Skinner's Dress Suit. Dodge Henry Irving

      Honey went to the city with Skinner the next day, and during the lunch-hour a high-class tailor in the financial district measured Skinner for his dress suit. Honey had sensed from Dearie's protest the night of the "raise" that it would be hard to pry him loose from any more cash than the first ninety dollars, so she did n't try to – with words. She would let him convince himself. So, when the wonderful outfit arrived a few days later, and Skinner put it on, she pretended to admire the whole effect unqualifiedly.

      "Beautiful!" she cried; "perfectly beautiful!"

      But she chuckled to herself as she noted the look of perplexity that gradually came into Skinner's eyes as he regarded himself in the mirror.

      "These clothes are very handsome," he said presently, "and they're a perfect fit – but the general effect does n't seem right."

      Honey remained discreetly silent.

      Presently Skinner turned to her with a suggestion of trouble in his eyes. "Say, Honey, what do dress shirts cost?"

      "I don't know exactly. Four dollars, perhaps."

      "Four dollars!" There was a suggestion of a snarl in Skinner's tone, the first she'd ever heard. "Four dollars! – the one I've got on only cost ninety cents."

      "But that is n't a dress shirt, Dearie."

      "No, you bet it is n't! But it's good enough for me!" Then with a touch of sarcasm in his tone, "I suppose a certain kind of collar and tie are necessary for a dress shirt?"

      "A dollar would cover that."

      "How many collars?" he almost shouted.

      "One."

      Another pause; then, "I've got to have studs?"

      Honey nodded.

      Another pause. "And, holy smoke, cuff-buttons? Say, where do we get off?"

      "They 're not expensive, Dearie."

      "But have you any idea how much?" he insisted.

      "Four dollars ought to cover that."

      "By gosh! Well, I guess that's all," he said quietly. Just then he glanced down at his shoes. "It is n't necessary to have patent leathers, too?" he appealed.

      "It's customary, Dearie, but not absolutely necessary."

      "People don't see your feet in a reception like that," he urged.

      Honey smiled. "They might without difficulty, Dearie, if you chanced to walk across the floor in some vacant space. Remember, you're not in the subway where everybody stands on them and hides them."

      "Don't be funny," said Skinner. "Mine are only in proportion. How much? That's the question, while we're at it – how much?"

      "You know the price of men's shoes better than I do, Dearie."

      "I saw some patent leathers on Cortlandt Street at three dollars and a half."

      "Those were n't patent leathers – only pasteboard. They'd fall to pieces if the night happened to be moist. And you'd reach the party barefooted. Think of it, Dearie, going in with a dress suit on and bare feet!"

      Her giggle irritated Skinner.

      "It may be very funny to you but – how much? That's the question!"

      "Not more than six dollars for the best."

      "I see," said Skinner, making an effort to be calm. "Silk hosiery?"