He paused abruptly; then, in a hoarse whisper, "Say, Honey, you know how to dance?"
Honey stared at him wide-eyed.
"Why—ye-es—I waltz."
"That's archaic. Do you know the new things, those cubist proposition dances where you glide and side-step and pause and back up and go ahead again and zigzag like an inebriated politician?"
"You mean the turkey trot and the tango and the one-step and the fox trot and the hesitation?" Honey rattled off glibly.
"Is it necessary to learn them all?" said Skinner.
They looked at each other for a few moments without a word.
"No use—we've got to do it, Honey."
"But that means money. We've only got two weeks, and that means private lessons! And private lessons mean lots of money!"
"Honey," said Skinner solemnly, "we've invested in this dress-suit engine of conquest. It's no good unless we use it. We must learn the most effective way to use it or all the first cost will be wasted. Besides, it won't cost much to learn to dance. There are places on Sixth Avenue—"