Skinner's Dress Suit. Dodge Henry Irving

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СКАЧАТЬ to think that it would be easier for him to get a job now than it had been in those suppliant days. He was now experienced, skillful, more level-headed. His honesty and loyalty were a by-word in the business district.

      His thoughts took another turn, and he looked at himself in the mirror. Gad! He had all the earmarks of back-numberhood. His hair was gray at the temples and he was shabby, neat but shabby. But he was only thirty-eight, he reflected, – the most interesting period of a man's life; he was wise without being old. And he was not bad-looking. He studied the reflection of his face. The picturesqueness of youth was lined – not too deeply lined – by the engraving hand of experience. What was the matter with him, then? Why was he not more of a success? Was it because he had been a "cage man" too long, always taking orders, always acquiescing subserviently, never asserting?

      He looked out of the window. The river was gray, everything was gray – nothing pleased him. But the river used to be blue, always blue, when he first crossed it, a buoyant youth. The river had n't changed. It was the same river he had always loved. Then the change must be in him, Skinner. Why had he gradually ceased to enjoy things? Who was to blame for the drab existence he was suffering? Was it the outside world or himself?

      As a boy, things were new to him – that was why the river was blue. But there were many things new to him to-day – peoples, countries, customs – yes, a thousand things new and interesting right in New York, close at hand, if he'd only take the trouble to look them up. Why was his ability to appreciate failing? Other men, much older than he and only clerks at that, were happy. He sighed. It must be himself, for, after all, the world had treated him as well as he had treated the world, he reflected, being a just man.

      Unfortunately, on the train Skinner got a seat in the very center of a circle of social chatterboxes, male commuters, and female shoppers. Some talked of their machines and rattled off the names of the makers. There was the Pierce-Arrow, the Packard, the Buick, and all the rest of the mechanical buzz-wagons. There was an inextricable mass of phrases – six-cylinder, self-starter, non-puncturable, non-skiddable. But he did n't hear any such terms as non-collidable, non-turnoverable, or non-waltz-down-the-hillable. Nor did they spare him the patriarchal jokes about the ubiquitous Ford. They talked about the rising cost of gasoline which brought John D. in for a share of wholesome abuse. At the mention of John D. everybody turned to golf and Skinner got that delightful recreation ad infinitum, ad nauseam.

      Skinner felt that this talk about machines was only to impress others with the talkers' motor lore. For familiarity with motor lore means a certain social status. It is part of the smart vernacular of to-day. Any man who can own a car has at least mounted a few steps on the social ladder. The next thing to owning a car is to be able to talk about a car, for if a man can talk well about a machine everybody 'll think that he must have had a vast experience in that line and, therefore, must be a man of affairs.

      Girls chattered about autos, not to give the impression that they owned them, but that they had many friends who owned them, that they were greatly in demand as auto companions – thus vicariously establishing their own social status.

      There was something fraternal about it, Skinner thought, like golf. The conceit occurred to him that it would be a good scheme to get up a booklet full of glib automobile, golf, and bridge chatter, to be committed to memory, and mark it, "How to Bluff One's Way into Society." It might have a wide sale.

      Skinner suddenly realized that his thoughts were a dark, minor chord in the general light-hearted chatter, for he cordially hated the whole blooming business of automobiles, golf, and bridge. He was the raven at the feast. Everybody seemed to be talking to somebody else. Only he was alone. He wondered why he had not been a better "mixer." Several of the boys in Meadeville that he knew of had got better positions through the friendship of their fellow commuters, because they were good "mixers," good chatterers.

      There was Lewis, for instance, who was just going into the Pullman with Robertson, the banker. Lewis was nothing but a social froth-juggler. He had n't half Skinner's ability, yet he was going around with the rich. Cheek – that was it – nothing but cheek that did it. Skinner detested cheek, yet Lewis had capitalized it. The result was a fine house and servants and an automobile for the man who used to walk in the slush with Skinner behind other men's cars and take either their mud or their gasoline stench.

      Skinner wondered if Lewis and others like him could afford their way of living. He had always looked forward with a certain satisfaction to the time when the smash would come to some of these social butterflies, with their mortgaged automobiles, and then he, Skinner, with his snug little bank account, would be the one to laugh and to chatter. This reflection greatly consoled him for wearing cheap clothes. He'd rather have his money in the bank than on his back. But the smash had n't come to any of them as yet, he reflected. On the contrary, the more money they seemed to spend, the more they seemed to make. He wondered how they managed.

      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 cock-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. Nobody would be any the wiser and if nobody would be any the richer, surely nobody 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, СКАЧАТЬ