n of the _Seamew_ had a flash of that girl with the violet
eyes who worked in the restaurant on Scollay Square. The Balls did
not know where Ida May worked. Prudence only had obtained the
lodging-house address of her young relative from Annabell Coffin,
"she who was a Cuttle."

Of course, it was merely a faint and tenuous possibility that Ida
May was a waitress. Still fainter was the chance that she would
prove to be the girl with the violet eyes that Tunis Latham
remembered so distinctly. The Balls knew that she worked in a store,
and all stores were the same to them. There might be a few hundred
thousand other girls in Boston besides that particular girl whom he
had saved from falling on the square.

Nevertheless, when the _Seamew_ had unloaded and been warped to a
berth in an outer tier of small craft to await her turn to load
barrels and box shooks for a concern at Paulmouth, Captain Tunis
started up into the city. He knew his way about Boston as well as
any one not a native, and his first objective point was that
restaurant on Scollay Square.

It was the dogwatch when Tunis Latham entered the eating place, but
the dogwatch here was not at the same time of day as aboard ship.
The captain's first startled glance about the room assured him that
there was not a girl employee in sight, not even at the cashier's
desk, and very few customers.

He ordered a late but hearty breakfast of the unshaven waiter in
half-spoiled apron and coat who lounged over his table.

"I thought they used to have girl waiters in this place?" the
captain said when the man brought the tableware and glass of water.

"On from 'leven till eight. You're too early if you got a jane in
your eye, bo," was the ribald reply. "The boss is a good guy." He
sneered in the direction of the black-haired, coarse-looking man in
the cashier's cage. "He hires them girls for five dollars less a
week than he'd have to pay union waiters, and he asks no questions."
He closed his recital with a wink so full of meaning that Tunis'
palm itched to slap him.

But the guest's wind-bitten face betrayed no confusion nor further
interest. The waiter judged he had mistaken his man, after all, and
sheered off until the ordered viands were ready at the slide.

He hesitated to question that coarse man, even to mention Ida May
Bostwick's name to him. The waiter had misinterpreted his first
remark about the waitresses. The proprietor might hold any question
he asked regar