Skinner thought a moment. "Let's see—to-morrow's Sunday. I'll start Monday morning, if that is satisfactory."
"Fine!" said McLaughlin, rising and shaking hands with his cashier.
Skinner walked to the door, paused, then came halfway back. "What kind of a woman is Mrs. Jackson, Mr. McLaughlin?"
"Well," said McLaughlin, staggered by the question, "she don't handsome much and she ain't very young, if that's what you mean."
Skinner blushed. "I didn't mean it that way."
"The only thing I've got against Mrs. Jackson is she's a social climber," Perkins broke in.
"The only thing I 've got against her," said McLaughlin, "is—she don't climb. She wants to, but she don't."
"Is there any particular reason why she does n't climb?" said Skinner.
"Vulgar—ostentatiously vulgar," said McLaughlin.
Skinner smiled. He pondered a moment, then ventured, "Say, Mr. McLaughlin, it'd be a big feather in my cap if I landed Jackson, wouldn't it?"