"By Jove," said the junior partner to McLaughlin later on, "I believe there _is_ something in your talk about Skinner. He actually pa.s.sed me in the pa.s.sageway just now without speaking!"

And because they had begun to watch him, every little thing Skinner did took on an artificial significance--was given undue weight.

CHAPTER V

THE OPERATING EXPENSES OF THE DRESS SUIT

Skinner's feelings were not of the most amiable when on Sat.u.r.day he drew his first check on his own private bank account to pay himself his first week's raise. And he swore lightly as he realized that this would be a weekly reminder of his folly, perhaps for years to come.

But Honey chirked up wonderfully when he handed her the "extra ten."

"I'll deposit this the first thing Monday morning," she cried. "I'm so glad we're beginning to put money back into the bank--we've drawn so much out. And we 'll do it every week until we've paid back every cent we took out!"

And Skinner was glad that she was glad, although he reflected that her process of putting money back into the bank as fast as he drew it out would be about as effectual as the efforts of a squirrel in a little wire treadmill!

At dinner the Skinners opened their hearts to each other. Dearie took out his little book containing the dress-suit account and read off the items to Honey. The balance seemed to be heavily on the debit side.

"Well," said Skinner, "there won't be any more debits, anyway. We've spent all we're _going_ to spend--and don't you forget it! I promise you that!"

"We don't _need_ to spend any more," said Honey. "We have our clothes."

"Yes," said Skinner, "so we have."

"Cheer up, Dearie. There's one thing you forgot to put down to the credit of that dress-suit account. It has made your little wifey very, very happy!"

Honey put her head on Dearie's shoulder.

"For that reason," said Skinner, "and for that alone"--he winked solemnly at the wall over Honey's shoulder--"it has made _me_ very happy!"

He stroked Honey's glossy hair and held her close.

"No," said Honey, resuming her place at the table, which she had left in her exuberance to give Dearie a hug, and knitting her brows, "there's no way of spending any more money. We've made our original investment."

"The initial cost," Dearie corrected.

"We've invested in ourselves," Honey went on.

"Yes, and we've bought our own bonds," Skinner added.

"And they'll pay better than any old bank," cried Honey. Then quickly, "But we won't buy any more!"

"There are other financial stunts besides putting money in the bank,"

observed Skinner. "Look at Lewis. He invested in himself."

"Just as we're doing," Honey broke in.

"Er--not precisely," Skinner qualified. "But his investment has already returned self-respect, social opportunity, enhanced efficiency."

"And he has n't half as much brains as you have!"

"I don't know about that," said Skinner, rather dubiously. "Anyhow, what he's got are live ones." Then, after a pause, "Look here, Honey, we don't need to worry. We've already invested so much. It's going to continue to bring us in good things--and it is n't going to cost us any more."

"No, indeed, it isn't, Dearie. I'll see to that!" said Honey with firmness.

"And I 'll see to it that you _see_ to it. That'll double cinch it,"

said Skinner.

Honey held up a finger; then turned and listened.

"That's the postman's whistle. I'll go."

A moment later, she burst into the room, her face radiant. "There,"

she cried, throwing a large, square envelope down in front of Skinner, "you can credit your dress-suit account with that!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "There," she cried, "you can credit your dress-suit account with that!"]

It was an invitation to a dance at the J. Smith Crawfords' on the fifteenth--just two weeks off.

"I'll put it down in my little book. It is n't exactly tangible, but you can bet your life it may _lead_ to something tangible."

"Tangible?" echoed Honey. "It's a social triumph!"

In his fine, round hand, Skinner inscribed in the little book the following:--

_Dress-Suit Account_

_Debit_ _Credit_

One social triumph.

He pa.s.sed the record over for Honey's approval.

"And, oh, goodie," Honey cried, "we're all prepared for it! Not a penny to spend! Now, don't you dare to think of anything!--is there?"

"You're right, Honey, you're right," Skinner almost shouted.

He paused abruptly; then, in a hoa.r.s.e whisper, "Say, Honey, you know how to dance?"

Honey stared at him wide-eyed.

"Why--ye-es--I waltz."

"That's archaic. Do you know the new things, those cubist proposition dances where you glide and side-step and pause and back up and go ahead again and zigzag like an inebriated politician?"

"You mean the turkey trot and the tango and the one-step and the fox trot and the hesitation?" Honey rattled off glibly.