the limit. "It's a kind of belated honeymoon.
We've seen Mr. Hill's residence and we ran over and looked at those
wonderful flour mills in Minneapolis, your neighbor"-- He paused.

A frozen atmosphere seemed suddenly to enshroud the reporters. Their
pencils ceased to record.

"Oh, yes, let's get back to St. Paul."

Instantly the temperature rose about a hundred degrees, and the
reporters' pencils began to move again.

When the newspaper men were gone, Skinner jotted down:--

_Dress-Suit Account_

_Debit_ _Credit_

Useful hint! When you're
in St. Paul, talk about
_St. Paul_!

And when he read his interview in the evening paper, Skinner made this
entry:--

_Dress-Suit Account_

_Debit_ _Credit_

A certain remarkable
authority in discussing social
matters which I never thought
I possessed. In fact, which I
never did possess until I got
the dress suit.

The Skinners devoted the days between Wednesday and Saturday to loafing
or sight-seeing, principally the former. They drove over to
Minneapolis again and took in the wonderful flour mills, for anything
that pertained to machinery fascinated Skinner. Then they went out to
the Lake and had a trout dinner and all the rest of it. But after a
time, this unaccountably useless routine got on Honey's nerves.

"Dearie," she protested, "this is our honeymoon, to be sure, but don't
you think you ought to get after business?"

"Don't worry. Business will get after _us_ pretty soon."

"But time is flying."

"Time is doing just what I want it to do. It takes time for plans to
develop. It takes time for seed to grow. I started business getting
after us Sunday morning at the First Presbyterian Church in Meadeville.
I prepared some of the seed on the way out here. I began sowing the
evening we arrived. I fanned the flame with a big puff,"--he held up
the paper with the interview in it. "Jingo, that's funny. I did n't
mean it literally."

"Your metaphors are fearfully mixed, Dearie."

"Does n't matter. They're graphic."

"B