olicitors, and it heralded a personal visit
from the august lawyer at 11.30 that day.

In the midst of dictating instructions to the clerk, Mr. Hugo stopped
and rang for Shawn.

'Take that back,' he commanded, indicating the hat. 'I've done with it.'

'Yes, sir.'

The hat went.

'I may just as well be discreet,' his thought ran.

But her image, the image of the artist in hats, illumined more brightly
than ever his soul.

CHAPTER II

THE ESTABLISHMENT

Seven years before, when, having unostentatiously acquired the necessary
land, and an acre or two over, Hugo determined to rebuild his premises
and to burst into full blossom, he visited America and Paris, and
amongst other establishments inspected Wanamaker's, the Bon Marche, and
the Magasins du Louvre. The result disappointed him. He had expected to
pick up ideas, but he picked up nothing save the Bon Marche system of
vouchers, by which a customer buying in several departments is spared
the trouble of paying separately in each department. He came to the
conclusion that the art of flinging money away in order that it may
return tenfold was yet quite in its infancy. He said to himself, 'I will
build a _shop_.'

Travelling home by an indirect route, he stopped at a busy English
seaport, and saw a great town-hall majestically rising in the midst of
a park. The beautiful building did not appeal to him in vain. At the
gates of the park he encountered a youth, who was staring at the
town-hall with a fixed and fascinated stare.

'A fine structure,' Hugo commented to the youth.

'_I_ think so,' was the reply.

'Can you tell me who is the architect?' asked Hugo.

'I am,' said the youth. 'And let me beg of you not to make any remark on
my juvenile appearance. I am sick of that.'

They lunched together, and Hugo learnt that the genius, after several
years spent in designing the varnished interiors of public-houses, had
suddenly come out first in an open competition for the town-hall;
thenceforward he had thought in town-halls.

'I want a shop putting up,' said Hugo.

The youth showed no interest.

'And when I say a shop,' Hugo pursued, 'I mean a _shop_.'

'Oh, a _shop_ you mean!' ejaculated the youth, faintly stirred. They
both spoke in italics.

'A _real_ shop. Sloane Street. A hundred and eighty thousand
superficial feet. Cost a quarter of a million. The finest shop in the
world!'

The youth started to his feet.

'I've never had any luck,' sa