"You did n't say anything about it—oh, no—you only said enough to cinch my suggestion! Forty dollars," he repeated, "and a hat—six dollars more! Well, by thunder, I 'll get a hat! Gee whiz! What have you let me in for, anyway?"
"I let you in for, Dearie?" Honey's baby-blue eyes stared at him. "You let yourself in for it when you got your raise."
Skinner said nothing for a moment, then burst out, "Say, I have n't got to get new underclothing, have I? Now, don't you even admit that I have! Don't you dare admit it! People can't see my underclothes unless I take my coat off and turn up my shirt-sleeves or roll up my trousers as if I were going in wading."
"Of course, you have n't got to get new underclothes, Dearie. But there's a psychology to it. If you don't feel well dressed, you won't look well dressed. You don't want to be a fraud, with a beautiful dress suit and cheap underneath—and my old Dearie's no fraud."
Skinner passed quickly over the remark. "How much?"
"You can get the best for four dollars a garment."
"Gosh!"
For a moment Skinner pondered; then abruptly, "Say I 'll be hanged if I don't buy new underclothes. For the first time in my life, I 'll be well dressed all through—hide, hoofs, and horns!—socks, drawers, undershirt, shoes, trousers, waistcoat, coat, hat, overcoat! Is there anything else?" he shouted.
"Let me think."
"Yes, think hard!" Skinner retorted. "Don't leave a stone unturned to make me the one, great, perfect tailor's model!"