But no church congregation was ever made up entirely of aristocrats. It needs a generous sprinkling of the poor and the moderately well-to-do to keep up the spiritual average. This was the case with the First Presbyterian. Its gatherings were eminently democratic. It was the only occasion when the "upper ten" felt that they could mix with the other "hundreds" without any letting-down of the bars. The ultra-fashionable rarely attended the church gatherings. But this was a special occasion. A new pastor was to be introduced. So, prompted by curiosity and a desire to make a good impression on the future custodian of their morals, the smart set attended in full force. Skinner knew every one of the smart set by sight. But the smart set did n't know Skinner, for he was only a clerk, and no clerk ever had individuality enough to stamp himself on the memory of a plutocrat. There were a large number of clerks present, fellow commuters, and Skinner noticed with some embarrassment that a considerable number of these gentlemen were not in evening dress. As like attracts like,--on the same principle that laborers in a car foregather with other laborers,--so Skinner began to foregather with the dress-suit contingent. Their clothes attracted his clothes. He felt that he belonged with them. Furthermore, he had a painful consciousness of being conspicuous among the underdressed men. He also wished to escape a certain envy which he sensed in a few of his fellow clerks, because of his dress suit. While this was a novel sensation to Skinner--the walk-in-the-slush, sit-in-the-corner, watch-the-other-fellow-dance, male-wallflower proposition--he did n't like it, for he was a kind-hearted man, always considerate of the feelings of others. And for the moment it threatened to check the pleasure he was beginning to take in his new clothes. As Skinner aligned himself with the dress-suit contingent, he realized that many of these were clerks who had risen in the world and owned their own machines, while the under-dressed men still belonged to the bicycle club. Many of the newly rich men were old acquaintances of Skinner's who had passed him, left him behind, as it were, years before. To these, his dress suit was a kind of new introduction. They seemed pleased to see him. They clapped him on the shoulder. It struck his sense of humor that they were like old friends who had preceded him to heaven and were waiting to welcome him to their new sphere. He thrust his hands into his pockets--as he saw the others do--and strode, not walked or glided pussy-footedly, as became a "cage man." And he began to feel a commiseration for the men who were not in dress suits.