Skinner's Dress Suit

by Henry Irving Dodge

"It's customary, Dearie, but not absolutely necessary."

"People don't see your feet in a reception like that," he urged.

Honey smiled. "They might without difficulty, Dearie, if you chanced to walk across the floor in some vacant space. Remember, you're not in the subway where everybody stands on them and hides them."

"Don't be funny," said Skinner. "Mine are only in proportion. How much? That's the question, while we're at it—how much?"

"You know the price of men's shoes better than I do, Dearie."

"I saw some patent leathers on Cortlandt Street at three dollars and a half."

"Those were n't patent leathers—only pasteboard. They'd fall to pieces if the night happened to be moist. And you'd reach the party barefooted. Think of it, Dearie, going in with a dress suit on and bare feet!"

Her giggle irritated Skinner.

"It may be very funny to you but—how much? That's the question!"

"Not more than six dollars for the best."