"But, Dearie, what will this dress suit get us into?"
"Debt!—if we don't look out!"
Honey crossed to Dearie, put her head on his shoulder, and began to cry softly.
"There, there," said Skinner, stroking her glossy hair, "don't you cry, Honey. There's nothing to worry about."
She lifted her face and smiled. "There is n't anything to worry about, is there? We have n't anywhere near spent that five hundred and twenty dollars, have we?"
"No," said Skinner grimly, "not yet!"
He disengaged himself from Honey's reluctant arms and slowly mounted the stairs. Once inside his room, he turned and locked the door, still smiling grimly. He strode to the closet, flung the door open, lifted his dress suit from its peg, and held it at arm's length where it swayed like a scarecrow.
"My God, you're a Nemesis!" he growled. "There's one for you—there's another!"
He punched the thing hard and fast.
"That's you, Skinner—that's you—for being an ass—a blooming, silly ass!"