Skinner's Dress Suit Part 2

CHAPTER II

HOW SKINNER GOT HIS RAISE

Presently, Wilkes, in the seat just ahead of Skinner, folded his newspaper and turned to his neighbor. "Are you going to the reception to the new pastor at the First Presbyterian?"

"Am I going? You bet I am. We're all going."

The remark brought Skinner back to the things of the moment with a jerk. By Jove! Honey was going to that reception and she'd set her heart on his going with her. She'd been making over a dress for it.

It seemed to Skinner she was always making something over. He had made up his mind that she'd buy something new--a lot of new things--when he'd got his raise. But now--well, it was a deuced good thing she _was_ handy with her needle.

He could see her waiting for him at the door with her customary kiss.

Hang it! how was he going to break the news to her? If he had n't been so asininely c.o.c.k-sure!--a "cinch," he thought contemptuously. He'd talked "cinch" to her so much that he'd almost come to believe it himself. But, after all, must he tell her to-night? Why not temporize? Say McLaughlin was out of town? Also it would never do to tell her that he'd been afraid to go to the boss. But she'd have to know it sometime, why not right away? Like having a tooth out, it was better done at once.

The thought of Honey's disappointment was overshadowed by an awful realization that suddenly came to Skinner. How could he square the fact that McLaughlin & Perkins, Inc., had turned him down with the way he'd bragged about his value to the firm? Skinner frowned deeply.

McLaughlin had no business to refuse him--a percentage of the money he handled was his by rights. Somehow he felt that he had been denied that which was his own.

What would Honey think of him? He could n't bear the idea of falling in her esteem. He pondered a bit. By Jove, he _would n't_ fall in her esteem. He sat up straight from his slouching position and squared his shoulders. He would n't disappoint her, either! Everybody had disappointed him, but that was no reason why he should disappoint _her_! He suddenly laughed aloud. If they would n't raise his salary, he'd take things into his own hands. He'd be independent of the firm.

He'd raise it himself. If he were going to lie to Honey, why not lie to some effect? He sat back, chuckling!

Why hadn't he thought of it before? It would be dead easy!

He'd raise himself five dollars a week! All he had to do was to take it out of his own bank account. Every week he'd cash a check for five dollars in New York. He always kept his personal check-book in the firm's safe. When he handed Honey his salary, he would give her the "extra five" to deposit to the credit of their account in the Meadeville National. It would work out beautifully. n.o.body would be any the wiser and if n.o.body would be any the richer, surely n.o.body would be any the poorer, and--he would not have to disappoint Honey.

Skinner began to look at the scheme from various angles, as was his custom in every business transaction. Was there any danger of Honey finding him out? No. She never saw the check-book, only the bank-book, and when he had that balanced he'd be careful to attend to it himself. She 'd never even see the canceled checks. Surely, there was no sin in it. He had a right to do what he liked with his own money. And he was n't really doing _anything_ with it, after all, simply pa.s.sing it around in a harmless circle. But would n't he be deceiving her, his best friend?--putting her in a fool's paradise?

Well, by jingo, he _would_ put her in a fool's paradise and let her revel in it, for once in her life, and before she had a chance to find out, he'd make it a _real_ paradise--he did n't know just how, but he would!

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 cla.s.s, 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 ma.s.s 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 br.i.m.m.i.n.g 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 superst.i.tious, 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 d.a.m.ned 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 acc.u.mulating 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?