"Is it necessary to learn them all?" said Skinner.

They looked at each other for a few moments without a word.

"No use--we've got to do it, Honey."

"But that means money. We've only got two weeks, and that means private lessons! And private lessons mean lots of money!"

"Honey," said Skinner solemnly, "we've invested in this dress-suit engine of conquest. It's no good unless we use it. We must learn the most effective way to use it or all the first cost will be wasted.

Besides, it won't cost much to learn to dance. There are places on Sixth Avenue--"

Honey held up both hands.

"Mercy, Dearie, if you learn to dance on Sixth Avenue, you'll have the Sixth-Avenue stamp to you. The men who dance on Sixth Avenue hire their dress suits on Third Avenue--it all goes together. Heavens," she sighed, breaking off abruptly, "have we built up a Frankenstein monster? Is that dress suit of yours going to prove as voracious as the fabled boa constrictor?"

"This dress suit is going to get all it wants to eat," said Skinner with finality.

Honey was frightened at Dearie's newly developed stamina. Skinner, the acquiescent one, putting his foot down like that!

"But, Dearie," she urged, "it isn't absolutely necessary for us to learn to dance. And, remember, you promised not to spend any more money."

"I told you my dress suit was our engine of conquest--plant! You buy your machinery--your plant. That's the initial cost. Then you have to learn how to run it."

He took out his little book and put down:--

_Dress-Suit Account_

_Debit_ _Credit_

Operating expenses.

"But you _promised_," Honey persisted.

"That was before we got this invitation. Things have changed.

_Promised_ not to spend any more money? What about my being a sit-in-the-corner, watch-the-other-fellow-dance, male-wallflower proposition, eh?"--and Honey was convicted by her own words.

"But, Dearie, what _will_ this dress suit get us into?"

"Debt!--if we don't look out!"

Honey crossed to Dearie, put her head on his shoulder, and began to cry softly.

"There, there," said Skinner, stroking her glossy hair, "don't you cry, Honey. There's nothing to worry about."

She lifted her face and smiled. "There _is n't_ anything to worry about, is there? We have n't anywhere near spent that five hundred and twenty dollars, have we?"

"No," said Skinner grimly, "not yet!"

He disengaged himself from Honey's reluctant arms and slowly mounted the stairs. Once inside his room, he turned and locked the door, still smiling grimly. He strode to the closet, flung the door open, lifted his dress suit from its peg, and held it at arm's length where it swayed like a scarecrow.

"My G.o.d, you're a Nemesis!" he growled. "There's one for you--there's another!"

He punched the thing hard and fast.

"That's you, Skinner--that's you--for being an a.s.s--a blooming, silly a.s.s!"

When he rejoined Honey in the dining-room he was smiling, not grimly now, but placidly.

"What is it, Dearie?" she asked.

"Just got something off my chest, that's all."

The words suggested something to Skinner; whenever his exasperation at his folly was too great for him to bear, he'd go upstairs and take it out on the dress suit. And the idea comforted him not a little!

So the Skinners put themselves in charge of a first-cla.s.s dancing instructor just off Fifth Avenue. For two solid weeks, every day Honey met Dearie after office hours and they practiced trotting the fox trot, stepping the one-step, and negotiating the tango and the hesitation.

Skinner was thorough in his dancing, as in everything else. He was quick to learn, light on his feet, and soon was an expert and graceful dancer.

At the end of the brief term Skinner wrote down in his little book:--

_Dress-Suit Account_

_Debit_ _Credit_

Instruction in dancing A certain stimulation for two, since the dress- due to dancing which suit engine of conquest quickens the mental needs two to run it ... $60.00 forces and makes one happier and more alert at his work.

The two weeks' loyal devotion to the art of Terpsich.o.r.e made Skinner at the Crawford dance no less conspicuous as a dancer than as a man of distinguished presence. He found himself greatly in demand, and he made the quick calculation that this new enhancement of his value was due to his dancing--which, in turn, was due to--the dress suit!

Early in the evening Mrs. Crawford, the hostess, introduced Skinner to Mrs. Stephen Colby, the magnate's wife, and Skinner asked for a dance.

And as he led that lady to the ballroom, he formulated the following entry in his notebook to be jotted down at the first opportunity: "Credit, dress-suit account, one dance with the wife of a multi-millionaire--a social arbiter. An event undreamed of, even in my most ambitious moments! What next, I wonder?"

Mrs. Colby had a way of commenting upon other persons present with a certain cynical frankness--as became a social arbiter--that amused Skinner, and he took a genuine fancy to her. The wine of the dance got into his blood, and when the music ceased, he begged for another dance.

"Certainly," said Mrs. Colby, "two, if you like. That's all I've got left. Anything to get rid of that devilish bore, Jimmy Brewster. He's coming over here now."

The doubtful nature of the compliment struck Skinner's sense of humor, and he laughed outright.

"What's up?" asked the social arbiter.

"Of two evils--" Skinner began.

"But you're a devilish good dancer, and you don't chatter to me all the time."

Later in the evening. Skinner made the following entry in his little book;--

_Dress-Suit Account_

_Debit_ _Credit_