Skinner's Dress Suit

When he reached his house, he ran up the steps with a radiant face. Honey was waiting for him at the door, her lithe little figure and mass of chestnut hair, done up on top of her head, silhouetted against the light in the hall. She kissed him, and in her eagerness literally dragged him into the hall and shut the door.

"Dearie, you've done it! I know by your face you've done it!"

"Eh-huh!"

"Now, don't tell me how much till I show you something!"

She drew him into the dining-room and pointed to the table where a wonderful dinner was waiting. "Look, Dearie, oysters to begin with, and later – beefsteak! Think of it! Beefsteak! And, look – those flowers! Just to celebrate the occasion! I was so sure you'd get it! And, now, Dearie, tell me – how much did they appreciate you?"

Skinner was swept off his feet by her enthusiasm. He threw caution to the winds – that is, after he'd made a lightning calculation. It would n't cost any more, so why be a "piker"?

"Ten dollars," he said with affected quiet.

Honey came over to Dearie, flung her arms around his neck, put her head on his shoulder, and looking up into his face, with eyes brimming with happiness, sighed, "Dearie, I'm so happy! So happy for you!"

And Skinner felt that the lie was justified. He put his hand up and pressed her glossy head close to his breast and looking over her shoulder winked solemnly at the wall!

"And now, Dearie," said Honey, when they were seated at the table, "tell me! You actually bearded that old pig in his pen – my hero?"

"Eh-huh!"

"You told him you wanted a raise?"

"Eh-huh!"

"And what did he say?"

"First, he said he'd see Perkins."

"And he saw Perkins, and what then?"

Skinner threw his hands apart and shrugged his shoulders. If he had to lie, he'd use as few words as possible doing it.

"Was that all?"

"Eh-huh!"

"It was a 'cinch,' just as you said, was n't it, Dearie?"

Skinner imperceptibly winced at the word.

"Eh-huh!"

"I knew you'd only have to hint at it, Dearie!"

"If I 'd hung out, I might have got ten dollars more," said Skinner loftily.

Honey was silent for a long time.

"Well," said Skinner presently, "what's going on in that little bean of yours?"

"I was just figuring, Dearie. Let's see – ten dollars a week – how much is that a year?"

"Five hundred and twenty dollars."

"Five hundred and twenty dollars a year – that'd be more than a thousand dollars in two years!"

"Yes," Skinner affirmed.

"And in four years? Think of it – over two thousand dollars?"

"Better not count your chickens, Honey, – I'm superstitious, you know."

Skinner began to see his ten-dollar raise growing to gigantic proportions. He had visions of himself at the end of four years hustling to "make good" "over two thousand dollars." For the first time he questioned the wisdom of promoting himself. But he could n't back out now. He almost damned Honey's thrift. He would be piling up a debt which threatened to become an avalanche and swamp him, and for which he would get no equivalent but temporarily increased adulation. How could he nip this awful thing in the bud? He did n't see any way out of it unless it were to throw up his job and cut short this accumulating horror. But at least he had a year of grace – two years, four years, for that matter – before he would have to render an accounting, and who could tell what four years might bring forth? Surely, in that time he'd be able to get out of it somehow.

However, he had cast the die, and no matter what came of it he would n't back out. If he did, Honey would never believe in him again. His little kingdom would crumble. So he grinned. "I think I'll have a demi-tasse, just to celebrate."

So Honey brought in the demi-tasse.

Then Honey took her seat again, and resting her elbows on the table, placed her chin in the cup of her hands and looked at Skinner so long that he flushed. Had her intuition searched out his guilt, he wondered.

"And now, I've got a surprise for you, Dearie," she said, after a little.

After what Skinner had gone through, nothing could surprise him, he thought. "Shoot!" said he.

"You thought I got you to get that raise just to build up our bank account – did n't you?"

"Sure thing!" said Skinner apprehensively, "Why?"

"You old goosie! I only got you to think that so you'd go after it! That is n't what I wanted it for – at all!"

Skinner's mouth suddenly went dry.

"We've been cheap people long enough, Dearie," Honey began. "We've never dressed like other people, we've never traveled like other people. If we went on a trip, it was always at excursion rates. We've always put up at cheap hotels, we've always bargained for the lowest rate, and we've always eaten in cheap restaurants. Have n't we, Dearie?"

"Yes," said Skinner. "But what has that got to do with it."

"As a result, we've always met cheap people."

"You mean poor people?" said Skinner quickly.

"Goodness, no, Dearie, – I mean cheap people, – people with cheap minds, cheap morals, cheap motives, cheap manners, and worst of all, – cheap speech! I'm tired of cheap people!"

"What are you going to do about it?" said Skinner, his apprehension growing.

"We're not going to put one cent of this new money in the bank! That's what I 'm going to do about it! Instead of waiting a year for that five hundred and twenty dollars to accumulate, we're going to begin now. We'll never be any younger. We're going to draw on our first year's prosperity!"

"What the deuce are you talking about?" said Skinner, staring at Honey, wild-eyed. "What do you mean?"

She clapped her hands. "Now, don't argue! I've planned it all out! We're going to have a good time – good clothes! We 're going to begin on you, you old dear! You're going to have a dress suit!"

"Dress suit?" Skinner echoed. "Why dress suit? Why dress suit now at this particular stage of the game? Why dress suit at all?"

"Why? For the reception at the First Presbyterian, of course. I 'm tired of having you a sit-in-the-corner, watch-the-other-fellow-dance, male-wallflower proposition! You old dear, you don't think I 'm going to let you miss that affair just for the sake of a dress suit, now that we've got a whole year's raise to spend – do you?"

"How much does a dress suit cost?" Skinner murmured, almost inarticulately.

"Only ninety dollars!"

Skinner reached for his demi-tasse and gulped it down hot. "I see," he said. Then, after a pause, "Couldn't we hire one? It's only for one occasion."

"My Dearie in a hired dress suit? I guess not!"

Skinner pondered a moment, like a cat on a fence with a dog on either side. "Could n't we buy it on the installment plan?"

"We might buy a cheap suit on the installment plan. But remember, Dearie, we're not going to be cheap people any more!"

"One can see that with half an eye," said Skinner.

"Now, Dearie, don't be sarcastic."

"I think I 'll have another demi-tasse," said Skinner, playing for time, and held out his cup.

"It'll keep you awake, Dearie."

"If I don't sleep, it won't be the coffee that keeps me awake," said Skinner enigmatically; so Honey brought in the second demi-tasse.

When dinner was over, the Skinners spent the rest of the evening in front of the open fire. Honey put her arms about Dearie and smiled into the flames. Skinner looked at her tenderly for a few moments, pressed her soft, glossy hair with his lips, and began to realize that he 'd have to do some high financing!

That night, as Skinner lay staring at the ceiling and listening to Honey's gentle and happy breathing, he reflected on the beginnings of a life of crime. Ninety dollars right off the bat! Gee whiz! He had not included any such thing in his calculations when he had hit upon his brilliant scheme of self-promotion. Great Scott! – what possibilities lurked in the background of the deception he'd practiced on Honey! He 'd heard of the chickens of sin coming home to roost, but he'd never imagined that they began to do it so early in the game. He no longer felt guilty that he had deceived Honey, for had n't her confession that she had deceived him about putting that money in the bank made them co-sinners? And one does n't feel so sinful when sinning against another sinner!

Ninety dollars! Gee whiz! But, after all, ninety dollars was n't such an awful lot of money – and he'd see to it that ninety dollars was the limit!

CHAPTER III

SKINNER'S DRESS SUIT

Honey went to the city with Skinner the next day, and during the lunch-hour a high-class tailor in the financial district measured Skinner for his dress suit. Honey had sensed from Dearie's protest the night of the "raise" that it would be hard to pry him loose from any more cash than the first ninety dollars, so she did n't try to – with words. She would let him convince himself. So, when the wonderful outfit arrived a few days later, and Skinner put it on, she pretended to admire the whole effect unqualifiedly.

"Beautiful!" she cried; "perfectly beautiful!"

But she chuckled to herself as she noted the look of perplexity that gradually came into Skinner's eyes as he regarded himself in the mirror.

"These clothes are very handsome," he said presently, "and they're a perfect fit – but the general effect does n't seem right."

Honey remained discreetly silent.

Presently Skinner turned to her with a suggestion of trouble in his eyes. "Say, Honey, what do dress shirts cost?"

"I don't know exactly. Four dollars, perhaps."

"Four dollars!" There was a suggestion of a snarl in Skinner's tone, the first she'd ever heard. "Four dollars! – the one I've got on only cost ninety cents."

"But that is n't a dress shirt, Dearie."

"No, you bet it is n't! But it's good enough for me!" Then with a touch of sarcasm in his tone, "I suppose a certain kind of collar and tie are necessary for a dress shirt?"

"A dollar would cover that."

"How many collars?" he almost shouted.

"One."

Another pause; then, "I've got to have studs?"

Honey nodded.

Another pause. "And, holy smoke, cuff-buttons? Say, where do we get off?"

"They 're not expensive, Dearie."

"But have you any idea how much?" he insisted.

"Four dollars ought to cover that."

"By gosh! Well, I guess that's all," he said quietly. Just then he glanced down at his shoes. "It is n't necessary to have patent leathers, too?" he appealed.

"It's customary, Dearie, but not absolutely necessary."

"People don't see your feet in a reception like that," he urged.

Honey smiled. "They might without difficulty, Dearie, if you chanced to walk across the floor in some vacant space. Remember, you're not in the subway where everybody stands on them and hides them."

"Don't be funny," said Skinner. "Mine are only in proportion. How much? That's the question, while we're at it – how much?"

"You know the price of men's shoes better than I do, Dearie."

"I saw some patent leathers on Cortlandt Street at three dollars and a half."

"Those were n't patent leathers – only pasteboard. They'd fall to pieces if the night happened to be moist. And you'd reach the party barefooted. Think of it, Dearie, going in with a dress suit on and bare feet!"

Her giggle irritated Skinner.

"It may be very funny to you but – how much? That's the question!"

"Not more than six dollars for the best."

"I see," said Skinner, making an effort to be calm. "Silk hosiery?"

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