but Claude Merrill was a
manikin. He inhabited a very narrow space behind a very short counter,
but to him it seemed the earth and the fullness thereof.

When, irreproachably neat and even exquisite in dress, he gave a
Napoleonic glance at his array of glove-boxes to see if the female
assistant had put them in proper order for the day; when, with that
wonderful eye for detail that had wafted him to his present height of
power, he pounced upon the powder-sprinklers and found them, as he
expected, empty; when, with masterly judgment, he had made up and
ticketed a basket of misfits and odd sizes to attract the eyes of women
who were their human counterparts, he felt himself bursting with the
pride and pomp of circumstance. His cambric handkerchief adjusted in his
coat with the monogram corner well displayed, a last touch to the
carefully trained lock on his forehead, and he was ready for his
customers.

"Six, did you say, miss? I should have thought five and three
quarters--Attend to that gentleman, Miss Dix, please; I am very busy.

"Six-and-a-half gray suede? Here they are, an exquisite shade. Shall I
try them on? The right hand, if you will. Perhaps you'd better remove
your elegant ring; I shouldn't like to have anything catch in the
setting."

"Miss Dix! Six-and-a-half black glace--upper shelf, third box--for this
lady. She's in a hurry. We shall see you often after this, I hope,
madam."

"No; we don't keep silk or lisle gloves. We have no call for them; our
customers prefer kid."

Oh, but he was in his element, was Claude Merrill; though the glamour
that surrounded him in the minds of the Edgewood girls did not emanate
wholly from his finicky little person: something of it was the glamour
that belonged to Boston,--remote, fashionable, gay, rich, almost
inaccessible Boston, which none could see without the expenditure of
five or six dollars in railway fare, with the add