p 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 God, 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 ass--a blooming, silly
ass!"

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