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 Dir, 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 Dir! 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