"Your metaphor, Mac, suggests a picture. Imagine Skinner with wings on—those long legs drooping down or trailing behind him—like a great Jersey mosquito!"
At which they both laughed.
"Well," said McLaughlin, resignedly turning to the papers on his desk, "it beats me, that's all!"
Skinner had accurately reckoned that McLaughlin's wife would repeat Honey's cryptic remarks to the boss, and so, next day, he felt a natural constraint when in the presence of the senior partner. Constraint in the one reacted upon and caused constraint in the other, until it looked as if McLaughlin and Skinner, who had once been quite sociable as boss and clerk, would be little more than speaking acquaintances, after a time.
At any rate, that night Skinner jotted down:—
| Dress-Suit Account | |
| Debit | Credit |
A certain constraint on the | |
"Have you noticed anything in Skinner's conduct, Perk?" said McLaughlin, two days later.
"You're getting morbid about Skinner, Mac."
"No, I ain't, either. But he acts—somehow, I can't get it out of my head that his wife meant—you know what!"
"You think Skinner told her we raised him?"