silk hat, a cutaway coat and waistcoat,
and trousers of pearly stripe. He did not forget patent leather shoes,
nor white spats. He refused--the little white linen margins which the
clerk wished to affix to the V of his waistcoat. That, he felt, was the
ultra touch which would spoil all. The just less than perfection, how
perfect it is!

It was getting late. He hurried to Penn Station where he hired one of
those little dressing booths, and put on his regalia. His tweeds, in a
neat package, he checked at the parcel counter. Then he returned to the
store for the important interview.

He had expected a formal talk with the two Messrs. Beagle, perhaps
touching on such matters as duties, hours, salary, and so on. To his
surprise he was ushered by the secretary into a charming Louis XVI salon
farther down the private corridor. There were several ladies: one was
pouring tea. Mr. Beagle junior came forward. The vice-president (such
was Mr. Beagle junior's rank, Gissing had learned by the sign on his
door) still wore his business garb of the morning. Gissing immediately
felt himself to have the advantage. But what a pleasant idea, he
thought, for the members of the firm to have tea together every
afternoon. He handed his hat, gloves, and stick to the secretary.

"Very kind of you to come," said Mr. Beagle. "Let me present you to my
wife."

Mrs. Beagle, at the tea-urn, received him graciously.

"Cream or lemon?" she said. "Two lumps?"

This is really delightful, Gissing thought. Only on Fifth Avenue could
this kind of thing happen. He looked down the hostess from his superior
height, and smiled charmingly.

"Do you permit three?" he said. "A little weakness of mine." As a matter
of fact, he hated tea so sweet; but he felt it was strategic to fix
himself in Mrs. Beagle's mind as a polished eccentric.

"You must have a meringue," she said. "Ah, Mrs. Pomeranian has them.
Mrs. Pomeranian, let me present Mr. Gissing."

Mrs. Pomeranian, small and plump and tightly corseted, offered the
meringues, while Mrs. Beagle pressed upon him a plate with a small
doily, embroidered with the arms of the store, and its motto je
maintiendrai--referring, no doubt, to its prices. Mr. Beagle then
introduced him to several more ladies in rapid succession. Gissing
passed along the line, bowing slightly but with courteous interest to
each. To each one he raised his eyebrows and permitted himself a small
significant smile, as though to convey that