Skinner's Dress Suit

"Vulgar – ostentatiously vulgar," said McLaughlin.

Skinner smiled. He pondered a moment, then ventured, "Say, Mr. McLaughlin, it'd be a big feather in my cap if I landed Jackson, wouldn't it?"

"One of the ostrich variety, my son, – seeing that the great auk is dead," said McLaughlin solemnly.

Skinner's voice faltered a bit. "You don't know, Mr. McLaughlin, and you, Mr. Perkins, how grateful I am for this opportunity. I – I – " He turned and left the room.

"It's pathetic, ain't it? I feel like a sneak, Perk," said McLaughlin.

"Pathetic, yes," said Perkins. "But it's for his good. If he's all right, we're vindicating him – if he is n't all right, we want to know it."

The "cage man" whistled softly to himself as he reflected that the awful day of confessing to Honey was deferred for an indefinite period. It was a respite. But what gave him profound satisfaction was the fact that McLaughlin and Perkins were beginning to realize that he could do something besides stand in a cage and count money. They had made him their plenipotentiary, McLaughlin said. Gad! That meant full power! By jingo! He kept on whistling, which was significant, for Skinner rarely whistled.

And for the first time in his career, when he smelt burning wood pulp and looked down at the line of messenger boys with a ready-made frown and caught the eyes of Mickey, the "littlest," smiling impudently at him, Skinner smiled back.

For the rest of the day, as Skinner sat in his cage, three things kept running through his head: he's a curmudgeon; she's a climber; and she doesn't climb. From these three things the "cage man" subconsciously evolved a proposition: —

Three persons would go to St. Paul, named in order of their importance: First, Skinner's dress suit; second, Honey; and third, Skinner.

CHAPTER IX

SKINNER FISHES WITH A DIPLOMATIC HOOK

The first step in the scheme which Skinner had evolved for the reclamation of Willard Jackson, of St. Paul, Minnesota, was to be taken Sunday morning, after services, at the First Presbyterian Church of Meadeville, New Jersey.

Skinner had not told Honey he was going to take her on his trip West. He would do that after church, if a certain important detail of his plan did not miscarry. Although he paid respectful attention to the sermon, Skinner's thoughts were at work on something not religious, and he was relieved when the doxology was finished and the blessing asked. Unlike most of the others present, Skinner was in no hurry to leave. Instead, he loitered in the aisle until Mrs. Stephen Colby overtook him on her way down from one of the front pews.

"Why, Mr. Skinner, this is a surprise," exclaimed the social arbiter. Then slyly, "There's some hope for you yet."

"I thought I'd come in and make my peace before embarking on a railroad journey," Skinner observed.

"Going away? Not for long, I hope."

"St. Paul. I'm not carrying a message from the Ephesians – just a business trip."

"St. Paul's very interesting."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"You've never been there?"

"No."

"Goodness – I know it well."

"What bothers me is, I'm afraid Mrs. Skinner 'll find it dull. I'm taking her along. You see, I 'll have lots to do, but she does n't know anybody out there."

The social arbiter pondered a moment. "But she should know somebody. Would you mind if I gave her a letter to Mrs. J. Matthews Wilkinson? Very old friend of mine and very dear. You'll find her charming. Something of a bore on family. Her great-grandfather was a kind of land baron out that way."

"It's mighty good of you to do that for Mrs. Skinner."

"Bless you, I'm doing it for you, too. You have n't forgotten that you're a devilish good dancer and you don't chatter all the time?" Then, after a pause, "I'm wishing a good thing on the Wilkinsons, too," – confidentially, – "for I don't mind telling you I've found Mrs. Skinner perfectly delightful. She's a positive joy to me."

"You're all right, Mrs. Colby."

"That's the talk. Yes, I'm coming along." She waved her hand to Stephen Colby. "When do you go?"

"To-morrow morning."

"I'll send the letter over this afternoon – and if you don't mind, I 'll wire the Wilkinsons that you're coming on."

Skinner impulsively caught her hand. "Mrs. Colby, you're the best fellow I ever met!"

When the letter arrived at the Skinner's house that afternoon, Honey knitted her brows.

"I don't understand it."

"You ought to. It's for you."

"Dearie," said Honey, rising, her eyes brimming, "you mean to say that I'm going to St. Paul with you?"

"Don't have to say it. Is n't that letter enough?"

"Dearie, you're the most wonderful man I ever saw. Think of it! – a letter from Mrs. Colby! I'll bet those Wilkinsons are swells!"

"They breathe the Colby stratum of the atmosphere. It's a special stratum, designed and created for that select class."

"It's quite intoxicating."

"Special brands usually are."

"I thought those Western cities did n't have classes."

"My dear, blood is n't a matter of geography. There's not a village in the United States that does n't have its classes. The more loudly they brag of their democracy, the greater the distance from the top to the bottom."

As Skinner said this, he jotted down in his little book: —

and Honey clapped her hands.

And as he put Mrs. Colby's letter in his inside pocket, Skinner muttered to himself, "A climber, but does n't climb. She'll climb for this all right!"

The Skinners reached St. Paul Tuesday night and registered at The Hotel. When he had deposited Honey in the suite which had been reserved by wire for them, Skinner proceeded to execute the next step in his scheme for the reclamation of Willard Jackson. He returned to the desk.

"I wish," he said to the chief clerk, "that you 'd see to it that a paragraph regarding my arrival is put in the morning papers, just a little more than mere mention among hotel arrivals" – he took pen and paper and wrote – "something like this: 'William Manning Skinner, of McLaughlin & Perkins, Inc., New York, reached town last evening and is stopping at The Hotel.' There's a lot of people here I want to see, but I might overlook 'em in the rush of business. If they know I'm here, they'll come to see me."

"Very good, Mr. Skinner," said the clerk. "I'll see to it."

Skinner paused a moment. "By Jove, I've almost forgotten the principal thing." He added a few words to the copy. "Put that in, too, please. Can you read it? See: 'Mrs. Skinner, daughter of the late Archibald Rutherford, of Hastings-on-the-Hudson, accompanies her husband.' That's just to please her."