Henry Dodge - Skinner's Dress Suit

Skinner stepped off the train at Meadeville and threaded his way between the glaring, throbbing automobiles to the slush-covered sidewalk. He no longer felt his customary resentment of these social pretenders that whizzed by him in their devil-wagons – leaving him to inhale the stench of their gasoline. In a way, he was one of them now. By his ingenious little scheme of circulating his own money, strictly in his own domestic circle, he had elected himself to the bluffer class, and he felt strangely light-hearted. Besides, he was no more of a "four-flush" financier than most of the automobile contingent, at that.

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."