not bear
seeing other persons bear pain--particularly Honey. He knew he could
throw himself on her mercy and confess and that she would forgive him
because she'd know he did it on her account. But the hurt, the real
hurt, would be hers to bear--and Skinner loved Honey.

Whenever Skinner had felt apprehensive or blue because of his
self-promotion and the consequent difficulties he found himself plunged
into, he had looked at his little book, and the credit side of the
dress-suit account had always cheered him. But this infallible method
was not infallible to-night. Going out on the train Skinner had the
"blues" and "had them good." Gloom was closing in on all sides; he could
n't tell why, unless the growing fear of exposure to Honey was taking
hold on his subconsciousness and manifesting itself in chronic,
indefinite apprehension.

At Meadeville, he purposely avoided Black, his next-door neighbor, with
whom he customarily walked home from the depot--for Skinner was not the
man to inflict an uncordial condition upon an innocent person.

When Skinner reached home, Honey drew him gently into the dining-room and
pointed to the table. As she began, "Look, Dearie, oysters, and
later--beefsteak! Think of it! Beefsteak!"--the now familiar formula
that had come to portend some new extravagance,--Dearie stopped her.

"Don't, Honey, don't tell me what you've got for dinner, course by
course. Give me the whole thing at once, or give me a series of
surprises as dinner develops."

"I think you're horrid to stop me," Honey pouted reproachfully. "If I
tell you what I 've got, you'll enjoy it twice as much--once in
anticipation, once in realization."

"But what does this wonderful layout portend or promise?"

"To do good is a privilege, is n't it?"

"Granted."

"Then it's a promise," was Honey's cryptic answer.

Honey had certain little obstinacies, one of which was a way of teasing
Dearie by making him wait when he wanted to know a thing. It was no
use--Skinner could n't budge her.

"I'll wait," said he.

But all the circumstances pointed to the probability of a new "touch,"
which did not add greatly to his appetite.

After his demi-tasse, Skinner said to Honey, "Come, Honey, spring it."

"Not till you 've got your cigar. I want you to be perfectly
comfortable."

Skinner lighted up, leaned back in his chair, and affected--so far as he
was able--the appearance of indulgent nonchalance.

"Shoot."

Honey