"I saw your little squib in the paper," said Jackson. "You must belong to the Boost Club."
"It never does any harm to tell pleasant truths," said Skinner.
Presently Jackson remarked, "You're with McLaughlin & Perkins, Inc., I see."
"You know them?"
"Why, yes. I'm Willard Jackson."
"Oh, yes," laughed Skinner, "how stupid of me. Of course I know. Certainly I know." He caught Jackson's coat and drew him over and added confidentially, "I'm a little bit abstracted. You see, this is a kind of junketing expedition. Just what they said in the paper—a belated honeymoon. I've never had a chance before, and I'm devoting my whole time to giving the wife a good time." He pulled out his watch. "Say, you'll excuse me. We've got a date."
"Of course," said Jackson.
Skinner grasped Jackson's hand cordially. "Say, won't you run in again and have a chat? I'm awfully glad to have met you."
"Well, I'll be jiggered," said Jackson to himself as he left The Hotel. Anyhow, he reflected, as he walked downtown to his office, he'd taken the first step, he'd broken the ice. It had gone against the grain to do it, but it was entirely on the wife's account. He'd let Skinner take the next step. He'd be darned if he would.
But as usual in social matters, the woman's domain entirely, the man in the case reckoned without his host!