into a
blubber as she went on. "I'm not a snob, but why can't _I_ go with
those people? We've got lots of money! I want to see the best kind of
life, but I've never had the chance, and now these Skinners come here,
are taken up,--wined and dined,--and we're left out in the cold!"

[Illustration: "Why can't _I_ go with those people?" she sniffled]

"How can I help that?" Jackson grunted. But he knew what was coming
and it came.

"You _could_ have helped it. Traded with McLaughlin & Perkins, Inc.,
for years and then broke off--spoiled this chance!"

"How the deuce could I see two years ahead and know that Skinner was
coming out here?" Jackson snapped. "Besides, he could n't have got us
an invitation to that dinner anyhow!"

"The Wilkinsons have taken him up. They've established his social
status. It was n't a public dinner, such as a politician gives to
another politician; it was n't an automobile ride or a club affair. It
was a private dinner, very private! They introduced him to the select
few, the inner circle,--him and his wife,--his wife!!" she wailed.

"But what does that lead to?"

"We might not go there, but we could have had the Skinners here."

"What good would that do? It would n't put you in direct touch with
the Wilkinsons, even if you did have the Skinners here."

"No, but it would help. The J. Matthews Wilkinsons dine them one day,
the Willard Jacksons dine them another day. See--the connecting link?"

"Oh, damn these social distinctions," said Jackson. "It's you women
that make 'em. We men don't!"

"I can't eat any breakfast," Mrs. Jackson sobbed. "I'm too upset. I
must go to my room!"

Jackson did n't eat much breakfast either. When his wife had gone, he
threw the paper to the floor and kicked it under the table, then he
jammed his hat on to his head, and with a whole mass of profanity
bubbling and boiling within him, he left the house. In the calm that
succeeded the storm within, Jackson reflected that his present domestic
tranquillity was threatened by the presence of these Skinners, and not
only that, but their coming, if he could not avail of it, would be a
source of reproach for years to come. Being something of a bookkeeper,
he figured out that if, on the one hand, he might be compelled to eat a
bit of humble pie,--not customarily a part of the curmudgeon's
diet,--on the other hand, he would gain perhaps years of immunity from
reproaches and twitting.

Many times