in & Perkins, Inc. If it had n't been for that fresh
salesman, Briggs, he never would have. And after he _had_ broken with
them, his stupid obstinacy had stood in the way of resuming friendly
relations, for McLaughlin & Perkins, Inc., had always delivered the
goods.

CHAPTER X

SKINNER LANDS A CURMUDGEON

With his head full of these reflections but without any definite method
to accomplish a rather indefinite purpose, Jackson strolled into the
lobby of The Hotel the next morning.

"Who is this Skinner that was interviewed?" he asked the chief clerk,
whom he had known for a long time.

Glibly the clerk recounted to Jackson all he knew about their guest,
who had suddenly become illustrious through the magic touch of the J.
Matthews Wilkinsons.

"Point him out to me," said Jackson. "I always like to look over these
Eastern guys that know so much that ain't so about us Middle West
people."

"The Skinners don't get down to breakfast before ten," said the clerk.

An hour later Jackson strolled in casually and took a chair opposite
the desk. Here was an opportunity for the clerk, an opportunity which
Jackson had arranged for him without his knowing it. He passed around
from behind the desk and intercepted Skinner as he and Honey were about
to step into the elevator.

"Mr. Skinner," he said, "I'd like you to meet one of our prominent
citizens." He led Skinner over to where the curmudgeon was sitting.
"Mr. Skinner, I want you to shake hands with Mr. Willard Jackson."

"How do you do, Mr. Skinner?" said Jackson, rather reservedly; for now
that the game was going the way he had designed it should go, he wanted
to make it appear that the clerk, and not he, had taken the initiative.

"I'm very glad to meet you, Mr. Jackson," said Skinner, with his
accustomed cordiality.

"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