TORY INTERVIEW

Tunis Latham suffered all the timidity of the average man when he
got into the maze of that department store. There is a psychological
reason for the haberdashery goods, the line for the mere male, being
placed always within sight of a principal exit. The catacombs of
Rome would be no more terrifying in prospect for a man than a
venture into the farther intricacies of Hoskin & Marl's.

The captain of the _Seamew_ could box the compass with the next
seafarer, but he lost all idea of the points on the card before he
had been three minutes in the store, and he had to hail a
floor-walker to get his bearings.

"Lace counter? Right this way, sir. Yes, sir. Just over there.
Our--er--Miss Bostwick will serve you, sir. Forward!"

The wind and sun had heightened Tunis Latham's naturally florid
complexion to about as deep a red as can easily be imagined, but he
felt the back of his neck and his ears burning as he approached the
counter to which he was directed. A girl had detached herself from a
group at the farther end, and now came toward him. All that he first
saw clearly, however, was a pair of eyes staring at him from behind
the counter. They were not violet eyes.

The girl who owned those twinkling, needle-sharp eyes was nothing
like that girl he had been thinking of so much since his previous
visit to Boston. She was rather small, dressed in the extreme mode
in a cheap way, wearing a tawdry gilt chain, several rings, and a
wrist watch. There was something about her which reminded Tunis very
strongly of the girls of Portygee Town, although she was a
pronounced blonde.

Her hair was really her only attractive possession. Those sharp
brown eyes did not please Tunis Latham at all. And there was a
certain smart boldness in her manner, too, which caused him a
distinct feeling of repugnance.

He plunged into his errand with all the boldness that a bashful man
usually displays when he finally gets his courage to the sticking
point.

"You are Miss Bostwick?" he asked.

"What kind of lace--goodness! Who are you?" asked the girl, her
stilted, saleslady manner changing to amazement with surprising
suddenness.

"I live at Big Wreck Cove. I guess you've heard of it," said Tunis.

"Big Wreck Cove? Do tell!" Her eyes danced. "You're from down on the
Cape, then. I guess you want some lace for your wife. What kind did
she send you for?"

Tunis brushed this aside bluntly.

"I don't want any lace," he told