"I thought those Western cities did n't have classes."
"My dear, blood is n't a matter of geography. There's not a village in the United States that does n't have its classes. The more loudly they brag of their democracy, the greater the distance from the top to the bottom."
As Skinner said this, he jotted down in his little book:—
| Dress-Suit Account | |
| Debit | Credit |
One "open sesame" to the | |
and Honey clapped her hands.
And as he put Mrs. Colby's letter in his inside pocket, Skinner muttered to himself, "A climber, but does n't climb. She'll climb for this all right!"
The Skinners reached St. Paul Tuesday night and registered at The Hotel. When he had deposited Honey in the suite which had been reserved by wire for them, Skinner proceeded to execute the next step in his scheme for the reclamation of Willard Jackson. He returned to the desk.
"I wish," he said to the chief clerk, "that you 'd see to it that a paragraph regarding my arrival is put in the morning papers, just a little more than mere mention among hotel arrivals"—he took pen and paper and wrote—"something like this: 'William Manning Skinner, of McLaughlin & Perkins, Inc., New York, reached town last evening and is stopping at The Hotel.' There's a lot of people here I want to see, but I might overlook 'em in the rush of business. If they know I'm here, they'll come to see me."
"Very good, Mr. Skinner," said the clerk. "I'll see to it."
Skinner paused a moment. "By Jove, I've almost forgotten the principal thing." He added a few words to the copy. "Put that in, too, please. Can you read it? See: 'Mrs. Skinner, daughter of the late Archibald Rutherford, of Hastings-on-the-Hudson, accompanies her husband.' That's just to please her."