Skinner's Dress Suit Part 15

"Why worry?"

"The interest on her mortgage comes due and she can't pay it."

"If she'd only listened to me and not taken the advice of that scalawag brother-in-law of yours, she would n't have any mortgage to pay interest on."

"She only got a thousand dollars. At five per cent, that's fifty dollars a year."

Skinner swallowed hard to keep down the savage impulse that threatened to manifest itself in profanity whenever he thought of Honey's mother and his weakling brother-in-law.

"Honey," he said grimly, "does your mother in that letter ask you to help her out with that interest?"

Honey lifted her head proudly. "She does n't ask me anything. She does n't have to. She only tells me about it."

"Yes, she does n't have to."

"You know I 've always wanted to do something for her, and I've never been able to. I'm ashamed to neglect her now, when we're living so well and dressing so well--and you have your raise. It's only a dollar a week."

"Have you any more relatives who have a speculative tendency?" Skinner began with chill dignity.

"Now, Dearie!" Honey began to cry and Skinner got up from the table and went over and kissed her.

She had married him against mother's advice and had stood by him like a brick, and he'd do anything for her. He stroked her glossy hair. "You _have_ always wanted to do something for her, have n't you? You're a good girl! Do it! Send her a dollar a week!"

Skinner resumed his place at the table. This was the climax, he thought, the _ne plus ultra_ of it all! He was to contribute a dollar a week to his mother-in-law to make up a loss caused by the advice of a detested, silly-a.s.s brother-in-law, who had always hated him, Skinner. Surely, the dress-suit account had reached the debt limit! He took out his little book and jotted down:--

_Dress-Suit Account_

_Debit_ _Credit_

One important lesson!

Never take the first false step!

It's apt to lead, one knows not whither!

"You don't know how happy you've made me," said Honey, "and I 'm so proud of you--such strength of character--just like old Solon Wright, you're doing this for one you positively dislike, Dearie!--moral discipline!"

"Moral discipline, your grandmother!" snapped Skinner; then softly, "I'm doing it for one I love."

"I would n't have mentioned it if you hadn't got your raise. You know that!"

His raise! Skinner thought much about "his" raise as he lay in bed that night. Had he gone too far to back out, he wondered? By Jove, if he did n't back out, his fast-diminishing bank account would _back_ him out!

The thing would work automatically. Probably in his whole life Skinner had never suffered so much disgust. Think of it! He must go on paying mother-in-law a dollar a week forever and ever, amen! No, he'd be hanged if he'd do it! He'd tell Honey the whole thing in the morning and throw himself on her mercy. The resolution gave him relief and he went to asleep.

But he did n't tell Honey in the morning. He was afraid to hurt her. He thought of his resolution of the night. It's so easy to make conscience-mollifying resolves in the night when darkness and silence make cowards of us. No, he could n't tell her now. He'd tell her when he got home to dinner.

Meantime, things were doing in the private office of McLaughlin & Perkins, Inc.

"I've thought it over this far, Perk," said McLaughlin.

"Well?"

"Understand, I believe in Skinner absolutely--but--"

"Even _your_ judgment is not infallible, you mean?"

"Exactly."

"So do I believe in him," Perkins said.

"I couldn't offend him for the world," McLaughlin went on. "He's as sensitive as a cat's tail. I would n't even dare to go into that cage of his." McLaughlin paused, "Yet we've got to do _something_. We can't wait till summer when he goes on his vacation. All kinds of things might happen before then. Time and Wall Street don't wait for anybody--except magnates!"

"You mean, have an expert accountant go over his books?" said Perkins.

"Certainly, that's what I mean--that's what you mean--that's what's been in both our minds from the time he began to travel with that Pullman crowd."

"It ought to be done at once," said Perkins. "If things are not regular--well, we must protect ourselves. I'm puzzled how to get rid of him while we're doing it. It's a delicate business," Perkins urged.

"I've got that all figured out, Perk." McLaughlin paused to register the comedy line that was to follow. "I'm going to send Skinner to St.

Paul--after Willard Jackson!"

The partners were silent for a few moments; then Perkins said, "You can't, Mac."

"Why not?"

"It's a joke!"

"Of course it's a joke! But it's a harmless joke. You and I are the only ones that are 'on.' Skinner won't suspect. We'll put it up to him in dead earnest."

"The worst Jackson can do is to insult him the way he did you," said Perkins.

"The old dog!" said McLaughlin. He paused. "We'll get Skinner out of his cage for a while. It'll cost us so much money--we'll add that on to the expert accountant's bill. Can you think of a better way, Perk?"

"Mac, you're a genius!"

McLaughlin pressed the b.u.t.ton marked "cashier."

Perkins put out his hand. "Don't call him yet, Mac. Wait till I get through laughing."

McLaughlin turned as the "cage man" entered.

"h.e.l.lo, Skinner. Sit down." He paused a moment to register his next words. "Skinner, Mr. Perkins and I want you to do something for us."

Skinner looked from one partner to the other. "Yes," he said quietly.

"Two years ago we lost the biggest customer we ever had," McLaughlin proceeded.

"I know. Willard Jackson--St. Paul."