Skinner's Dress Suit Part 17

"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 wis.h.i.+ng 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 br.i.m.m.i.n.g, "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 cla.s.s."

"It's quite intoxicating."

"Special brands usually are."

"I thought those Western cities did n't have cla.s.ses."

"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 cla.s.ses. 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:--

_Dress-Suit Account_

_Debit_ _Credit_

One "open sesame" to the smartest set west of the Alleghanies!

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 princ.i.p.al 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."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Mrs. Skinner, daughter of the late Archibald Rutherford, of Hastings-on-the-Hudson, accompanies her husband"]

"'Rutherford'--'Hastings-on-the-Hudson'--swagger name," commented the clerk.

Skinner smiled at the clerk's comment. If it impressed this dapper, matter-of-fact, know-everybody man-of-affairs that way, how much more would it appeal to Mrs. Curmudgeon W. Jackson's social nose.

Veritably, it augured well for his scheme.

But he only said, "It reads a devilish sight better than plain Skinner, does n't it?"

"Well," said the clerk, trying to be consoling and diplomatic and failing in both, "you must n't always judge a man by his name."

After breakfast next morning Skinner and Honey remained in their rooms, waiting for the message that was to come from the Wilkinsons, for Skinner had reckoned that any friend of the Colbys would receive prompt attention.

"She'll call you up, Honey, and ask us to dine to-night. There, there, don't ask any questions. I've figured it all out. But we're engaged until Sat.u.r.day."

"Engaged every night? Why, Dearie, this is only Wednesday. You had n't told me anything about it."

"Quite right," said Skinner, "I had not."

"What are we going to do?"

"I have no plans. I suppose we'll sit in our rooms or go to the theater."