“Splendid!” cried Virginia, looking him over.

Fanny beamed with pride.  Laughingly she exclaimed: 

“James got a Tuxedo a year ago, but this is the first time he has worn full evening dress.”

“Yes,” said her husband ruefully, “I felt all right in it except my hands and feet.  My hands are no bigger than any other fellow’s; but while I had on the white kids I felt there was nothing to me but the lunch hooks!”

“James!” cried Fanny, shocked at his vulgarity.

“Honest!” he grinned, “they felt so big that every time I put my foot down I thought I was going to step on one of ’em!”

Virginia looked admiringly at his silk hose.

“What beautiful socks!” she exclaimed.

Drawing up his trousers, Jimmie showed more of the hose above the pump.  Grumbling, he said: 

“Yes, they’re all right.  But what I object to is the draught that comes through the open windows!  I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if I had caught a severe cold in the instep!  Pretty good looking suit, though, isn’t it?”

“Yes, indeed!” exclaimed Fanny, examining the material more closely.

Her husband pointed with pride to his imitation pearl studs.

“And say—­what do you think of my near-pearls?”

“I’ll get you some genuine ones,” laughed his sister-in-law.

“Don’t you do it!” he retorted.  “I looked the other fellows over and you couldn’t tell ’em from mine!  If you have any money to invest on me, put it into something that’ll show.”

“I will,” said Virginia, much amused.  “And now tell me, what did you really think of the opera, Jimmie?”

First he looked at his sister-in-law to see if she was seriously consulting his opinion; then solemnly he said: 

“I hoped I wouldn’t have to mention it.”

“Why?” she demanded, laughing.

Making a gesture of protest, he exclaimed: 

“Won’t you please drop the ‘Jimmie’ and call me ’James’?”

“Why?”

“I’m going to be a millionaire some day,” he explained, “and when I am, ‘James Gillie’ will be bad enough, but ’Jimmie Gillie’—­Jimmy Gillie wouldn’t sound as though I had a cent.”

Virginia nodded.  Smilingly she replied:  “I see!  Well, from this time on it shall be ’James’.”

“Thanks.”

“And now, having settled that point, I ask you again—­what did you really think of the opera?”

“On the level, or to tell to the neighbors?”

“Is there any difference?”

“You bet there is.  To the neighbors I’ll say it was ‘so delightful’ and ‘extremely artistic,’ but if it’s on the level I’ll say it was punk.”

“What?” cried Virginia.

“Punk?” echoed his wife, puzzled.

“Yes!  Fancy paying five a throw to hear a sawed-off Italian let go a few top notes, when you can have the same seat in a vaudeville theatre and get Eva Tanguay and a whole bunch of good acts for a dollar!  Five a throw to hear a dago yodel something I don’t even understand—­not for my money!”