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, 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 passing 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
class, 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 mass
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 brimming 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 superstitious, 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 damned 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
accumulating 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?
Surely, in that time he'd be able to get out of it somehow.
However, he had cast the die, and no matter what came of it he would
n't back out. If he did, Honey would never believe in him again. His
little kingdom would crumble. So he grinned. "I think I'll have a
demi-tasse, just to celebrate."
So Honey brought in the demi-tasse.
Then Honey took her seat again, and resting her elbows on the table,
placed her chin in the cup of her hands and looked at Skinner so long
that he flushed. Had her intuition searched out his guilt, he wondered.
"And now, I've got a surprise for you, Dearie," she said, after a
little.
After what Skinner had gone through, nothing could surprise him, he
thought. "Shoot!" said he.
"You thought I got you to get that raise just to build up our bank
account--did n't you?"
"Sure thing!" said Skinner apprehensively, "Why?"
"You old goosie! I only got you to think that so you'd go _after_ it!
That is n't what I wanted it for--at all!"
Skinner's mouth suddenly went dry.
"We've been cheap people long enough, Dearie," Honey began. "We've
never dressed like other people, we've never traveled like other
people. If we went on a trip, it was always at excursion rates. We've
always put up at cheap hotels, we've always bargained for the lowest
rate, and we've always eaten in cheap restaurants. Have n't we,
Dearie?"
"Yes," said Skinner. "But what has that got to do with it."
"As a result, we've always met cheap people."
"You mean poor people?" said Skinner quickly.
"Goodness, no, Dearie,--I mean _cheap_ people,--people with cheap
minds, cheap morals, cheap motives, cheap manners, and worst of
all,--cheap speech! I'm tired of cheap people!"
"What are you going to do about it?" said Skinner, his apprehension
growing.
"We're not going to put one cent of this new money in the bank! That's
what I 'm going to do about it! Instead of waiting a year for that
five hundred and twenty dollars to accumulate, we're going to begin
now. We'll never be any younger. We're going to draw on our first
year's prosperity!"
"What the deuce are you talking about?" said Skinner, staring at Honey,
wild-eyed. "What do you mean?"
She clapped her hands. "Now, don't argue! I've planned it all out!
We're going to have a good time--good clothes! We 're going to begin
on you, you old dear! You're going to have a _dress suit_!"
"Dress suit?" Skinner echoed. "Why dress suit? Why dress suit now at
this particular stage of the game? Why dress suit at all?"
"Why? For the reception at the First Presbyterian, of course. I 'm
tired of having you a sit-in-the-corner, watch-the-other-fellow-dance,
male-wallflower proposition! You old dear, you don't think I 'm going
to let you miss that affair just for the sake of a dress suit, now that
we've got a whole year's raise to spend--do you?"
"How much does a dress suit cost?" Skinner murmured, almost
inarticulately.
"Only ninety dollars!"
Skinner reached for his demi-tasse and gulped it down hot. "I see," he
said. Then, after a pause, "Couldn't we hire one? It's only for one
occasion."
"My Dearie in a hired dress suit? I guess not!"
Skinner pondered a moment, like a cat on a fence with a dog on either
side. "Could n't we buy it on the installment plan?"
"We might buy a cheap suit on the installment plan. But remember,
Dearie, we're not going to be cheap people any more!"
"One can see that with half an eye," said Skinner.
"Now, Dearie, don't be sarcastic."
"I think I 'll have another demi-tasse," said Skinner, playing for
time, and held out his cup.
"It'll keep you awake, Dearie."
"If I don't sleep, it won't be the coffee that keeps me awake," said
Skinner enigmatically; so Honey brought in the second demi-tasse.
When dinner was over, the Skinners spent the rest of the evening in
front of the open fire. Honey put her arms about Dearie and smiled
into the flames. Skinner looked at her tenderly for a few moments,
pressed her soft, glossy hair with his lips, and began to realize that
he 'd have to do some high financing!
That night, as Skinner lay staring at the ceiling and listening to
Honey's gentle and happy breathing, he reflected on the beginnings of a
life of crime. Ninety dollars right off the bat! Gee whiz! He had
not included any such thing in his calculations when he had hit upon
his brilliant scheme of self-promotion. Great Scott!--what
possibilities lurked in the background of the deception he'd practiced
on Honey! He 'd heard of the chickens of sin coming home to roost, but
he'd never imagined that they began to do it so early in the game. He
no longer felt guilty that he had deceived Honey, for had n't her
confession that she had deceived _him_ about putting that money in the
bank made them co-sinners? And one does n't feel so sinful when
sinning against another sinner!
Ninety dollars! Gee whiz! But, after all, ninety dollars was n't such
an awful lot of money--and he'd see to it that ninety dollars was the
limit!