stings-on-the-Hudson'--swagger name," commented the
clerk.

Skinner smiled at the clerk's comment. If it impressed this dapper,
matter-of-fact, know-everybody man-of-affairs that way, how much more
would it appeal to Mrs. Curmudgeon W. Jackson's social nose.
Veritably, it augured well for his scheme.

But he only said, "It reads a devilish sight better than plain Skinner,
does n't it?"

"Well," said the clerk, trying to be consoling and diplomatic and
failing in both, "you must n't always judge a man by his name."

After breakfast next morning Skinner and Honey remained in their rooms,
waiting for the message that was to come from the Wilkinsons, for
Skinner had reckoned that any friend of the Colbys would receive prompt
attention.

"She'll call you up, Honey, and ask us to dine to-night. There, there,
don't ask any questions. I've figured it all out. But we're engaged
until Saturday."

"Engaged every night? Why, Dearie, this is only Wednesday. You had
n't told me anything about it."

"Quite right," said Skinner, "I had not."

"What are we going to do?"

"I have no plans. I suppose we'll sit in our rooms or go to the
theater."

"Well," said Honey, "it beats me."

On reading the morning paper, Mrs. J. Matthews Wilkinson said to her
husband, "They're here--the Skinners--Jennie Colby's friends, you know.
We must have them to dinner."

"When?" said Wilkinson, looking up from his paper.

"I dare say they'll be here but a short time. Better make it to-night."

"You're the doctor," said Wilkinson, resuming his paper.

"We'll send out a hurry call for the Armitages and the Bairds and the
Wendells," said Mrs. Wilkinson, mentally running over her list of the
most select of St. Paul's inner circle. "We'll show these people that
we're not barbarians out here."

"Can you corral all those folks for to-night? Is n't it rather sudden,
my dear?"

"I've dined with them on shorter notice than that, just to accommodate
them. I 'll call up the Skinners right away."

Honey answered the 'phone. Of course they'd be delighted to dine at
the Wilkinsons, but every night was filled up to Saturday. A pause.
Hold Saturday for them? She should say they would.

There was another pause. Then Honey clapped her hand over the receiver
and turned to Skinner.

"Can we take a spin with them this afternoon, Dearie?"

"You bet. We've nothing else to do."

"You fraud," said Honey, when she had hung up the receiver,