Skinner's Dress Suit Part 5

"You're not holding anything in reserve to spring on me? If you've got anything to say, say it now while I 'm in my agony--you can't hurt me any more!"

"My love, you're the finished product!"

"Good!" Skinner paused; then with quiet, grim resolution: "Now, we'll begin on you!"

"Me?" Honey cried.

"Yes, you! You don't suppose I 'm going to be the only one in this outfit to be decked out in gay attire? What would they think if they saw a resplendent individual like me and a shabby little wife? It would be as bad as the man that went on his wedding trip alone because he was too darned mean or too darned poor to take his wife along!"

"But _me_! I'm all right!"

"What have you got?" Skinner insisted grimly. He had borne the gaff--now it was his turn to do some of the punishing, and he enjoyed it. "What have you got?" he repeated.

"The beautiful pink dress I made over."

"Get it," said Skinner.

Already his tone was taking on an unaccustomed authority, and Honey hastened to do as she was bid. She got the pretty, home-made thing and laid it on the table.

"Put it on," Skinner ordered.

Honey got into the dress as quickly as her trembling fingers would permit.

Skinner stood off and inspected her.

"That's a beautiful little dress for the house," he said finally, "but it does n't match this dress suit. Incompatible is n't the word."

"Would n't this humble dress set off your clothes by contrast?" Honey said, affecting meekness, her sense of humor getting the uppermost.

"Yes, but these clothes of mine would also set off that humble dress by contrast, and that I won't have for a minute! You're the beauty spot in this outfit, my dear," Skinner said tenderly, "not I. I 'm not going to do the peac.o.c.k act. I'm the quiet, dignified one. That's what I affect. It rests with you to keep up the pulchritudinous end of it. That's it! You've got to dress up to _this_!"

He smiled fondly at the shrinking Honey.

Honey began to tremble. Dearie had no idea of the cost of women's clothes!

"Look here," Skinner went on, resuming the imperative, "I got this dress suit at a first-cla.s.s tailor's--you go to a first-cla.s.s dressmaker and get a gown to correspond with it. To correspond with my patent leathers, you get evening shoes at a first-cla.s.s bootmaker's.

To correspond with my overcoat, you get an evening cloak. Piece for piece, you must do just as I do. We'll be a symphony in clothes! Silk stockings, long gloves, silk underwear, and all the rest of it--that's what you're going to have!"

"But silk underwear? No one can see it, Dearie," Honey protested.

"There's a psychology to it, remember. I want you to _feel_ well dressed."

Honey's face went white.

"Have you any idea what these things will cost?"

"No!--and I don't care!" Skinner burst out. "It's all on me! _I_ got the raise, did n't I? You did n't, did you? Very well, _I'll_ take the consequences--and be d.a.m.ned to 'em!"

Then Skinner swung around and shook his finger at Honey.

"And I want you to understand, we're going to _ride_ to that reception--in a cab! For one night in his life Skinner will not be a walk-in-the-slush man!"

CHAPTER IV

SKINNER'S DRESS SUIT BEGINS TO GET IN ITS FINE WORK

Meadeville was a suburb once removed--a kind of second cousin to the big city--the only kind of a suburb that could really be aristocratic.

Meadeville was populated considerably by moneyed New Yorkers and the First Presbyterian was the smartest church in town. The men who pa.s.sed the plate all belonged to the millionaire cla.s.s.

But no church congregation was ever made up entirely of aristocrats.

It needs a generous sprinkling of the poor and the moderately well-to-do to keep up the spiritual average. This was the case with the First Presbyterian. Its gatherings were eminently democratic. It was the only occasion when the "upper ten" felt that they could mix with the other "hundreds" without any letting-down of the bars. The ultra-fashionable rarely attended the church gatherings. But this was a special occasion. A new pastor was to be introduced. So, prompted by curiosity and a desire to make a good impression on the future custodian of their morals, the smart set attended in full force.

Skinner knew every one of the smart set by sight. But the smart set did n't know Skinner, for he was only a clerk, and no clerk ever had individuality enough to stamp himself on the memory of a plutocrat.

There were a large number of clerks present, fellow commuters, and Skinner noticed with some embarra.s.sment that a considerable number of these gentlemen were not in evening dress.

As like attracts like,--on the same principle that laborers in a car foregather with other laborers,--so Skinner began to foregather with the dress-suit contingent. Their clothes attracted his clothes. He felt that he belonged with them. Furthermore, he had a painful consciousness of being conspicuous among the underdressed men. He also wished to escape a certain envy which he sensed in a few of his fellow clerks, because of his dress suit. While this was a novel sensation to Skinner--the walk-in-the-slush, sit-in-the-corner, watch-the-other-fellow-dance, male-wallflower proposition--he did n't like it, for he was a kind-hearted man, always considerate of the feelings of others. And for the moment it threatened to check the pleasure he was beginning to take in his new clothes.

As Skinner aligned himself with the dress-suit contingent, he realized that many of these were clerks who had risen in the world and owned their own machines, while the under-dressed men still belonged to the bicycle club.

Many of the newly rich men were old acquaintances of Skinner's who had pa.s.sed him, left him behind, as it were, years before. To these, his dress suit was a kind of new introduction. They seemed pleased to see him. They clapped him on the shoulder. It struck his sense of humor that they were like old friends who had preceded him to heaven and were waiting to welcome him to their new sphere.

He thrust his hands into his pockets--as he saw the others do--and strode, not walked or glided p.u.s.s.y-footedly, as became a "cage man."

And he began to feel a commiseration for the men who were not in dress suits.

Skinner found himself taking a sudden interest in the social chatter about him. It did not bore him now. Why had he always hated it so, he asked himself? Probably because he had never taken the trouble to understand it--but he was a rank outsider then. He began to wonder if social life were really so potent of good cheer, physical and mental refreshment. He began to realize that he had permitted himself to dislike a great inst.i.tution because of a few b.u.t.terflies whose chatter had offended him.

But he now saw that important business men were social b.u.t.terflies, at times. Surely, they must see something in it. And if these clever and able men saw something in it, then he, Skinner, must have been something of an a.s.s to deny himself these things.

When McLaughlin came up and greeted him cordially, McLaughlin seemed a changed man. His eyes were genial, and even his hair was conciliatory.

And social intercourse had done that! "Gee whiz!" said Skinner to himself.

And Honey! Skinner took a brand-new pride in her. She was radiantly happy, radiantly beautiful in a gown designed by a clever dress-builder to exploit every one of her charms. She was blooming like a rose whose bloom had been arrested by the sordid things of life. Honey had been "taken up." She was now the very center of a group of some of the "best" people there. By Jove, McLaughlin's wife had thrust her arm through Honey's and was leading her off to another group. As he watched her, Skinner felt that even sin--when undertaken for another--has its compensations!

"Who is that very distinguished man over there?" said Mrs. J. Smith Crawford, the wife of the senior deacon of the First Presbyterian.

Miss Mayhew adjusted her lorgnette. "_What_ very distinguished man?"

"There's only one," replied Mrs. Crawford. "The man over there who looks like a cross between a poet and an athlete."

"Oh, that's Skinner, of McLaughlin & Perkins, Inc. The Skinners are great friends of ours."

As a matter of fact, Miss Mayhew had never taken the trouble to notice the Skinners, but now that Skinner had made an impression on the exclusive Mrs. Crawford, that altered the case.

"I'm glad," said Mrs. Crawford. "Go get him."