"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?"