CHAPTER VI
AN UNSATISFACTORY 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.
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