Skinner's Dress Suit

"I told her her husband would understand and I wanted him to know just how I felt about it."

"The devil you did," said Skinner.

True to his word, Skinner proceeded to keep a little book marked "Dress-Suit Account." He was probably the only man, he reflected, who had ever done such a thing, and he did it at first more as a joke than anything else. But he found that the "Dress-Suit Account" developed serious as well as humorous possibilities. He first entered carefully, item by item, the cost of the dress suit and its accessories.

To that he added the cost of Honey's outfit:

Skinner noted that everything was on the debit side until the night of the First Presbyterian reception. Then he put down: —

And he did n't neglect to add the relatively unimportant item: —

From that time on, both debit and credit items were put down as they occurred to Skinner.

While Skinner was thus directly concerned with the dress-suit account, that potent affair was rapidly developing ramifications in an unsuspected direction.

"I say, Perk," said McLaughlin to the junior partner, the day after the reception, "I saw Skinner and his wife at the First Presbyterian affair in Meadeville last night, and, by jingo, they were all dressed up to the nines."

"There's nothing startling in that."

"No – but what do you suppose Skinner's wife said to Mrs. Mac?"

Perkins sighed heavily at the bare suggestion. "What the deuce has that got to do with me?"

"Wait till I tell you. She almost wept on Mrs. Mac's neck while she told her how grateful she was – grateful for the way we had shown our appreciation of Skinner!"

Perkins pricked up his ears. "The deuce you say!"

"I thought you'd come to," said McLaughlin.

"What did she mean by that?"

"Don't know. Mrs. Mac asked her what she was driving at – and she said I 'd understand. She wanted me to know how she felt about it – that's all!"

Perkins's only comment was, "Curious!"

"Say, Perk," McLaughlin went on, "do you reckon she was trying to be sarcastic – trying to give us a sly dig for turning Skinner down?"

"He'd never tell her that."

"Then what did she mean?"

Perkins shrugged his shoulders.

McLaughlin knitted his brows. "I don't understand it." He drummed on the table with the paper-knife. "I told you I was afraid of worms," he said after a pause.

"He has n't begun to turn yet."

"How do you know? Hang it! A worm is always turning. There's no telling when he begins. He crawls in curves."

"Oh, rats!" was Perkins's only comment.

"Rats, eh? Skinner asked for a raise, did n't he? He did n't get it, did he? Right on top of it he comes out in gay attire – both of 'em! You ought to have seen 'em, Perk. No hand-me-down! The real thing!" McLaughlin paused longer than usual. He looked troubled. "Say, Perk," he said presently, "somehow, I'm afraid this particular worm of ours is pluming for flight."

"That's a dainty metaphor, Mac, but it's a little mixed."

McLaughlin glared at Perkins. He hated these petty corrections.

"Ain't a caterpillar a worm, my Harvard prodigy?"

"I grant you that."

"Don't he turn into a butterfly? Don't he plume for flight?"

McLaughlin nailed each successive argument with a bang of his fist on the desk.

"Ain't Skinner getting to be a social butterfly? Get the connection? My metaphor may be mixed, as you say, – which I don't understand, – but my logic is O.K. Say, ain't it?"

"Your metaphor, Mac, suggests a picture. Imagine Skinner with wings on – those long legs drooping down or trailing behind him – like a great Jersey mosquito!"

At which they both laughed.

"Well," said McLaughlin, resignedly turning to the papers on his desk, "it beats me, that's all!"

Skinner had accurately reckoned that McLaughlin's wife would repeat Honey's cryptic remarks to the boss, and so, next day, he felt a natural constraint when in the presence of the senior partner. Constraint in the one reacted upon and caused constraint in the other, until it looked as if McLaughlin and Skinner, who had once been quite sociable as boss and clerk, would be little more than speaking acquaintances, after a time.

At any rate, that night Skinner jotted down: —

"Have you noticed anything in Skinner's conduct, Perk?" said McLaughlin, two days later.

"You're getting morbid about Skinner, Mac."

"No, I ain't, either. But he acts – somehow, I can't get it out of my head that his wife meant – you know what!"

"You think Skinner told her we raised him?"

"That's it!"

"Suppose he did," said Perkins; "what of it?"

"How could he square it with her?" said McLaughlin slowly.

The partners looked at each other with a certain understanding, not too definite – just a suggestion.

"You think I'm morbid, Perk. You think I see things that ain't so. Just you keep your eye on him. See how he acts to you."

But Skinner had more than any constraint on the part of McLaughlin to worry him. His real concern found its source in the domestic circle. At first, he was exuberant, intoxicated with the vision of social possibilities. But now a reaction had set in, a reaction promoted by the attitude of Honey. Honey, too, was now constrained. Skinner persistently pressed her to tell him what was the matter. She finally admitted that she was frightened by the plunge into extravagance they'd taken. They had made a big hole in their bank account. To her, it was like blasting a rock from under the foundation of the wall which for years they had been building up, stone by stone, to stand between them and destitution.

At times, when Skinner allowed his mind to dwell on it, he was shocked. But being the chief sinner in the matter, he felt it incumbent on him to bolster up the faltering spirits of Honey. He would not for a moment admit to her that they had acted unwisely. Even so, he was protesting against the conviction that was gradually deepening within him that he'd made something of a fool of himself!