A new and unforseen, but perfectly logical, development from the purchase of the new business suit awaited Skinner a few days later. It came about in this way. He was making his customary heel-and-toe sprint for the depot when Stephen Colby came bowling along in his 60 H.P. That gentleman nodded to Skinner, pulled up, and took him in.
"You're late," he said genially.
"I am, by Jove, and thank you for the lift," said Skinner.
"I've been wanting to tell you a story," said Colby. "I had it on my list the other night, but somehow I did n't get to it. You know, you can't always follow the list you make out. Stories have got to be apropos of something somebody else says, so my list always gets mixed up and I miss telling some of the best ones."
It was one of the multi-millionaire's pleasures to regale his friends with anecdotal matter of his own experience. But before he had finished this particular story, they had reached the depot. The train had already pulled in and Colby, still talking, led the way into the Pullman. Skinner hesitated on the threshold of that unaccustomed domain, but he felt that the magnate expected him to go in with him, and he followed.
In the "cage man" Colby found a fresh audience. All the way into town he talked about his past efforts, from the time he slept under the grocery-store counter until he reached the Presidency of the Steel Company, and Skinner, fascinated and sympathetic, "listened" his way into the magnate's esteem.
Quite a number of the other "gold bugs"—as Skinner had dubbed them—whom he had seen at the Crawford affair were in the Pullman. They nodded to Skinner in a cordial way, which put him at once at his ease, and he soon felt quite as much at home in the Pullman as he had in the smoker.
That night he told Honey all about it.
"It only costs twenty-five cents extra," he said apologetically.
"That's nothing. I'm glad you did it, Dearie. You must do it every day."