diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/1156-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/1156-0.txt | 14671 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 14671 deletions
diff --git a/old/1156-0.txt b/old/1156-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 858f53e..0000000 --- a/old/1156-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,14671 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Babbitt, by Sinclair Lewis - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Babbitt - -Author: Sinclair Lewis - -Release Date: February 11, 2006 [EBook #1156] -[Renovation release: July 1, 2022] - -Language: English - -Produced by: originally by Charles Keller and David Widger. Renovated by - Chuck Greif and the PG Online Distributed Proofreading - Team. - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BABBITT *** - - - - - - BABBITT - - - BY - SINCLAIR LEWIS - AUTHOR OF “MAIN STREET” - - - _HBMC_ - - NEW YORK - HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY - HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY, INC. - - - PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA - - - - - _To - EDITH WHARTON_ - - - - - BABBITT - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -I - -The towers of Zenith aspired above the morning mist; austere towers of -steel and cement and limestone, sturdy as cliffs and delicate as silver -rods. They were neither citadels nor churches, but frankly and -beautifully office-buildings. - -The mist took pity on the fretted structures of earlier generations: the -Post Office with its shingle-tortured mansard, the red brick minarets of -hulking old houses, factories with stingy and sooted windows, wooden -tenements colored like mud. The city was full of such grotesqueries, but -the clean towers were thrusting them from the business center, and on -the farther hills were shining new houses, homes--they seemed--for -laughter and tranquillity. - -Over a concrete bridge fled a limousine of long sleek hood and noiseless -engine. These people in evening clothes were returning from an all-night -rehearsal of a Little Theater play, an artistic adventure considerably -illuminated by champagne. Below the bridge curved a railroad, a maze of -green and crimson lights. The New York Flyer boomed past, and twenty -lines of polished steel leaped into the glare. - -In one of the skyscrapers the wires of the Associated Press were closing -down. The telegraph operators wearily raised their celluloid eye-shades -after a night of talking with Paris and Peking. Through the building -crawled the scrubwomen, yawning, their old shoes slapping. The dawn mist -spun away. Cues of men with lunch-boxes clumped toward the immensity of -new factories, sheets of glass and hollow tile, glittering shops where -five thousand men worked beneath one roof, pouring out the honest wares -that would be sold up the Euphrates and across the veldt. The whistles -rolled out in greeting a chorus cheerful as the April dawn; the song of -labor in a city built--it seemed--for giants. - - -II - -There was nothing of the giant in the aspect of the man who was -beginning to awaken on the sleeping-porch of a Dutch Colonial house in -that residential district of Zenith known as Floral Heights. - -His name was George F. Babbitt. He was forty-six years old now, in -April, 1920, and he made nothing in particular, neither butter nor shoes -nor poetry, but he was nimble in the calling of selling houses for more -than people could afford to pay. - -His large head was pink, his brown hair thin and dry. His face was -babyish in slumber, despite his wrinkles and the red spectacle-dents on -the slopes of his nose. He was not fat but he was exceedingly well fed; -his cheeks were pads, and the unroughened hand which lay helpless upon -the khaki-colored blanket was slightly puffy. He seemed prosperous, -extremely married and unromantic; and altogether unromantic appeared -this sleeping-porch, which looked on one sizable elm, two respectable -grass-plots, a cement driveway, and a corrugated iron garage. Yet -Babbitt was again dreaming of the fairy child, a dream more romantic -than scarlet pagodas by a silver sea. - -For years the fairy child had come to him. Where others saw but Georgie -Babbitt, she discerned gallant youth. She waited for him, in the -darkness beyond mysterious groves. When at last he could slip away from -the crowded house he darted to her. His wife, his clamoring friends, -sought to follow, but he escaped, the girl fleet beside him, and they -crouched together on a shadowy hillside. She was so slim, so white, so -eager! She cried that he was gay and valiant, that she would wait for -him, that they would sail-- - -Rumble and bang of the milk-truck. - -Babbitt moaned, turned over, struggled back toward his dream. He could -see only her face now, beyond misty waters. The furnace-man slammed the -basement door. A dog barked in the next yard. As Babbitt sank blissfully -into a dim warm tide, the paper-carrier went by whistling, and the -rolled-up _Advocate_ thumped the front door. Babbitt roused, his stomach -constricted with alarm. As he relaxed, he was pierced by the familiar -and irritating rattle of some one cranking a Ford: snap-ah-ah, -snap-ah-ah, snap-ah-ah. Himself a pious motorist, Babbitt cranked with -the unseen driver, with him waited through taut hours for the roar of -the starting engine, with him agonized as the roar ceased and again -began the infernal patient snap-ah-ah--a round, flat sound, a shivering -cold-morning sound, a sound infuriating and inescapable. Not till the -rising voice of the motor told him that the Ford was moving was he -released from the panting tension. He glanced once at his favorite tree, -elm twigs against the gold patina of sky, and fumbled for sleep as for a -drug. He who had been a boy very credulous of life was no longer greatly -interested in the possible and improbable adventures of each new day. - -He escaped from reality till the alarm-clock rang, at seven-twenty. - - -III - -It was the best of nationally advertised and quantitatively produced -alarm-clocks, with all modern attachments, including cathedral chime, -intermittent alarm, and a phosphorescent dial. Babbitt was proud of -being awakened by such a rich device. Socially it was almost as -creditable as buying expensive cord tires. - -He sulkily admitted now that there was no more escape, but he lay and -detested the grind of the real-estate business, and disliked his family, -and disliked himself for disliking them. The evening before, he had -played poker at Vergil Gunch’s till midnight, and after such holidays he -was irritable before breakfast. It may have been the tremendous -home-brewed beer of the prohibition-era and the cigars to which that -beer enticed him; it may have been resentment of return from this fine, -bold man-world to a restricted region of wives and stenographers, and of -suggestions not to smoke so much. - -From the bedroom beside the sleeping-porch, his wife’s detestably -cheerful “Time to get up, Georgie boy,” and the itchy sound, the brisk -and scratchy sound, of combing hairs out of a stiff brush. - -He grunted; he dragged his thick legs, in faded baby-blue pajamas, from -under the khaki blanket; he sat on the edge of the cot, running his -fingers through his wild hair, while his plump feet mechanically felt -for his slippers. He looked regretfully at the blanket--forever a -suggestion to him of freedom and heroism. He had bought it for a camping -trip which had never come off. It symbolized gorgeous loafing, gorgeous -cursing, virile flannel shirts. - -He creaked to his feet, groaning at the waves of pain which passed -behind his eyeballs. Though he waited for their scorching recurrence, he -looked blurrily out at the yard. It delighted him, as always; it was the -neat yard of a successful business man of Zenith, that is, it was -perfection, and made him also perfect. He regarded the corrugated iron -garage. For the three-hundred-and-sixty-fifth time in a year he -reflected, “No class to that tin shack. Have to build me a frame garage. -But by golly it’s the only thing on the place that isn’t up-to-date!” -While he stared he thought of a community garage for his acreage -development, Glen Oriole. He stopped puffing and jiggling. His arms -were akimbo. His petulant, sleep-swollen face was set in harder lines. -He suddenly seemed capable, an official, a man to contrive, to direct, -to get things done. - -On the vigor of his idea he was carried down the hard, clean, -unused-looking hall into the bathroom. - -Though the house was not large it had, like all houses on Floral -Heights, an altogether royal bathroom of porcelain and glazed tile and -metal sleek as silver. The towel-rack was a rod of clear glass set in -nickel. The tub was long enough for a Prussian Guard, and above the set -bowl was a sensational exhibit of tooth-brush holder, shaving-brush -holder, soap-dish, sponge-dish, and medicine-cabinet, so glittering and -so ingenious that they resembled an electrical instrument-board. But the -Babbitt whose god was Modern Appliances was not pleased. The air of the -bathroom was thick with the smell of a heathen toothpaste. “Verona been -at it again! ’Stead of sticking to Lilidol, like I’ve re-peat-ed-ly -asked her, she’s gone and gotten some confounded stinkum stuff that -makes you sick!” - -The bath-mat was wrinkled and the floor was wet. (His daughter Verona -eccentrically took baths in the morning, now and then.) He slipped on -the mat, and slid against the tub. He said “Damn!” Furiously he snatched -up his tube of shaving-cream, furiously he lathered, with a belligerent -slapping of the unctuous brush, furiously he raked his plump cheeks with -a safety-razor. It pulled. The blade was dull. He said, -“Damn--oh--oh--damn it!” - -He hunted through the medicine-cabinet for a packet of new razor-blades -(reflecting, as invariably, “Be cheaper to buy one of these dinguses and -strop your own blades,”) and when he discovered the packet, behind the -round box of bicarbonate of soda, he thought ill of his wife for putting -it there and very well of himself for not saying “Damn.” But he did say -it, immediately afterward, when with wet and soap-slippery fingers he -tried to remove the horrible little envelope and crisp clinging oiled -paper from the new blade. - -Then there was the problem, oft-pondered, never solved, of what to do -with the old blade, which might imperil the fingers of his young. As -usual, he tossed it on top of the medicine-cabinet, with a mental note -that some day he must remove the fifty or sixty other blades that were -also temporarily piled up there. He finished his shaving in a growing -testiness increased by his spinning headache and by the emptiness in his -stomach. When he was done, his round face smooth and streamy and his -eyes stinging from soapy water, he reached for a towel. The family -towels were wet, wet and clammy and vile, all of them wet, he found, as -he blindly snatched them--his own face-towel, his wife’s, Verona’s, -Ted’s, Tinka’s, and the lone bath-towel with the huge welt of initial. -Then George F. Babbitt did a dismaying thing. He wiped his face on the -guest-towel! It was a pansy-embroidered trifle which always hung there -to indicate that the Babbitts were in the best Floral Heights society. -No one had ever used it. No guest had ever dared to. Guests secretively -took a corner of the nearest regular towel. - -He was raging, “By golly, here they go and use up all the towels, every -doggone one of ’em, and they use ’em and get ’em all wet and sopping, -and never put out a dry one for me--of course, I’m the goat!--and then I -want one and-- I’m the only person in the doggone house that’s got the -slightest doggone bit of consideration for other people and -thoughtfulness and consider there may be others that may want to use the -doggone bathroom after me and consider--” - -He was pitching the chill abominations into the bath-tub, pleased by the -vindictiveness of that desolate flapping sound; and in the midst his -wife serenely trotted in, observed serenely, “Why Georgie dear, what are -you doing? Are you going to wash out the towels? Why, you needn’t wash -out the towels. Oh, Georgie, you didn’t go and use the guest-towel, did -you?” - -It is not recorded that he was able to answer. - -For the first time in weeks he was sufficiently roused by his wife to -look at her. - - -IV - -Myra Babbitt--Mrs. George F. Babbitt--was definitely mature. She had -creases from the corners of her mouth to the bottom of her chin, and her -plump neck bagged. But the thing that marked her as having passed the -line was that she no longer had reticences before her husband, and no -longer worried about not having reticences. She was in a petticoat now, -and corsets which bulged, and unaware of being seen in bulgy corsets. -She had become so dully habituated to married life that in her full -matronliness she was as sexless as an anemic nun. She was a good woman, -a kind woman, a diligent woman, but no one, save perhaps Tinka her -ten-year-old, was at all interested in her or entirely aware that she -was alive. - -After a rather thorough discussion of all the domestic and social -aspects of towels she apologized to Babbitt for his having an alcoholic -headache; and he recovered enough to endure the search for a B.V.D. -undershirt which had, he pointed out, malevolently been concealed among -his clean pajamas. - -He was fairly amiable in the conference on the brown suit. - -“What do you think, Myra?” He pawed at the clothes hunched on a chair in -their bedroom, while she moved about mysteriously adjusting and patting -her petticoat and, to his jaundiced eye, never seeming to get on with -her dressing. “How about it? Shall I wear the brown suit another day?” - -“Well, it looks awfully nice on you.” - -“I know, but gosh, it needs pressing.” - -“That’s so. Perhaps it does.” - -“It certainly could stand being pressed, all right.” - -“Yes, perhaps it wouldn’t hurt it to be pressed.” - -“But gee, the coat doesn’t need pressing. No sense in having the whole -darn suit pressed, when the coat doesn’t need it.” - -“That’s so.” - -“But the pants certainly need it, all right. Look at them--look at those -wrinkles--the pants certainly do need pressing.” - -“That’s so. Oh, Georgie, why couldn’t you wear the brown coat with the -blue trousers we were wondering what we’d do with them?” - -“Good Lord! Did you ever in all my life know me to wear the coat of one -suit and the pants of another? What do you think I am? A busted -bookkeeper?” - -“Well, why don’t you put on the dark gray suit to-day, and stop in at -the tailor and leave the brown trousers?” - -“Well, they certainly need-- Now where the devil is that gray suit? Oh, -yes, here we are.” - -He was able to get through the other crises of dressing with comparative -resoluteness and calm. - -His first adornment was the sleeveless dimity B.V.D. undershirt, in -which he resembled a small boy humorlessly wearing a cheesecloth tabard -at a civic pageant. He never put on B.V.D.’s without thanking the God of -Progress that he didn’t wear tight, long, old-fashioned undergarments, -like his father-in-law and partner, Henry Thompson. His second -embellishment was combing and slicking back his hair. It gave him a -tremendous forehead, arching up two inches beyond the former hair-line. -But most wonder-working of all was the donning of his spectacles. - -There is character in spectacles--the pretentious tortoise-shell, the -meek pince-nez of the school teacher, the twisted silver-framed glasses -of the old villager. Babbitt’s spectacles had huge, circular, frameless -lenses of the very best glass; the ear-pieces were thin bars of gold. In -them he was the modern business man; one who gave orders to clerks and -drove a car and played occasional golf and was scholarly in regard to -Salesmanship. His head suddenly appeared not babyish but weighty, and -you noted his heavy, blunt nose, his straight mouth and thick, long -upper lip, his chin overfleshy but strong; with respect you beheld him -put on the rest of his uniform as a Solid Citizen. - -The gray suit was well cut, well made, and completely undistinguished. -It was a standard suit. White piping on the V of the vest added a flavor -of law and learning. His shoes were black laced boots, good boots, -honest boots, standard boots, extraordinarily uninteresting boots. The -only frivolity was in his purple knitted scarf. With considerable -comment on the matter to Mrs. Babbitt (who, acrobatically fastening the -back of her blouse to her skirt with a safety-pin, did not hear a word -he said), he chose between the purple scarf and a tapestry effect with -stringless brown harps among blown palms, and into it he thrust a -snake-head pin with opal eyes. - -A sensational event was changing from the brown suit to the gray the -contents of his pockets. He was earnest about these objects. They were -of eternal importance, like baseball or the Republican Party. They -included a fountain pen and a silver pencil (always lacking a supply of -new leads) which belonged in the righthand upper vest pocket. Without -them he would have felt naked. On his watch-chain were a gold penknife, -silver cigar-cutter, seven keys (the use of two of which he had -forgotten), and incidentally a good watch. Depending from the chain was -a large, yellowish elk’s-tooth--proclamation of his membership in the -Brotherly and Protective Order of Elks. Most significant of all was his -loose-leaf pocket note-book, that modern and efficient note-book which -contained the addresses of people whom he had forgotten, prudent -memoranda of postal money-orders which had reached their destinations -months ago, stamps which had lost their mucilage, clippings of verses by -T. Cholmondeley Frink and of the newspaper editorials from which Babbitt -got his opinions and his polysyllables, notes to be sure and do things -which he did not intend to do, and one curious inscription--D.S.S.D.M.Y.P.D.F. - -But he had no cigarette-case. No one had ever happened to give him one, -so he hadn’t the habit, and people who carried cigarette-cases he -regarded as effeminate. - -Last, he stuck in his lapel the Boosters’ Club button. With the -conciseness of great art the button displayed two words: -“Boosters--Pep!” It made Babbitt feel loyal and important. It associated -him with Good Fellows, with men who were nice and human, and important -in business circles. It was his V.C., his Legion of Honor ribbon, his -Phi Beta Kappa key. - -With the subtleties of dressing ran other complex worries. “I feel kind -of punk this morning,” he said. “I think I had too much dinner last -evening. You oughtn’t to serve those heavy banana fritters.” - -“But you asked me to have some.” - -“I know, but-- I tell you, when a fellow gets past forty he has to look -after his digestion. There’s a lot of fellows that don’t take proper -care of themselves. I tell you at forty a man’s a fool or his doctor-- I -mean, his own doctor. Folks don’t give enough attention to this matter -of dieting. Now I think-- Course a man ought to have a good meal after -the day’s work, but it would be a good thing for both of us if we took -lighter lunches.” - -“But Georgie, here at home I always do have a light lunch.” - -“Mean to imply I make a hog of myself, eating down-town? Yes, sure! -You’d have a swell time if you had to eat the truck that new steward -hands out to us at the Athletic Club! But I certainly do feel out of -sorts, this morning. Funny, got a pain down here on the left side--but -no, that wouldn’t be appendicitis, would it? Last night, when I was -driving over to Verg Gunch’s, I felt a pain in my stomach, too. Right -here it was--kind of a sharp shooting pain. I-- Where’d that dime go to? -Why don’t you serve more prunes at breakfast? Of course I eat an apple -every evening--an apple a day keeps the doctor away--but still, you -ought to have more prunes, and not all these fancy doodads.” - -“The last time I had prunes you didn’t eat them.” - -“Well, I didn’t feel like eating ’em, I suppose. Matter of fact, I think -I did eat some of ’em. Anyway-- I tell you it’s mighty important to-- I -was saying to Verg Gunch, just last evening, most people don’t take -sufficient care of their diges--” - -“Shall we have the Gunches for our dinner, next week?” - -“Why sure; you bet.” - -“Now see here, George: I want you to put on your nice dinner-jacket that -evening.” - -“Rats! The rest of ’em won’t want to dress.” - -“Of course they will. You remember when you didn’t dress for the -Littlefields’ supper-party, and all the rest did, and how embarrassed -you were.” - -“Embarrassed, hell! I wasn’t embarrassed. Everybody knows I can put on -as expensive a Tux. as anybody else, and I should worry if I don’t -happen to have it on sometimes. All a darn nuisance, anyway. All right -for a woman, that stays around the house all the time, but when a -fellow’s worked like the dickens all day, he doesn’t want to go and -hustle his head off getting into the soup-and-fish for a lot of folks -that he’s seen in just reg’lar ordinary clothes that same day.” - -“You know you enjoy being seen in one. The other evening you admitted -you were glad I’d insisted on your dressing. You said you felt a lot -better for it. And oh, Georgie, I do wish you wouldn’t say ‘Tux.’ It’s -‘dinner-jacket.’” - -“Rats, what’s the odds?” - -“Well, it’s what all the nice folks say. Suppose Lucile McKelvey heard -you calling it a ‘Tux.’” - -“Well, that’s all right now! Lucile McKelvey can’t pull anything on me! -Her folks are common as mud, even if her husband and her dad are -millionaires! I suppose you’re trying to rub in _your_ exalted social -position! Well, let me tell you that your revered paternal ancestor, -Henry T., doesn’t even call it a ‘Tux.’! He calls it a ‘bobtail jacket -for a ringtail monkey,’ and you couldn’t get him into one unless you -chloroformed him!” - -“Now don’t be horrid, George.” - -“Well, I don’t want to be horrid, but Lord! you’re getting as fussy as -Verona. Ever since she got out of college she’s been too rambunctious to -live with--doesn’t know what she wants--well, I know what she -wants!--all she wants is to marry a millionaire, and live in Europe, and -hold some preacher’s hand, and simultaneously at the same time stay -right here in Zenith and be some blooming kind of a socialist agitator -or boss charity-worker or some damn thing! Lord, and Ted is just as bad! -He wants to go to college, and he doesn’t want to go to college. Only -one of the three that knows her own mind is Tinka. Simply can’t -understand how I ever came to have a pair of shillyshallying children -like Rone and Ted. I may not be any Rockefeller or James J. Shakespeare, -but I certainly do know my own mind, and I do keep right on plugging -along in the office and-- Do you know the latest? Far as I can figure -out, Ted’s new bee is he’d like to be a movie actor and-- And here I’ve -told him a hundred times, if he’ll go to college and law-school and make -good, I’ll set him up in business and-- Verona just exactly as bad. -Doesn’t know what she wants. Well, well, come on! Aren’t you ready yet? -The girl rang the bell three minutes ago.” - - -V - -Before he followed his wife, Babbitt stood at the westernmost window of -their room. This residential settlement, Floral Heights, was on a rise; -and though the center of the city was three miles away-- Zenith had -between three and four hundred thousand inhabitants now--he could see -the top of the Second National Tower, an Indiana limestone building of -thirty-five stories. - -Its shining walls rose against April sky to a simple cornice like a -streak of white fire. Integrity was in the tower, and decision. It bore -its strength lightly as a tall soldier. As Babbitt stared, the -nervousness was soothed from his face, his slack chin lifted in -reverence. All he articulated was “That’s one lovely sight!” but he was -inspired by the rhythm of the city; his love of it renewed. He beheld -the tower as a temple-spire of the religion of business, a faith -passionate, exalted, surpassing common men; and as he clumped down to -breakfast he whistled the ballad “Oh, by gee, by gosh, by jingo” as -though it were a hymn melancholy and noble. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -I - -Relieved of Babbitt’s bumbling and the soft grunts with which his wife -expressed the sympathy she was too experienced to feel and much too -experienced not to show, their bedroom settled instantly into -impersonality. - -It gave on the sleeping-porch. It served both of them as dressing-room, -and on the coldest nights Babbitt luxuriously gave up the duty of being -manly and retreated to the bed inside, to curl his toes in the warmth -and laugh at the January gale. - -The room displayed a modest and pleasant color-scheme, after one of the -best standard designs of the decorator who “did the interiors” for most -of the speculative-builders’ houses in Zenith. The walls were gray, the -woodwork white, the rug a serene blue; and very much like mahogany was -the furniture--the bureau with its great clear mirror, Mrs. Babbitt’s -dressing-table with toilet-articles of almost solid silver, the plain -twin beds, between them a small table holding a standard electric -bedside lamp, a glass for water, and a standard bedside book with -colored illustrations--what particular book it was cannot be -ascertained, since no one had ever opened it. The mattresses were firm -but not hard, triumphant modern mattresses which had cost a great deal -of money; the hot-water radiator was of exactly the proper scientific -surface for the cubic contents of the room. The windows were large and -easily opened, with the best catches and cords, and Holland -roller-shades guaranteed not to crack. It was a masterpiece among -bedrooms, right out of Cheerful Modern Houses for Medium Incomes. Only -it had nothing to do with the Babbitts, nor with any one else. If -people had ever lived and loved here, read thrillers at midnight and -lain in beautiful indolence on a Sunday morning, there were no signs of -it. It had the air of being a very good room in a very good hotel. One -expected the chambermaid to come in and make it ready for people who -would stay but one night, go without looking back, and never think of it -again. - -Every second house in Floral Heights had a bedroom precisely like this. - -The Babbitts’ house was five years old. It was all as competent and -glossy as this bedroom. It had the best of taste, the best of -inexpensive rugs, a simple and laudable architecture, and the latest -conveniences. Throughout, electricity took the place of candles and -slatternly hearth-fires. Along the bedroom baseboard were three plugs -for electric lamps, concealed by little brass doors. In the halls were -plugs for the vacuum cleaner, and in the living-room plugs for the piano -lamp, for the electric fan. The trim dining-room (with its admirable oak -buffet, its leaded-glass cupboard, its creamy plaster walls, its modest -scene of a salmon expiring upon a pile of oysters) had plugs which -supplied the electric percolator and the electric toaster. - -In fact there was but one thing wrong with the Babbitt house: It was not -a home. - - -II - -Often of a morning Babbitt came bouncing and jesting in to breakfast. -But things were mysteriously awry to-day. As he pontifically tread the -upper hall he looked into Verona’s bedroom and protested, “What’s the -use of giving the family a high-class house when they don’t appreciate -it and tend to business and get down to brass tacks?” - -He marched upon them: Verona, a dumpy brown-haired girl of twenty-two, -just out of Bryn Mawr, given to solicitudes about duty and sex and God -and the unconquerable bagginess of the gray sports-suit she was now -wearing. Ted--Theodore Roosevelt Babbitt--a decorative boy of seventeen. -Tinka--Katherine--still a baby at ten, with radiant red hair and a thin -skin which hinted of too much candy and too many ice cream sodas. -Babbitt did not show his vague irritation as he tramped in. He really -disliked being a family tyrant, and his nagging was as meaningless as it -was frequent. He shouted at Tinka, “Well, kittiedoolie!” It was the only -pet name in his vocabulary, except the “dear” and “hon.” with which he -recognized his wife, and he flung it at Tinka every morning. - -He gulped a cup of coffee in the hope of pacifying his stomach and his -soul. His stomach ceased to feel as though it did not belong to him, but -Verona began to be conscientious and annoying, and abruptly there -returned to Babbitt the doubts regarding life and families and business -which had clawed at him when his dream-life and the slim fairy girl had -fled. - -Verona had for six months been filing-clerk at the Gruensberg Leather -Company offices, with a prospect of becoming secretary to Mr. Gruensberg -and thus, as Babbitt defined it, “getting some good out of your -expensive college education till you’re ready to marry and settle down.” - -But now said Verona: “Father! I was talking to a classmate of mine -that’s working for the Associated Charities--oh, Dad, there’s the -sweetest little babies that come to the milk-station there!--and I feel -as though I ought to be doing something worth while like that.” - -“What do you mean ‘worth while’? If you get to be Gruensberg’s -secretary--and maybe you would, if you kept up your shorthand and didn’t -go sneaking off to concerts and talk-fests every evening--I guess you’ll -find thirty-five or forty bones a week worth while!” - -“I know, but--oh, I want to--contribute-- I wish I were working in a -settlement-house. I wonder if I could get one of the department-stores -to let me put in a welfare-department with a nice rest-room and chintzes -and wicker chairs and so on and so forth. Or I could--” - -“Now you look here! The first thing you got to understand is that all -this uplift and flipflop and settlement-work and recreation is nothing -in God’s world but the entering wedge for socialism. The sooner a man -learns he isn’t going to be coddled, and he needn’t expect a lot of free -grub and, uh, all these free classes and flipflop and doodads for his -kids unless he earns ’em, why, the sooner he’ll get on the job and -produce--produce--produce! That’s what the country needs, and not all -this fancy stuff that just enfeebles the will-power of the working man -and gives his kids a lot of notions above their class. And you--if you’d -tend to business instead of fooling and fussing-- All the time! When I -was a young man I made up my mind what I wanted to do, and stuck to it -through thick and thin, and that’s why I’m where I am to-day, and-- Myra! -What do you let the girl chop the toast up into these dinky little -chunks for? Can’t get your fist onto ’em. Half cold, anyway!” - -Ted Babbitt, junior in the great East Side High School, had been making -hiccup-like sounds of interruption. He blurted now, “Say, Rone, you -going to--” - -Verona whirled. “Ted! Will you kindly not interrupt us when we’re -talking about serious matters!” - -“Aw punk,” said Ted judicially. “Ever since somebody slipped up and let -you out of college, Ammonia, you been pulling these nut conversations -about what-nots and so-on-and-so-forths. Are you going to-- I want to use -the car to-night.” - -Babbitt snorted, “Oh, you do! May want it myself!” Verona protested, -“Oh, you do, Mr. Smarty! I’m going to take it myself!” Tinka wailed, -“Oh, papa, you said maybe you’d drive us down to Rosedale!” and Mrs. -Babbitt, “Careful, Tinka, your sleeve is in the butter.” They glared, -and Verona hurled, “Ted, you’re a perfect pig about the car!” - -“Course you’re not! Not a-tall!” Ted could be maddeningly bland. “You -just want to grab it off, right after dinner, and leave it in front of -some skirt’s house all evening while you sit and gas about lite’ature -and the highbrows you’re going to marry--if they only propose!” - -“Well, Dad oughtn’t to _ever_ let you have it! You and those beastly -Jones boys drive like maniacs. The idea of your taking the turn on -Chautauqua Place at forty miles an hour!” - -“Aw, where do you get that stuff! You’re so darn scared of the car that -you drive up-hill with the emergency brake on!” - -“I do not! And you-- Always talking about how much you know about motors, -and Eunice Littlefield told me you said the battery fed the generator!” - -“You--why, my good woman, you don’t know a generator from a -differential.” Not unreasonably was Ted lofty with her. He was a natural -mechanic, a maker and tinkerer of machines; he lisped in blueprints for -the blueprints came. - -“That’ll do now!” Babbitt flung in mechanically, as he lighted the -gloriously satisfying first cigar of the day and tasted the exhilarating -drug of the _Advocate-Times_ headlines. - -Ted negotiated: “Gee, honest, Rone, I don’t want to take the old boat, -but I promised couple o’ girls in my class I’d drive ’em down to the -rehearsal of the school chorus, and, gee, I don’t want to, but a -gentleman’s got to keep his social engagements.” - -“Well, upon my word! You and your social engagements! In high school!” - -“Oh, ain’t we select since we went to that hen college! Let me tell you -there isn’t a private school in the state that’s got as swell a bunch as -we got in Gamma Digamma this year. There’s two fellows that their dads -are millionaires. Say, gee, I ought to have a car of my own, like lots -of the fellows.” - -Babbitt almost rose. “A car of your own! Don’t you want a yacht, and a -house and lot? That pretty nearly takes the cake! A boy that can’t pass -his Latin examinations, like any other boy ought to, and he expects me -to give him a motor-car, and I suppose a chauffeur, and an aeroplane -maybe, as a reward for the hard work he puts in going to the movies with -Eunice Littlefield! Well, when you see me giving you--” - -Somewhat later, after diplomacies, Ted persuaded Verona to admit that -she was merely going to the Armory, that evening, to see the dog and cat -show. She was then, Ted planned, to park the car in front of the -candy-store across from the Armory and he would pick it up. There were -masterly arrangements regarding leaving the key, and having the gasoline -tank filled; and passionately, devotees of the Great God Motor, they -hymned the patch on the spare inner-tube, and the lost jack-handle. - -Their truce dissolving, Ted observed that her friends were “a scream of -a bunch--stuck-up gabby four-flushers.” His friends, she indicated, were -“disgusting imitation sports, and horrid little shrieking ignorant -girls.” Further: “It’s disgusting of you to smoke cigarettes, and so on -and so forth, and those clothes you’ve got on this morning, they’re too -utterly ridiculous--honestly, simply disgusting.” - -Ted balanced over to the low beveled mirror in the buffet, regarded his -charms, and smirked. His suit, the latest thing in Old Eli Togs, was -skin-tight, with skimpy trousers to the tops of his glaring tan boots, a -chorus-man waistline, pattern of an agitated check, and across the back -a belt which belted nothing. His scarf was an enormous black silk wad. -His flaxen hair was ice-smooth, pasted back without parting. When he -went to school he would add a cap with a long vizor like a shovel-blade. -Proudest of all was his waistcoat, saved for, begged for, plotted for; a -real Fancy Vest of fawn with polka dots of a decayed red, the points -astoundingly long. On the lower edge of it he wore a high-school -button, a class button, and a fraternity pin. - -And none of it mattered. He was supple and swift and flushed; his eyes -(which he believed to be cynical) were candidly eager. But he was not -over-gentle. He waved his hand at poor dumpy Verona and drawled: “Yes, I -guess we’re pretty ridiculous and disgusticulus, and I rather guess our -new necktie is some smear!” - -Babbitt barked: “It is! And while you’re admiring yourself, let me tell -you it might add to your manly beauty if you wiped some of that egg off -your mouth!” - -Verona giggled, momentary victor in the greatest of Great Wars, which is -the family war. Ted looked at her hopelessly, then shrieked at Tinka: -“For the love o’ Pete, quit pouring the whole sugar bowl on your corn -flakes!” - -When Verona and Ted were gone and Tinka upstairs, Babbitt groaned to his -wife: “Nice family, I must say! I don’t pretend to be any baa-lamb, and -maybe I’m a little cross-grained at breakfast sometimes, but the way -they go on jab-jab-jabbering, I simply can’t stand it. I swear, I feel -like going off some place where I can get a little peace. I do think -after a man’s spent his lifetime trying to give his kids a chance and a -decent education, it’s pretty discouraging to hear them all the time -scrapping like a bunch of hyenas and never--and never-- Curious; here in -the paper it says-- Never silent for one mom-- Seen the morning paper -yet?” - -“No, dear.” In twenty-three years of married life, Mrs. Babbitt had seen -the paper before her husband just sixty-seven times. - -“Lots of news. Terrible big tornado in the South. Hard luck, all right. -But this, say, this is corking! Beginning of the end for those fellows! -New York Assembly has passed some bills that ought to completely outlaw -the socialists! And there’s an elevator-runners’ strike in New York and -a lot of college boys are taking their places. That’s the stuff! And a -mass-meeting in Birmingham’s demanded that this Mick agitator, this -fellow De Valera, be deported. Dead right, by golly! All these agitators -paid with German gold anyway. And we got no business interfering with -the Irish or any other foreign government. Keep our hands strictly off. -And there’s another well-authenticated rumor from Russia that Lenin is -dead. That’s fine. It’s beyond me why we don’t just step in there and -kick those Bolshevik cusses out.” - -“That’s so,” said Mrs. Babbitt. - -“And it says here a fellow was inaugurated mayor in overalls--a -preacher, too! What do you think of that!” - -“Humph! Well!” - -He searched for an attitude, but neither as a Republican, a -Presbyterian, an Elk, nor a real-estate broker did he have any doctrine -about preacher-mayors laid down for him, so he grunted and went on. She -looked sympathetic and did not hear a word. Later she would read the -headlines, the society columns, and the department-store advertisements. - -“What do you know about this! Charley McKelvey still doing the sassiety -stunt as heavy as ever. Here’s what that gushy woman reporter says about -last night:” - - Never is Society with the big, big S more flattered than when they - are bidden to partake of good cheer at the distinguished and - hospitable residence of Mr. and Mrs. Charles L. McKelvey as they - were last night. Set in its spacious lawns and landscaping, one of - the notable sights crowning Royal Ridge, but merry and homelike - despite its mighty stone walls and its vast rooms famed for their - decoration, their home was thrown open last night for a dance in - honor of Mrs. McKelvey’s notable guest, Miss J. Sneeth of - Washington. The wide hall is so generous in its proportions that it - made a perfect ballroom, its hardwood floor reflecting the charming - pageant above its polished surface. Even the delights of dancing - paled before the alluring opportunities for tête-à-têtes that - invited the soul to loaf in the long library before the baronial - fireplace, or in the drawing-room with its deep comfy armchairs, - its shaded lamps just made for a sly whisper of pretty nothings all - a deux; or even in the billiard room where one could take a cue - and show a prowess at still another game than that sponsored by - Cupid and Terpsichore. - -There was more, a great deal more, in the best urban journalistic style -of Miss Elnora Pearl Bates, the popular society editor of the -_Advocate-Times_. But Babbitt could not abide it. He grunted. He -wrinkled the newspaper. He protested: “Can you beat it! I’m willing to -hand a lot of credit to Charley McKelvey. When we were in college -together, he was just as hard up as any of us, and he’s made a million -good bucks out of contracting and hasn’t been any dishonester or bought -any more city councils than was necessary. And that’s a good house of -his--though it ain’t any ‘mighty stone walls’ and it ain’t worth the -ninety thousand it cost him. But when it comes to talking as though -Charley McKelvey and all that booze-hoisting set of his are any blooming -bunch of of, of Vanderbilts, why, it makes me tired!” - -Timidly from Mrs. Babbitt: “I would like to see the inside of their -house though. It must be lovely. I’ve never been inside.” - -“Well, I have! Lots of--couple of times. To see Chaz about business -deals, in the evening. It’s not so much. I wouldn’t _want_ to go there -to dinner with that gang of, of high-binders. And I’ll bet I make a -whole lot more money than some of those tin-horns that spend all they -got on dress-suits and haven’t got a decent suit of underwear to their -name! Hey! What do you think of this!” - -Mrs. Babbitt was strangely unmoved by the tidings from the Real Estate -and Building column of the _Advocate-Times_: - - Ashtabula Street, 496--J. K. Dawson to - Thomas Mullally, April 17, 15.7 × 112.2, - mtg. $4000................ Nom. - -And this morning Babbitt was too disquieted to entertain her with items -from Mechanics’ Liens, Mortgages Recorded, and Contracts Awarded. He -rose. As he looked at her his eyebrows seemed shaggier than usual. -Suddenly: - -“Yes, maybe-- Kind of shame to not keep in touch with folks like the -McKelveys. We might try inviting them to dinner, some evening. Oh, -thunder, let’s not waste our good time thinking about ’em! Our little -bunch has a lot liver times than all those plutes. Just compare a real -human like you with these neurotic birds like Lucile McKelvey--all -highbrow talk and dressed up like a plush horse! You’re a great old -girl, hon.!” - -He covered his betrayal of softness with a complaining: “Say, don’t let -Tinka go and eat any more of that poison nut-fudge. For Heaven’s sake, -try to keep her from ruining her digestion. I tell you, most folks don’t -appreciate how important it is to have a good digestion and regular -habits. Be back ’bout usual time, I guess.” - -He kissed her--he didn’t quite kiss her--he laid unmoving lips against -her unflushing cheek. He hurried out to the garage, muttering: “Lord, -what a family! And now Myra is going to get pathetic on me because we -don’t train with this millionaire outfit. Oh, Lord, sometimes I’d like -to quit the whole game. And the office worry and detail just as bad. And -I act cranky and-- I don’t mean to, but I get-- So darn tired!” - - - - -CHAPTER III - -I - - -To George F. Babbitt, as to most prosperous citizens of Zenith, his -motor car was poetry and tragedy, love and heroism. The office was his -pirate ship but the car his perilous excursion ashore. - -Among the tremendous crises of each day none was more dramatic than -starting the engine. It was slow on cold mornings; there was the long, -anxious whirr of the starter; and sometimes he had to drip ether into -the cocks of the cylinders, which was so very interesting that at lunch -he would chronicle it drop by drop, and orally calculate how much each -drop had cost him. - -This morning he was darkly prepared to find something wrong, and he felt -belittled when the mixture exploded sweet and strong, and the car didn’t -even brush the door-jamb, gouged and splintery with many bruisings by -fenders, as he backed out of the garage. He was confused. He shouted -“Morning!” to Sam Doppelbrau with more cordiality than he had intended. - -Babbitt’s green and white Dutch Colonial house was one of three in that -block on Chatham Road. To the left of it was the residence of Mr. Samuel -Doppelbrau, secretary of an excellent firm of bathroom-fixture jobbers. -His was a comfortable house with no architectural manners whatever; a -large wooden box with a squat tower, a broad porch, and glossy paint -yellow as a yolk. Babbitt disapproved of Mr. and Mrs. Doppelbrau as -“Bohemian.” From their house came midnight music and obscene laughter; -there were neighborhood rumors of bootlegged whisky and fast motor -rides. They furnished Babbitt with many happy evenings of discussion, -during which he announced firmly, “I’m not straitlaced, and I don’t mind -seeing a fellow throw in a drink once in a while, but when it comes to -deliberately trying to get away with a lot of hell-raising all the while -like the Doppelbraus do, it’s too rich for my blood!” - -On the other side of Babbitt lived Howard Littlefield, Ph.D., in a -strictly modern house whereof the lower part was dark red tapestry -brick, with a leaded oriel, the upper part of pale stucco like spattered -clay, and the roof red-tiled. Littlefield was the Great Scholar of the -neighborhood; the authority on everything in the world except babies, -cooking, and motors. He was a Bachelor of Arts of Blodgett College, and -a Doctor of Philosophy in economics of Yale. He was the -employment-manager and publicity-counsel of the Zenith Street Traction -Company. He could, on ten hours’ notice, appear before the board of -aldermen or the state legislature and prove, absolutely, with figures -all in rows and with precedents from Poland and New Zealand, that the -street-car company loved the Public and yearned over its employees; that -all its stock was owned by Widows and Orphans; and that whatever it -desired to do would benefit property-owners by increasing rental values, -and help the poor by lowering rents. All his acquaintances turned to -Littlefield when they desired to know the date of the battle of -Saragossa, the definition of the word “sabotage,” the future of the -German mark, the translation of “_hinc illæ lachrimæ_” or the number of -products of coal tar. He awed Babbitt by confessing that he often sat up -till midnight reading the figures and footnotes in Government reports, -or skimming (with amusement at the author’s mistakes) the latest volumes -of chemistry, archaeology, and ichthyology. - -But Littlefield’s great value was as a spiritual example. Despite his -strange learnings he was as strict a Presbyterian and as firm a -Republican as George F. Babbitt. He confirmed the business men in the -faith. Where they knew only by passionate instinct that their system of -industry and manners was perfect, Dr. Howard Littlefield proved it to -them, out of history, economics, and the confessions of reformed -radicals. - -Babbitt had a good deal of honest pride in being the neighbor of such a -savant, and in Ted’s intimacy with Eunice Littlefield. At sixteen Eunice -was interested in no statistics save those regarding the ages and -salaries of motion-picture stars, but--as Babbitt definitively put -it--“she was her father’s daughter.” - -The difference between a light man like Sam Doppelbrau and a really fine -character like Littlefield was revealed in their appearances. Doppelbrau -was disturbingly young for a man of forty-eight. He wore his derby on -the back of his head, and his red face was wrinkled with meaningless -laughter. But Littlefield was old for a man of forty-two. He was tall, -broad, thick; his gold-rimmed spectacles were engulfed in the folds of -his long face; his hair was a tossed mass of greasy blackness; he puffed -and rumbled as he talked; his Phi Beta Kappa key shone against a spotty -black vest; he smelled of old pipes; he was altogether funereal and -archidiaconal; and to real-estate brokerage and the jobbing of -bathroom-fixtures he added an aroma of sanctity. - -This morning he was in front of his house, inspecting the grass parking -between the curb and the broad cement sidewalk. Babbitt stopped his car -and leaned out to shout “Mornin’!” Littlefield lumbered over and stood -with one foot up on the running-board. - -“Fine morning,” said Babbitt, lighting--illegally early--his second -cigar of the day. - -“Yes, it’s a mighty fine morning,” said Littlefield. - -“Spring coming along fast now.” - -“Yes, it’s real spring now, all right,” said Littlefield. - -“Still cold nights, though. Had to have a couple blankets, on the -sleeping-porch last night.” - -“Yes, it wasn’t any too warm last night,” said Littlefield. - -“But I don’t anticipate we’ll have any more real cold weather now.” - -“No, but still, there was snow at Tiflis, Montana, yesterday,” said the -Scholar, “and you remember the blizzard they had out West three days -ago--thirty inches of snow at Greeley, Colorado--and two years ago we -had a snow-squall right here in Zenith on the twenty-fifth of April.” - -“Is that a fact! Say, old man, what do you think about the Republican -candidate? Who’ll they nominate for president? Don’t you think it’s -about time we had a real business administration?” - -“In my opinion, what the country needs, first and foremost, is a good, -sound, business-like conduct of its affairs. What we need is--a business -administration!” said Littlefield. - -“I’m glad to hear you say that! I certainly am glad to hear you say -that! I didn’t know how you’d feel about it, with all your associations -with colleges and so on, and I’m glad you feel that way. What the -country needs--just at this present juncture--is neither a college -president nor a lot of monkeying with foreign affairs, but a -good--sound--economical--business--administration, that will give us a -chance to have something like a decent turnover.” - -“Yes. It isn’t generally realized that even in China the schoolmen are -giving way to more practical men, and of course you can see what that -implies.” - -“Is that a fact! Well, well!” breathed Babbitt, feeling much calmer, and -much happier about the way things were going in the world. “Well, it’s -been nice to stop and parleyvoo a second. Guess I’ll have to get down to -the office now and sting a few clients. Well, so long, old man. See you -to-night. So long.” - - -II - -They had labored, these solid citizens. Twenty years before, the hill -on which Floral Heights was spread, with its bright roofs and immaculate -turf and amazing comfort, had been a wilderness of rank second-growth -elms and oaks and maples. Along the precise streets were still a few -wooded vacant lots, and the fragment of an old orchard. It was brilliant -to-day; the apple boughs were lit with fresh leaves like torches of -green fire. The first white of cherry blossoms flickered down a gully, -and robins clamored. - -Babbitt sniffed the earth, chuckled at the hysteric robins as he would -have chuckled at kittens or at a comic movie. He was, to the eye, the -perfect office-going executive--a well-fed man in a correct brown soft -hat and frameless spectacles, smoking a large cigar, driving a good -motor along a semisuburban parkway. But in him was some genius of -authentic love for his neighborhood, his city, his clan. The winter was -over; the time was come for the building, the visible growth, which to -him was glory. He lost his dawn depression; he was ruddily cheerful when -he stopped on Smith Street to leave the brown trousers, and to have the -gasoline-tank filled. - -The familiarity of the rite fortified him: the sight of the tall red -iron gasoline-pump, the hollow-tile and terra-cotta garage, the window -full of the most agreeable accessories--shiny casings, spark-plugs with -immaculate porcelain jackets, tire-chains of gold and silver. He was -flattered by the friendliness with which Sylvester Moon, dirtiest and -most skilled of motor mechanics, came out to serve him. “Mornin’, Mr. -Babbitt!” said Moon, and Babbitt felt himself a person of importance, -one whose name even busy garagemen remembered--not one of these -cheap-sports flying around in flivvers. He admired the ingenuity of the -automatic dial, clicking off gallon by gallon; admired the smartness of -the sign: “A fill in time saves getting stuck--gas to-day 31 cents”; -admired the rhythmic gurgle of the gasoline as it flowed into the tank, -and the mechanical regularity with which Moon turned the handle. - -“How much we takin’ to-day?” asked Moon, in a manner which combined the -independence of the great specialist, the friendliness of a familiar -gossip, and respect for a man of weight in the community, like George F. -Babbitt. - -“Fill ’er up.” - -“Who you rootin’ for for Republican candidate, Mr. Babbitt?” - -“It’s too early to make any predictions yet. After all, there’s still a -good month and two weeks--no, three weeks--must be almost three -weeks--well, there’s more than six weeks in all before the Republican -convention, and I feel a fellow ought to keep an open mind and give all -the candidates a show--look ’em all over and size ’em up, and then -decide carefully.” - -“That’s a fact, Mr. Babbitt.” - -“But I’ll tell you--and my stand on this is just the same as it was four -years ago, and eight years ago, and it’ll be my stand four years from -now--yes, and eight years from now! What I tell everybody, and it can’t -be too generally understood, is that what we need first, last, and all -the time is a good, sound business administration!” - -“By golly, that’s right!” - -“How do those front tires look to you?” - -“Fine! Fine! Wouldn’t be much work for garages if everybody looked after -their car the way you do.” - -“Well, I do try and have some sense about it.” Babbitt paid his bill, -said adequately, “Oh, keep the change,” and drove off in an ecstasy of -honest self-appreciation. It was with the manner of a Good Samaritan -that he shouted at a respectable-looking man who was waiting for a -trolley car, “Have a lift?” As the man climbed in Babbitt condescended, -“Going clear down-town? Whenever I see a fellow waiting for a trolley, I -always make it a practice to give him a lift--unless, of course, he -looks like a bum.” - -“Wish there were more folks that were so generous with their machines,” -dutifully said the victim of benevolence. - -“Oh, no, ’tain’t a question of generosity, hardly. Fact, I always -feel-- I was saying to my son just the other night--it’s a fellow’s duty -to share the good things of this world with his neighbors, and it gets -my goat when a fellow gets stuck on himself and goes around tooting his -horn merely because he’s charitable.” - -The victim seemed unable to find the right answer. Babbitt boomed on: - -“Pretty punk service the Company giving us on these carlines. Nonsense -to only run the Portland Road cars once every seven minutes. Fellow gets -mighty cold on a winter morning, waiting on a street corner with the -wind nipping at his ankles.” - -“That’s right. The Street Car Company don’t care a damn what kind of a -deal they give us. Something ought to happen to ’em.” - -Babbitt was alarmed. “But still, of course it won’t do to just keep -knocking the Traction Company and not realize the difficulties they’re -operating under, like these cranks that want municipal ownership. The -way these workmen hold up the Company for high wages is simply a crime, -and of course the burden falls on you and me that have to pay a -seven-cent fare! Fact, there’s remarkable service on all their -lines--considering.” - -“Well--” uneasily. - -“Darn fine morning,” Babbitt explained. “Spring coming along fast.” - -“Yes, it’s real spring now.” - -The victim had no originality, no wit, and Babbitt fell into a great -silence and devoted himself to the game of beating trolley cars to the -corner: a spurt, a tail-chase, nervous speeding between the huge yellow -side of the trolley and the jagged row of parked motors, shooting past -just as the trolley stopped--a rare game and valiant. - -And all the while he was conscious of the loveliness of Zenith. For -weeks together he noticed nothing but clients and the vexing To Rent -signs of rival brokers. To-day, in mysterious malaise, he raged or -rejoiced with equal nervous swiftness, and to-day the light of spring -was so winsome that he lifted his head and saw. - -He admired each district along his familiar route to the office: The -bungalows and shrubs and winding irregular driveways of Floral Heights. -The one-story shops on Smith Street, a glare of plate-glass and new -yellow brick; groceries and laundries and drug-stores to supply the more -immediate needs of East Side housewives. The market gardens in Dutch -Hollow, their shanties patched with corrugated iron and stolen doors. -Billboards with crimson goddesses nine feet tall advertising cinema -films, pipe tobacco, and talcum powder. The old “mansions” along Ninth -Street, S.E., like aged dandies in filthy linen; wooden castles turned -into boarding-houses, with muddy walks and rusty hedges, jostled by -fast-intruding garages, cheap apartment-houses, and fruit-stands -conducted by bland, sleek Athenians. Across the belt of railroad-tracks, -factories with high-perched water-tanks and tall stacks--factories -producing condensed milk, paper boxes, lighting-fixtures, motor cars. -Then the business center, the thickening darting traffic, the crammed -trolleys unloading, and high doorways of marble and polished granite. - -It was big--and Babbitt respected bigness in anything; in mountains, -jewels, muscles, wealth, or words. He was, for a spring-enchanted -moment, the lyric and almost unselfish lover of Zenith. He thought of -the outlying factory suburbs; of the Chaloosa River with its strangely -eroded banks; of the orchard-dappled Tonawanda Hills to the North, and -all the fat dairy land and big barns and comfortable herds. As he -dropped his passenger he cried, “Gosh, I feel pretty good this -morning!” - - -III - -Epochal as starting the car was the drama of parking it before he -entered his office. As he turned from Oberlin Avenue round the corner -into Third Street, N.E., he peered ahead for a space in the line of -parked cars. He angrily just missed a space as a rival driver slid into -it. Ahead, another car was leaving the curb, and Babbitt slowed up, -holding out his hand to the cars pressing on him from behind, agitatedly -motioning an old woman to go ahead, avoiding a truck which bore down on -him from one side. With front wheels nicking the wrought-steel bumper of -the car in front, he stopped, feverishly cramped his steering-wheel, -slid back into the vacant space and, with eighteen inches of room, -manœuvered to bring the car level with the curb. It was a virile -adventure masterfully executed. With satisfaction he locked a -thief-proof steel wedge on the front wheel, and crossed the street to -his real-estate office on the ground floor of the Reeves Building. - -The Reeves Building was as fireproof as a rock and as efficient as a -typewriter; fourteen stories of yellow pressed brick, with clean, -upright, unornamented lines. It was filled with the offices of lawyers, -doctors, agents for machinery, for emery wheels, for wire fencing, for -mining-stock. Their gold signs shone on the windows. The entrance was -too modern to be flamboyant with pillars; it was quiet, shrewd, neat. -Along the Third Street side were a Western Union Telegraph Office, the -Blue Delft Candy Shop, Shotwell’s Stationery Shop, and the -Babbitt-Thompson Realty Company. - -Babbitt could have entered his office from the street, as customers did, -but it made him feel an insider to go through the corridor of the -building and enter by the back door. Thus he was greeted by the -villagers. - -The little unknown people who inhabited the Reeves Building -corridors--elevator-runners, starter, engineers, superintendent, and the -doubtful-looking lame man who conducted the news and cigar stand--were -in no way city-dwellers. They were rustics, living in a constricted -valley, interested only in one another and in The Building. Their Main -Street was the entrance hall, with its stone floor, severe marble -ceiling, and the inner windows of the shops. The liveliest place on the -street was the Reeves Building Barber Shop, but this was also Babbitt’s -one embarrassment. Himself, he patronized the glittering Pompeian Barber -Shop in the Hotel Thornleigh, and every time he passed the Reeves -shop--ten times a day, a hundred times--he felt untrue to his own -village. - -Now, as one of the squirearchy, greeted with honorable salutations by -the villagers, he marched into his office, and peace and dignity were -upon him, and the morning’s dissonances all unheard. - -They were heard again, immediately. - -Stanley Graff, the outside salesman, was talking on the telephone with -tragic lack of that firm manner which disciplines clients: “Say, uh, I -think I got just the house that would suit you--the Percival House, in -Linton.... Oh, you’ve seen it. Well, how’d it strike you?... Huh?... -Oh,” irresolutely, “oh, I see.” - -As Babbitt marched into his private room, a coop with semi-partition of -oak and frosted glass, at the back of the office, he reflected how hard -it was to find employees who had his own faith that he was going to make -sales. - -There were nine members of the staff, besides Babbitt and his partner -and father-in-law, Henry Thompson, who rarely came to the office. The -nine were Stanley Graff, the outside salesman--a youngish man given to -cigarettes and the playing of pool; old Mat Penniman, general utility -man, collector of rents and salesman of insurance--broken, silent, gray; -a mystery, reputed to have been a “crack” real-estate man with a firm of -his own in haughty Brooklyn; Chester Kirby Laylock, resident salesman -out at the Glen Oriole acreage development--an enthusiastic person with -a silky mustache and much family; Miss Theresa McGoun, the swift and -rather pretty stenographer; Miss Wilberta Bannigan, the thick, slow, -laborious accountant and file-clerk; and four freelance part-time -commission salesmen. - -As he looked from his own cage into the main room Babbitt mourned, -“McGoun’s a good stenog., smart’s a whip, but Stan Graff and all those -bums--” The zest of the spring morning was smothered in the stale office -air. - -Normally he admired the office, with a pleased surprise that he should -have created this sure lovely thing; normally he was stimulated by the -clean newness of it and the air of bustle; but to-day it seemed -flat--the tiled floor, like a bathroom, the ocher-colored metal ceiling, -the faded maps on the hard plaster walls, the chairs of varnished pale -oak, the desks and filing-cabinets of steel painted in olive drab. It -was a vault, a steel chapel where loafing and laughter were raw sin. - -He hadn’t even any satisfaction in the new water-cooler! And it was the -very best of water-coolers, up-to-date, scientific, and right-thinking. -It had cost a great deal of money (in itself a virtue). It possessed a -non-conducting fiber ice-container, a porcelain water-jar (guaranteed -hygienic), a dripless non-clogging sanitary faucet, and machine-painted -decorations in two tones of gold. He looked down the relentless stretch -of tiled floor at the water-cooler, and assured himself that no tenant -of the Reeves Building had a more expensive one, but he could not -recapture the feeling of social superiority it had given him. He -astoundingly grunted, “I’d like to beat it off to the woods right now. -And loaf all day. And go to Gunch’s again to-night, and play poker, and -cuss as much as I feel like, and drink a hundred and nine-thousand -bottles of beer.” - -He sighed; he read through his mail; he shouted “Msgoun,” which meant -“Miss McGoun”; and began to dictate. - -This was his own version of his first letter: - -“Omar Gribble, send it to his office, Miss McGoun, yours of twentieth to -hand and in reply would say look here, Gribble, I’m awfully afraid if we -go on shilly-shallying like this we’ll just naturally lose the Allen -sale, I had Allen up on carpet day before yesterday and got right down -to cases and think I can assure you--uh, uh, no, change that: all my -experience indicates he is all right, means to do business, looked into -his financial record which is fine--that sentence seems to be a little -balled up, Miss McGoun; make a couple sentences out of it if you have -to, period, new paragraph. - -“He is perfectly willing to pro rate the special assessment and strikes -me, am dead sure there will be no difficulty in getting him to pay for -title insurance, so now for heaven’s sake let’s get busy--no, make that: -so now let’s go to it and get down--no, that’s enough--you can tie those -sentences up a little better when you type ’em, Miss McGoun--your -sincerely, etcetera.” - -This is the version of his letter which he received, typed, from Miss -McGoun that afternoon: - - BABBITT-THOMPSON REALTY CO. - Homes for Folks - Reeves Bldg., Oberlin Avenue & 3d St., N.E. - Zenith - -Omar Gribble, Esq., -576 North American Building, -Zenith. - - Dear Mr. Gribble: - - Your letter of the twentieth to hand. I must say I’m awfully afraid - that if we go on shilly-shallying like this we’ll just naturally - lose the Allen sale. I had Allen up on the carpet day before - yesterday, and got right down to cases. All my experience indicates - that he means to do business. I have also looked into his financial - record, which is fine. - - He is perfectly willing to pro rate the special assessment and - there will be no difficulty in getting him to pay for title - insurance. - - _So let’s go!_ - - Yours sincerely, - - - -As he read and signed it, in his correct flowing business-college hand, -Babbitt reflected, “Now that’s a good, strong letter, and clear’s a -bell. Now what the-- I never told McGoun to make a third paragraph there! -Wish she’d quit trying to improve on my dictation! But what I can’t -understand is: why can’t Stan Graff or Chet Laylock write a letter like -that? With punch! With a kick!” - -The most important thing he dictated that morning was the fortnightly -form-letter, to be mimeographed and sent out to a thousand “prospects.” -It was diligently imitative of the best literary models of the day; of -heart-to-heart-talk advertisements, “sales-pulling” letters, discourses -on the “development of Will-power,” and hand-shaking house-organs, as -richly poured forth by the new school of Poets of Business. He had -painfully written out a first draft, and he intoned it now like a poet -delicate and distrait: - - SAY, OLD MAN! - - I just want to know can I do you a whaleuva favor? Honest! No - kidding! I know you’re interested in getting a house, not merely a - place where you hang up the old bonnet but a love-nest for the wife - and kiddies--and maybe for the flivver out beyant (be sure and - spell that b-e-y-a-n-t, Miss McGoun) the spud garden. Say, did you - ever stop to think that we’re here to save you trouble? That’s how - we make a living--folks don’t pay us for our lovely beauty! Now - take a look: - - Sit right down at the handsome carved mahogany escritoire and shoot - us in a line telling us just what you want, and if we can find it - we’ll come hopping down your lane with the good tidings, and if we - can’t, we won’t bother you. To save your time, just fill out the - blank enclosed. On request will also send blank regarding store - properties in Floral Heights, Silver Grove, Linton, Bellevue, and - all East Side residential districts. - - Yours for service, - - P.S.--Just a hint of some plums we can pick for you--some genuine - bargains that came in to-day: - - SILVER GROVE.--Cute four-room California bungalow, a.m.i., garage, - dandy shade tree, swell neighborhood, handy car line. $3700, $780 - down and balance liberal, Babbitt-Thompson terms, cheaper than - rent. - - DORCHESTER.--A corker! Artistic two-family house, all oak trim, - parquet floors, lovely gas log, big porches, colonial, HEATED - ALL-WEATHER GARAGE, a bargain at $11,250. - -Dictation over, with its need of sitting and thinking instead of -bustling around and making a noise and really doing something, Babbitt -sat creakily back in his revolving desk-chair and beamed on Miss McGoun. -He was conscious of her as a girl, of black bobbed hair against demure -cheeks. A longing which was indistinguishable from loneliness enfeebled -him. While she waited, tapping a long, precise pencil-point on the -desk-tablet, he half identified her with the fairy girl of his dreams. -He imagined their eyes meeting with terrifying recognition; imagined -touching her lips with frightened reverence and-- She was chirping, “Any -more, Mist’ Babbitt?” He grunted, “That winds it up, I guess,” and -turned heavily away. - -For all his wandering thoughts, they had never been more intimate than -this. He often reflected, “Nev’ forget how old Jake Offutt said a wise -bird never goes love-making in his own office or his own home. Start -trouble. Sure. But--” - -In twenty-three years of married life he had peered uneasily at every -graceful ankle, every soft shoulder; in thought he had treasured them; -but not once had he hazarded respectability by adventuring. Now, as he -calculated the cost of repapering the Styles house, he was restless -again, discontented about nothing and everything, ashamed of his -discontentment, and lonely for the fairy girl. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -I - -It was a morning of artistic creation. Fifteen minutes after the purple -prose of Babbitt’s form-letter, Chester Kirby Laylock, the resident -salesman at Glen Oriole, came in to report a sale and submit an -advertisement. Babbitt disapproved of Laylock, who sang in choirs and -was merry at home over games of Hearts and Old Maid. He had a tenor -voice, wavy chestnut hair, and a mustache like a camel’s-hair brush. -Babbitt considered it excusable in a family-man to growl, “Seen this new -picture of the kid--husky little devil, eh?” but Laylock’s domestic -confidences were as bubbling as a girl’s. - -“Say, I think I got a peach of an ad for the Glen, Mr. Babbitt. Why -don’t we try something in poetry? Honest, it’d have wonderful -pulling-power. Listen: - - ’Mid pleasures and palaces, - Wherever you may roam, - You just provide the little bride - And we’ll provide the home. - -Do you get it? See--like ‘Home Sweet Home.’ Don’t you--” - -“Yes, yes, yes, hell yes, of course I get it. But-- Oh, I think we’d -better use something more dignified and forceful, like ‘We lead, others -follow,’ or ‘Eventually, why not now?’ Course I believe in using poetry -and humor and all that junk when it turns the trick, but with a -high-class restricted development like the Glen we better stick to the -more dignified approach, see how I mean? Well, I guess that’s all, this -morning, Chet.” - - -II - -By a tragedy familiar to the world of art, the April enthusiasm of Chet -Laylock served only to stimulate the talent of the older craftsman, -George F. Babbitt. He grumbled to Stanley Graff, “That tan-colored voice -of Chet’s gets on my nerves,” yet he was aroused and in one swoop he -wrote: - -DO YOU RESPECT YOUR LOVED ONES? - -When the last sad rites of bereavement are over, do -you know for certain that you have done your best for -the Departed? You haven’t unless they lie in the -Cemetery Beautiful. - -LINDEN LANE - -the only strictly up-to-date burial place in or near -Zenith, where exquisitely gardened plots look from -daisy-dotted hill-slopes across the smiling fields of -Dorchester. - -Sole agents -BABBITT-THOMPSON REALTY COMPANY -Reeves Building - - - -He rejoiced, “I guess that’ll show Chan Mott and his weedy old Wildwood -Cemetery something about modern merchandizing!” - - -III - -He sent Mat Penniman to the recorder’s office to dig out the names of -the owners of houses which were displaying For Rent signs of other -brokers; he talked to a man who desired to lease a store-building for a -pool-room; he ran over the list of home-leases which were about to -expire; he sent Thomas Bywaters, a street-car conductor who played at -real estate in spare time, to call on side-street “prospects” who were -unworthy the strategies of Stanley Graff. But he had spent his credulous -excitement of creation, and these routine details annoyed him. One -moment of heroism he had, in discovering a new way of stopping smoking. - -He stopped smoking at least once a month. He went through with it like -the solid citizen he was: admitted the evils of tobacco, courageously -made resolves, laid out plans to check the vice, tapered off his -allowance of cigars, and expounded the pleasures of virtuousness to -every one he met. He did everything, in fact, except stop smoking. - -Two months before, by ruling out a schedule, noting down the hour and -minute of each smoke, and ecstatically increasing the intervals between -smokes, he had brought himself down to three cigars a day. Then he had -lost the schedule. - -A week ago he had invented a system of leaving his cigar-case -and cigarette-box in an unused drawer at the bottom of the -correspondence-file, in the outer office. “I’ll just naturally be -ashamed to go poking in there all day long, making a fool of myself -before my own employees!” he reasoned. By the end of three days he was -trained to leave his desk, walk to the file, take out and light a cigar, -without knowing that he was doing it. - -This morning it was revealed to him that it had been too easy to open -the file. Lock it, that was the thing! Inspired, he rushed out and -locked up his cigars, his cigarettes, and even his box of safety -matches; and the key to the file drawer he hid in his desk. But the -crusading passion of it made him so tobacco-hungry that he immediately -recovered the key, walked with forbidding dignity to the file, took out -a cigar and a match--“but only one match; if ole cigar goes out, it’ll -by golly have to stay out!” Later, when the cigar did go out, he took -one more match from the file, and when a buyer and a seller came in for -a conference at eleven-thirty, naturally he had to offer them cigars. -His conscience protested, “Why, you’re smoking with them!” but he -bullied it, “Oh, shut up! I’m busy now. Of course by-and-by--” There was -no by-and-by, yet his belief that he had crushed the unclean habit made -him feel noble and very happy. When he called up Paul Riesling he was, -in his moral splendor, unusually eager. - -He was fonder of Paul Riesling than of any one on earth except himself -and his daughter Tinka. They had been classmates, roommates, in the -State University, but always he thought of Paul Riesling, with his dark -slimness, his precisely parted hair, his nose-glasses, his hesitant -speech, his moodiness, his love of music, as a younger brother, to be -petted and protected. Paul had gone into his father’s business, after -graduation; he was now a wholesaler and small manufacturer of -prepared-paper roofing. But Babbitt strenuously believed and lengthily -announced to the world of Good Fellows that Paul could have been a great -violinist or painter or writer. “Why say, the letters that boy sent me -on his trip to the Canadian Rockies, they just absolutely make you see -the place as if you were standing there. Believe me, he could have given -any of these bloomin’ authors a whale of a run for their money!” - -Yet on the telephone they said only: - -“South 343. No, no, no! I said _South_--South 343. Say, operator, what -the dickens is the trouble? Can’t you get me South 343? Why certainly -they’ll answer. Oh, Hello, 343? Wanta speak Mist’ Riesling, Mist’ -Babbitt talking.... ‘Lo, Paul?” - -“Yuh.” - -“’S George speaking.” - -“Yuh.” - -“How’s old socks?” - -“Fair to middlin’. How’re you?” - -“Fine, Paulibus. Well, what do you know?” - -“Oh, nothing much.” - -“Where you been keepin’ yourself?” - -“Oh, just stickin’ round. What’s up, Georgie?” - -“How ’bout lil lunch’s noon?” - -“Be all right with me, I guess. Club?” - -“Yuh. Meet you there twelve-thirty.” - -“A’ right. Twelve-thirty. S’ long, Georgie.” - - -IV - -His morning was not sharply marked into divisions. Interwoven with -correspondence and advertisement-writing were a thousand nervous -details: calls from clerks who were incessantly and hopefully seeking -five furnished rooms and bath at sixty dollars a month; advice to Mat -Penniman on getting money out of tenants who had no money. - -Babbitt’s virtues as a real-estate broker--as the servant of society in -the department of finding homes for families and shops for distributors -of food--were steadiness and diligence. He was conventionally honest, he -kept his records of buyers and sellers complete, he had experience with -leases and titles and an excellent memory for prices. His shoulders were -broad enough, his voice deep enough, his relish of hearty humor strong -enough, to establish him as one of the ruling caste of Good Fellows. Yet -his eventual importance to mankind was perhaps lessened by his large and -complacent ignorance of all architecture save the types of houses turned -out by speculative builders; all landscape gardening save the use of -curving roads, grass, and six ordinary shrubs; and all the commonest -axioms of economics. He serenely believed that the one purpose of the -real-estate business was to make money for George F. Babbitt. True, it -was a good advertisement at Boosters’ Club lunches, and all the -varieties of Annual Banquets to which Good Fellows were invited, to -speak sonorously of Unselfish Public Service, the Broker’s Obligation to -Keep Inviolate the Trust of His Clients, and a thing called Ethics, -whose nature was confusing but if you had it you were a High-class -Realtor and if you hadn’t you were a shyster, a piker, and a -fly-by-night. These virtues awakened Confidence, and enabled you to -handle Bigger Propositions. But they didn’t imply that you were to be -impractical and refuse to take twice the value of a house if a buyer was -such an idiot that he didn’t jew you down on the asking-price. - -Babbitt spoke well--and often--at these orgies of commercial -righteousness about the “realtor’s function as a seer of the future -development of the community, and as a prophetic engineer clearing the -pathway for inevitable changes”--which meant that a real-estate broker -could make money by guessing which way the town would grow. This -guessing he called Vision. - -In an address at the Boosters’ Club he had admitted, “It is at once the -duty and the privilege of the realtor to know everything about his own -city and its environs. Where a surgeon is a specialist on every vein and -mysterious cell of the human body, and the engineer upon electricity in -all its phases, or every bolt of some great bridge majestically arching -o’er a mighty flood, the realtor must know his city, inch by inch, and -all its faults and virtues.” - -Though he did know the market-price, inch by inch, of certain districts -of Zenith, he did not know whether the police force was too large or too -small, or whether it was in alliance with gambling and prostitution. He -knew the means of fireproofing buildings and the relation of -insurance-rates to fireproofing, but he did not know how many firemen -there were in the city, how they were trained and paid, or how complete -their apparatus. He sang eloquently the advantages of proximity of -school-buildings to rentable homes, but he did not know--he did not know -that it was worth while to know--whether the city schoolrooms were -properly heated, lighted, ventilated, furnished; he did not know how the -teachers were chosen; and though he chanted “One of the boasts of Zenith -is that we pay our teachers adequately,” that was because he had read -the statement in the _Advocate-Times_. Himself, he could not have given -the average salary of teachers in Zenith or anywhere else. - -He had heard it said that “conditions” in the County Jail and the Zenith -City Prison were not very “scientific;” he had, with indignation at the -criticism of Zenith, skimmed through a report in which the notorious -pessimist Seneca Doane, the radical lawyer, asserted that to throw boys -and young girls into a bull-pen crammed with men suffering from -syphilis, delirium tremens, and insanity was not the perfect way of -educating them. He had controverted the report by growling, “Folks that -think a jail ought to be a bloomin’ Hotel Thornleigh make me sick. If -people don’t like a jail, let ’em behave ’emselves and keep out of it. -Besides, these reform cranks always exaggerate.” That was the beginning -and quite completely the end of his investigations into Zenith’s -charities and corrections; and as to the “vice districts” he brightly -expressed it, “Those are things that no decent man monkeys with. -Besides, smatter fact, I’ll tell you confidentially: it’s a protection -to our daughters and to decent women to have a district where tough nuts -can raise cain. Keeps ’em away from our own homes.” - -As to industrial conditions, however, Babbitt had thought a great deal, -and his opinions may be coordinated as follows: - -“A good labor union is of value because it keeps out radical unions, -which would destroy property. No one ought to be forced to belong to a -union, however. All labor agitators who try to force men to join a union -should be hanged. In fact, just between ourselves, there oughtn’t to be -any unions allowed at all; and as it’s the best way of fighting the -unions, every business man ought to belong to an employers’-association -and to the Chamber of Commerce. In union there is strength. So any -selfish hog who doesn’t join the Chamber of Commerce ought to be forced -to.” - -In nothing--as the expert on whose advice families moved to new -neighborhoods to live there for a generation--was Babbitt more -splendidly innocent than in the science of sanitation. He did not know a -malaria-bearing mosquito from a bat; he knew nothing about tests of -drinking water; and in the matters of plumbing and sewage he was as -unlearned as he was voluble. He often referred to the excellence of the -bathrooms in the houses he sold. He was fond of explaining why it was -that no European ever bathed. Some one had told him, when he was -twenty-two, that all cesspools were unhealthy, and he still denounced -them. If a client impertinently wanted him to sell a house which had a -cesspool, Babbitt always spoke about it--before accepting the house and -selling it. - -When he laid out the Glen Oriole acreage development, when he ironed -woodland and dipping meadow into a glenless, orioleless, sunburnt flat -prickly with small boards displaying the names of imaginary streets, he -righteously put in a complete sewage-system. It made him feel superior; -it enabled him to sneer privily at the Martin Lumsen development, -Avonlea, which had a cesspool; and it provided a chorus for the -full-page advertisements in which he announced the beauty, convenience, -cheapness, and supererogatory healthfulness of Glen Oriole. The only -flaw was that the Glen Oriole sewers had insufficient outlet, so that -waste remained in them, not very agreeably, while the Avonlea cesspool -was a Waring septic tank. - -The whole of the Glen Oriole project was a suggestion that Babbitt, -though he really did hate men recognized as swindlers, was not too -unreasonably honest. Operators and buyers prefer that brokers should not -be in competition with them as operators and buyers themselves, but -attend to their clients’ interests only. It was supposed that the -Babbitt-Thompson Company were merely agents for Glen Oriole, serving the -real owner, Jake Offutt, but the fact was that Babbitt and Thompson -owned sixty-two per cent. of the Glen, the president and purchasing -agent of the Zenith Street Traction Company owned twenty-eight per -cent., and Jake Offutt (a gang-politician, a small manufacturer, a -tobacco-chewing old farceur who enjoyed dirty politics, business -diplomacy, and cheating at poker) had only ten per cent., which Babbitt -and the Traction officials had given to him for “fixing” health -inspectors and fire inspectors and a member of the State Transportation -Commission. - -But Babbitt was virtuous. He advocated, though he did not practise, the -prohibition of alcohol; he praised, though he did not obey, the laws -against motor-speeding; he paid his debts; he contributed to the church, -the Red Cross, and the Y. M. C. A.; he followed the custom of his clan -and cheated only as it was sanctified by precedent; and he never -descended to trickery--though, as he explained to Paul Riesling: - -“Course I don’t mean to say that every ad I write is literally true or -that I always believe everything I say when I give some buyer a good -strong selling-spiel. You see--you see it’s like this: In the first -place, maybe the owner of the property exaggerated when he put it into -my hands, and it certainly isn’t my place to go proving my principal a -liar! And then most folks are so darn crooked themselves that they -expect a fellow to do a little lying, so if I was fool enough to never -whoop the ante I’d get the credit for lying anyway! In self-defense I -got to toot my own horn, like a lawyer defending a client--his bounden -duty, ain’t it, to bring out the poor dub’s good points? Why, the Judge -himself would bawl out a lawyer that didn’t, even if they both knew the -guy was guilty! But even so, I don’t pad out the truth like Cecil -Rountree or Thayer or the rest of these realtors. Fact, I think a fellow -that’s willing to deliberately up and profit by lying ought to be shot!” - -Babbitt’s value to his clients was rarely better shown than this -morning, in the conference at eleven-thirty between himself, Conrad -Lyte, and Archibald Purdy. - - -V - -Conrad Lyte was a real-estate speculator. He was a nervous speculator. -Before he gambled he consulted bankers, lawyers, architects, contracting -builders, and all of their clerks and stenographers who were willing to -be cornered and give him advice. He was a bold entrepreneur, and he -desired nothing more than complete safety in his investments, freedom -from attention to details, and the thirty or forty per cent. profit -which, according to all authorities, a pioneer deserves for his risks -and foresight. He was a stubby man with a cap-like mass of short gray -curls and clothes which, no matter how well cut, seemed shaggy. Below -his eyes were semicircular hollows, as though silver dollars had been -pressed against them and had left an imprint. - -Particularly and always Lyte consulted Babbitt, and trusted in his slow -cautiousness. - -Six months ago Babbitt had learned that one Archibald Purdy, a grocer in -the indecisive residential district known as Linton, was talking of -opening a butcher shop beside his grocery. Looking up the ownership of -adjoining parcels of land, Babbitt found that Purdy owned his present -shop but did not own the one available lot adjoining. He advised Conrad -Lyte to purchase this lot, for eleven thousand dollars, though an -appraisal on a basis of rents did not indicate its value as above nine -thousand. The rents, declared Babbitt, were too low; and by waiting they -could make Purdy come to their price. (This was Vision.) He had to bully -Lyte into buying. His first act as agent for Lyte was to increase the -rent of the battered store-building on the lot. The tenant said a number -of rude things, but he paid. - -Now, Purdy seemed ready to buy, and his delay was going to cost him ten -thousand extra dollars--the reward paid by the community to Mr. Conrad -Lyte for the virtue of employing a broker who had Vision and who -understood Talking Points, Strategic Values, Key Situations, -Underappraisals, and the Psychology of Salesmanship. - -Lyte came to the conference exultantly. He was fond of Babbitt, this -morning, and called him “old hoss.” Purdy, the grocer, a long-nosed man -and solemn, seemed to care less for Babbitt and for Vision, but Babbitt -met him at the street door of the office and guided him toward the -private room with affectionate little cries of “This way, Brother -Purdy!” He took from the correspondence-file the entire box of cigars -and forced them on his guests. He pushed their chairs two inches forward -and three inches back, which gave an hospitable note, then leaned back -in his desk-chair and looked plump and jolly. But he spoke to the -weakling grocer with firmness. - -“Well, Brother Purdy, we been having some pretty tempting offers from -butchers and a slew of other folks for that lot next to your store, but -I persuaded Brother Lyte that we ought to give you a shot at the -property first. I said to Lyte, ‘It’d be a rotten shame,’ I said, ‘if -somebody went and opened a combination grocery and meat market right -next door and ruined Purdy’s nice little business.’ Especially--” -Babbitt leaned forward, and his voice was harsh, “--it would be hard -luck if one of these cash-and-carry chain-stores got in there and -started cutting prices below cost till they got rid of competition and -forced you to the wall!” - -Purdy snatched his thin hands from his pockets, pulled up his trousers, -thrust his hands back into his pockets, tilted in the heavy oak chair, -and tried to look amused, as he struggled: - -“Yes, they’re bad competition. But I guess you don’t realize the Pulling -Power that Personality has in a neighborhood business.” - -The great Babbitt smiled. “That’s so. Just as you feel, old man. We -thought we’d give you first chance. All right then--” - -“Now look here!” Purdy wailed. “I know f’r a fact that a piece of -property ’bout same size, right near, sold for less ’n eighty-five -hundred, ’twa’n’t two years ago, and here you fellows are asking me -twenty-four thousand dollars! Why, I’d have to mortgage-- I wouldn’t mind -so much paying twelve thousand but-- Why good God, Mr. Babbitt, you’re -asking more ’n twice its value! And threatening to ruin me if I don’t -take it!” - -“Purdy, I don’t like your way of talking! I don’t like it one little -bit! Supposing Lyte and I were stinking enough to want to ruin any -fellow human, don’t you suppose we know it’s to our own selfish interest -to have everybody in Zenith prosperous? But all this is beside the -point. Tell you what we’ll do: We’ll come down to twenty-three -thousand--five thousand down and the rest on mortgage--and if you want -to wreck the old shack and rebuild, I guess I can get Lyte here to -loosen up for a building-mortgage on good liberal terms. Heavens, man, -we’d be glad to oblige you! We don’t like these foreign grocery trusts -any better ’n you do! But it isn’t reasonable to expect us to sacrifice -eleven thousand or more just for neighborliness, _is_ it! How about it, -Lyte? You willing to come down?” - -By warmly taking Purdy’s part, Babbitt persuaded the benevolent Mr. Lyte -to reduce his price to twenty-one thousand dollars. At the right moment -Babbitt snatched from a drawer the agreement he had had Miss McGoun type -out a week ago and thrust it into Purdy’s hands. He genially shook his -fountain pen to make certain that it was flowing, handed it to Purdy, -and approvingly watched him sign. - -The work of the world was being done. Lyte had made something over nine -thousand dollars, Babbitt had made a four-hundred-and-fifty dollar -commission, Purdy had, by the sensitive mechanism of modern finance, -been provided with a business-building, and soon the happy inhabitants -of Linton would have meat lavished upon them at prices only a little -higher than those down-town. - -It had been a manly battle, but after it Babbitt drooped. This was the -only really amusing contest he had been planning. There was nothing -ahead save details of leases, appraisals, mortgages. - -He muttered, “Makes me sick to think of Lyte carrying off most of the -profit when I did all the work, the old skinflint! And-- What else have I -got to do to-day?... Like to take a good long vacation. Motor trip. -Something.” - -He sprang up, rekindled by the thought of lunching with Paul Riesling. - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -I - -Babbitt’s preparations for leaving the office to its feeble self during -the hour and a half of his lunch-period were somewhat less elaborate -than the plans for a general European war. - -He fretted to Miss McGoun, “What time you going to lunch? Well, make -sure Miss Bannigan is in then. Explain to her that if Wiedenfeldt calls -up, she’s to tell him I’m already having the title traced. And oh, b’ -the way, remind me to-morrow to have Penniman trace it. Now if anybody -comes in looking for a cheap house, remember we got to shove that Bangor -Road place off onto somebody. If you need me, I’ll be at the Athletic -Club. And--uh-- And--uh-- I’ll be back by two.” - -He dusted the cigar-ashes off his vest. He placed a difficult unanswered -letter on the pile of unfinished work, that he might not fail to attend -to it that afternoon. (For three noons, now, he had placed the same -letter on the unfinished pile.) He scrawled on a sheet of yellow -backing-paper the memorandum: “See abt apt h drs,” which gave him an -agreeable feeling of having already seen about the apartment-house -doors. - -He discovered that he was smoking another cigar. He threw it away, -protesting, “Darn it, I thought you’d quit this darn smoking!” He -courageously returned the cigar-box to the correspondence-file, locked -it up, hid the key in a more difficult place, and raged, “Ought to take -care of myself. And need more exercise--walk to the club, every single -noon--just what I’ll do--every noon--cut out this motoring all the -time.” - -The resolution made him feel exemplary. Immediately after it he decided -that this noon it was too late to walk. - -It took but little more time to start his car and edge it into the -traffic than it would have taken to walk the three and a half blocks to -the club. - - -II - -As he drove he glanced with the fondness of familiarity at the -buildings. - -A stranger suddenly dropped into the business-center of Zenith could not -have told whether he was in a city of Oregon or Georgia, Ohio or Maine, -Oklahoma or Manitoba. But to Babbitt every inch was individual and -stirring. As always he noted that the California Building across the way -was three stories lower, therefore three stories less beautiful, than -his own Reeves Building. As always when he passed the Parthenon Shoe -Shine Parlor, a one-story hut which beside the granite and red-brick -ponderousness of the old California Building resembled a bath-house -under a cliff, he commented, “Gosh, ought to get my shoes shined this -afternoon. Keep forgetting it.” At the Simplex Office Furniture Shop, -the National Cash Register Agency, he yearned for a dictaphone, for a -typewriter which would add and multiply, as a poet yearns for quartos or -a physician for radium. - -At the Nobby Men’s Wear Shop he took his left hand off the -steering-wheel to touch his scarf, and thought well of himself as one -who bought expensive ties “and could pay cash for ’em, too, by golly;” -and at the United Cigar Store, with its crimson and gold alertness, he -reflected, “Wonder if I need some cigars--idiot--plumb forgot--going t’ -cut down my fool smoking.” He looked at his bank, the Miners’ and -Drovers’ National, and considered how clever and solid he was to bank -with so marbled an establishment. His high moment came in the clash of -traffic when he was halted at the corner beneath the lofty Second -National Tower. His car was banked with four others in a line of steel -restless as cavalry, while the crosstown traffic, limousines and -enormous moving-vans and insistent motor-cycles, poured by; on the -farther corner, pneumatic riveters rang on the sun-plated skeleton of a -new building; and out of this tornado flashed the inspiration of a -familiar face, and a fellow Booster shouted, “H’ are you, George!” -Babbitt waved in neighborly affection, and slid on with the traffic as -the policeman lifted his hand. He noted how quickly his car picked up. -He felt superior and powerful, like a shuttle of polished steel darting -in a vast machine. - -As always he ignored the next two blocks, decayed blocks not yet -reclaimed from the grime and shabbiness of the Zenith of 1885. While he -was passing the five-and-ten-cent store, the Dakota Lodging House, -Concordia Hall with its lodge-rooms and the offices of fortune-tellers -and chiropractors, he thought of how much money he made, and he boasted -a little and worried a little and did old familiar sums: - -“Four hundred fifty plunks this morning from the Lyte deal. But taxes -due. Let’s see: I ought to pull out eight thousand net this year, and -save fifteen hundred of that--no, not if I put up garage and-- Let’s see: -six hundred and forty clear last month, and twelve times six-forty -makes--makes--let see: six times twelve is seventy-two hundred and-- Oh -rats, anyway, I’ll make eight thousand--gee now, that’s not so bad; -mighty few fellows pulling down eight thousand dollars a year--eight -thousand good hard iron dollars--bet there isn’t more than five per -cent. of the people in the whole United States that make more than Uncle -George does, by golly! Right up at the top of the heap! But-- Way -expenses are-- Family wasting gasoline, and always dressed like -millionaires, and sending that eighty a month to Mother-- And all these -stenographers and salesmen gouging me for every cent they can get--” - -The effect of his scientific budget-planning was that he felt at once -triumphantly wealthy and perilously poor, and in the midst of -these dissertations he stopped his car, rushed into a small -news-and-miscellany shop, and bought the electric cigar-lighter which he -had coveted for a week. He dodged his conscience by being jerky and -noisy, and by shouting at the clerk, “Guess this will prett’ near pay -for itself in matches, eh?” - -It was a pretty thing, a nickeled cylinder with an almost silvery -socket, to be attached to the dashboard of his car. It was not only, as -the placard on the counter observed, “a dandy little refinement, lending -the last touch of class to a gentleman’s auto,” but a priceless -time-saver. By freeing him from halting the car to light a match, it -would in a month or two easily save ten minutes. - -As he drove on he glanced at it. “Pretty nice. Always wanted one,” he -said wistfully. “The one thing a smoker needs, too.” - -Then he remembered that he had given up smoking. - -“Darn it!” he mourned. “Oh well, I suppose I’ll hit a cigar once in a -while. And-- Be a great convenience for other folks. Might make just the -difference in getting chummy with some fellow that would put over a -sale. And-- Certainly looks nice there. Certainly is a mighty clever -little jigger. Gives the last touch of refinement and class. I-- By -golly, I guess I can afford it if I want to! Not going to be the only -member of this family that never has a single doggone luxury!” - -Thus, laden with treasure, after three and a half blocks of romantic -adventure, he drove up to the club. - - -III - -The Zenith Athletic Club is not athletic and it isn’t exactly a club, -but it is Zenith in perfection. It has an active and smoke-misted -billiard room, it is represented by baseball and football teams, and in -the pool and the gymnasium a tenth of the members sporadically try to -reduce. But most of its three thousand members use it as a café in which -to lunch, play cards, tell stories, meet customers, and entertain -out-of-town uncles at dinner. It is the largest club in the city, and -its chief hatred is the conservative Union Club, which all sound members -of the Athletic call “a rotten, snobbish, dull, expensive old hole--not -one Good Mixer in the place--you couldn’t hire me to join.” Statistics -show that no member of the Athletic has ever refused election to the -Union, and of those who are elected, sixty-seven per cent. resign from -the Athletic and are thereafter heard to say, in the drowsy sanctity of -the Union lounge, “The Athletic would be a pretty good hotel, if it were -more exclusive.” - -The Athletic Club building is nine stories high, yellow brick with -glassy roof-garden above and portico of huge limestone columns below. -The lobby, with its thick pillars of porous Caen stone, its pointed -vaulting, and a brown glazed-tile floor like well-baked bread-crust, is -a combination of cathedral-crypt and rathskellar. The members rush into -the lobby as though they were shopping and hadn’t much time for it. Thus -did Babbitt enter, and to the group standing by the cigar-counter he -whooped, “How’s the boys? How’s the boys? Well, well, fine day!” - -Jovially they whooped back--Vergil Gunch, the coal-dealer, Sidney -Finkelstein, the ladies’-ready-to-wear buyer for Parcher & Stein’s -department-store, and Professor Joseph K. Pumphrey, owner of the Riteway -Business College and instructor in Public Speaking, Business English, -Scenario Writing, and Commercial Law. Though Babbitt admired this -savant, and appreciated Sidney Finkelstein as “a mighty smart buyer and -a good liberal spender,” it was to Vergil Gunch that he turned with -enthusiasm. Mr. Gunch was president of the Boosters’ Club, a weekly -lunch-club, local chapter of a national organization which promoted -sound business and friendliness among Regular Fellows. He was also no -less an official than Esteemed Leading Knight in the Benevolent and -Protective Order of Elks, and it was rumored that at the next election -he would be a candidate for Exalted Ruler. He was a jolly man, given to -oratory and to chumminess with the arts. He called on the famous actors -and vaudeville artists when they came to town, gave them cigars, -addressed them by their first names, and--sometimes--succeeded in -bringing them to the Boosters’ lunches to give The Boys a Free -Entertainment. He was a large man with hair _en brosse_, and he knew the -latest jokes, but he played poker close to the chest. It was at his -party that Babbitt had sucked in the virus of to-day’s restlessness. - -Gunch shouted, “How’s the old Bolsheviki? How do you feel, the morning -after the night before?” - -“Oh, boy! Some head! That was a regular party you threw, Verg! Hope you -haven’t forgotten I took that last cute little jack-pot!” Babbitt -bellowed. (He was three feet from Gunch.) - -“That’s all right now! What I’ll hand you next time, Georgie! Say, juh -notice in the paper the way the New York Assembly stood up to the Reds?” - -“You bet I did. That was fine, eh? Nice day to-day.” - -“Yes, it’s one mighty fine spring day, but nights still cold.” - -“Yeh, you’re right they are! Had to have coupla blankets last night, out -on the sleeping-porch. Say, Sid,” Babbitt turned to Finkelstein, the -buyer, “got something wanta ask you about. I went out and bought me an -electric cigar-lighter for the car, this noon, and--” - -“Good hunch!” said Finkelstein, while even the learned Professor -Pumphrey, a bulbous man with a pepper-and-salt cutaway and a pipe-organ -voice, commented, “That makes a dandy accessory. Cigar-lighter gives -tone to the dashboard.” - -“Yep, finally decided I’d buy me one. Got the best on the market, the -clerk said it was. Paid five bucks for it. Just wondering if I got -stuck. What do they charge for ’em at the store, Sid?” - -Finkelstein asserted that five dollars was not too great a sum, not for -a really high-class lighter which was suitably nickeled and provided -with connections of the very best quality. “I always say--and believe -me, I base it on a pretty fairly extensive mercantile experience--the -best is the cheapest in the long run. Of course if a fellow wants to be -a Jew about it, he can get cheap junk, but in the long _run_, the -cheapest thing is--the best you can get! Now you take here just th’ -other day: I got a new top for my old boat and some upholstery, and I -paid out a hundred and twenty-six fifty, and of course a lot of fellows -would say that was too much-- Lord, if the Old Folks--they live in one of -these hick towns up-state and they simply can’t get onto the way a city -fellow’s mind works, and then, of course, they’re Jews, and they’d lie -right down and die if they knew Sid had anted up a hundred and -twenty-six bones. But I don’t figure I was stuck, George, not a bit. -Machine looks brand new now--not that it’s so darned old, of course; had -it less ’n three years, but I give it hard service; never drive less ’n -a hundred miles on Sunday and, uh-- Oh, I don’t really think you got -stuck, George. In the _long_ run, the best is, you might say, it’s -unquestionably the cheapest.” - -“That’s right,” said Vergil Gunch. “That’s the way I look at it. If a -fellow is keyed up to what you might call intensive living, the way you -get it here in Zenith--all the hustle and mental activity that’s going -on with a bunch of live-wires like the Boosters and here in the Z.A.C., -why, he’s got to save his nerves by having the best.” - -Babbitt nodded his head at every fifth word in the roaring rhythm; and -by the conclusion, in Gunch’s renowned humorous vein, he was enchanted: - -“Still, at that, George, don’t know’s you can afford it. I’ve heard your -business has been kind of under the eye of the gov’ment since you stole -the tail of Eathorne Park and sold it!” - -“Oh, you’re a great little josher, Verg. But when it comes to kidding, -how about this report that you stole the black marble steps off the -post-office and sold ’em for high-grade coal!” In delight Babbitt -patted Gunch’s back, stroked his arm. - -“That’s all right, but what I want to know is: who’s the real-estate -shark that bought that coal for his apartment-houses?” - -“I guess that’ll hold you for a while, George!” said Finkelstein. “I’ll -tell you, though, boys, what I did hear: George’s missus went into the -gents’ wear department at Parcher’s to buy him some collars, and before -she could give his neck-size the clerk slips her some thirteens. ‘How -juh know the size?’ says Mrs. Babbitt, and the clerk says, ‘Men that let -their wives buy collars for ’em always wear thirteen, madam.’ How’s -that! That’s pretty good, eh? How’s that, eh? I guess that’ll about fix -you, George!” - -“I--I--” Babbitt sought for amiable insults in answer. He stopped, -stared at the door. Paul Riesling was coming in. Babbitt cried, “See you -later, boys,” and hastened across the lobby. He was, just then, neither -the sulky child of the sleeping-porch, the domestic tyrant of the -breakfast table, the crafty money-changer of the Lyte-Purdy conference, -nor the blaring Good Fellow, the Josher and Regular Guy, of the Athletic -Club. He was an older brother to Paul Riesling, swift to defend him, -admiring him with a proud and credulous love passing the love of women. -Paul and he shook hands solemnly; they smiled as shyly as though they -had been parted three years, not three days--and they said: - -“How’s the old horse-thief?” - -“All right, I guess. How’re you, you poor shrimp?” - -“I’m first-rate, you second-hand hunk o’ cheese.” - -Reassured thus of their high fondness, Babbitt grunted, “You’re a fine -guy, you are! Ten minutes late!” Riesling snapped, “Well, you’re lucky -to have a chance to lunch with a gentleman!” They grinned and went into -the Neronian washroom, where a line of men bent over the bowls inset -along a prodigious slab of marble as in religious prostration before -their own images in the massy mirror. Voices thick, satisfied, -authoritative, hurtled along the marble walls, bounded from the ceiling -of lavender-bordered milky tiles, while the lords of the city, the -barons of insurance and law and fertilizers and motor tires, laid down -the law for Zenith; announced that the day was warm--indeed, -indisputably of spring; that wages were too high and the interest on -mortgages too low; that Babe Ruth, the eminent player of baseball, was a -noble man; and that “those two nuts at the Climax Vaudeville Theater -this week certainly are a slick pair of actors.” Babbitt, though -ordinarily his voice was the surest and most episcopal of all, was -silent. In the presence of the slight dark reticence of Paul Riesling, -he was awkward, he desired to be quiet and firm and deft. - -The entrance lobby of the Athletic Club was Gothic, the washroom Roman -Imperial, the lounge Spanish Mission, and the reading-room in Chinese -Chippendale, but the gem of the club was the dining-room, the -masterpiece of Ferdinand Reitman, Zenith’s busiest architect. It was -lofty and half-timbered, with Tudor leaded casements, an oriel, a -somewhat musicianless musicians’-gallery, and tapestries believed to -illustrate the granting of Magna Charta. The open beams had been -hand-adzed at Jake Offutt’s car-body works, the hinges were of -hand-wrought iron, the wainscot studded with handmade wooden pegs, and -at one end of the room was a heraldic and hooded stone fireplace which -the club’s advertising-pamphlet asserted to be not only larger than any -of the fireplaces in European castles but of a draught incomparably more -scientific. It was also much cleaner, as no fire had ever been built in -it. - -Half of the tables were mammoth slabs which seated twenty or thirty men. -Babbitt usually sat at the one near the door, with a group including -Gunch, Finkelstein, Professor Pumphrey, Howard Littlefield, his -neighbor, T. Cholmondeley Frink, the poet and advertising-agent, and -Orville Jones, whose laundry was in many ways the best in Zenith. They -composed a club within the club, and merrily called themselves “The -Roughnecks.” To-day as he passed their table the Roughnecks greeted him, -“Come on, sit in! You ’n’ Paul too proud to feed with poor folks? Afraid -somebody might stick you for a bottle of Bevo, George? Strikes me you -swells are getting awful darn exclusive!” - -He thundered, “You bet! We can’t afford to have our reps ruined by being -seen with you tightwads!” and guided Paul to one of the small tables -beneath the musicians’-gallery. He felt guilty. At the Zenith Athletic -Club, privacy was very bad form. But he wanted Paul to himself. - -That morning he had advocated lighter lunches and now he ordered nothing -but English mutton chop, radishes, peas, deep-dish apple pie, a bit of -cheese, and a pot of coffee with cream, adding, as he did invariably, -“And uh-- Oh, and you might give me an order of French fried potatoes.” -When the chop came he vigorously peppered it and salted it. He always -peppered and salted his meat, and vigorously, before tasting it. - -Paul and he took up the spring-like quality of the spring, the virtues -of the electric cigar-lighter, and the action of the New York State -Assembly. It was not till Babbitt was thick and disconsolate with mutton -grease that he flung out: - -“I wound up a nice little deal with Conrad Lyte this morning that put -five hundred good round plunks in my pocket. Pretty nice--pretty nice! -And yet-- I don’t know what’s the matter with me to-day. Maybe it’s an -attack of spring fever, or staying up too late at Verg Gunch’s, or maybe -it’s just the winter’s work piling up, but I’ve felt kind of down in the -mouth all day long. Course I wouldn’t beef about it to the fellows at -the Roughnecks’ Table there, but you-- Ever feel that way, Paul? Kind of -comes over me: here I’ve pretty much done all the things I ought to; -supported my family, and got a good house and a six-cylinder car, and -built up a nice little business, and I haven’t any vices ’specially, -except smoking--and I’m practically cutting that out, by the way. And I -belong to the church, and play enough golf to keep in trim, and I only -associate with good decent fellows. And yet, even so, I don’t know that -I’m entirely satisfied!” - -It was drawled out, broken by shouts from the neighboring tables, by -mechanical love-making to the waitress, by stertorous grunts as the -coffee filled him with dizziness and indigestion. He was apologetic and -doubtful, and it was Paul, with his thin voice, who pierced the fog: - -“Good Lord, George, you don’t suppose it’s any novelty to me to find -that we hustlers, that think we’re so all-fired successful, aren’t -getting much out of it? You look as if you expected me to report you as -seditious! You know what my own life’s been.” - -“I know, old man.” - -“I ought to have been a fiddler, and I’m a pedler of tar-roofing! And -Zilla-- Oh, I don’t want to squeal, but you know as well as I do about -how inspiring a wife she is.... Typical instance last evening: We went -to the movies. There was a big crowd waiting in the lobby, us at the -tail-end. She began to push right through it with her ‘Sir, how dare -you?’ manner-- Honestly, sometimes when I look at her and see how she’s -always so made up and stinking of perfume and looking for trouble and -kind of always yelping, ‘I tell yuh I’m a lady, damn yuh!’--why, I want -to kill her! Well, she keeps elbowing through the crowd, me after her, -feeling good and ashamed, till she’s almost up to the velvet rope and -ready to be the next let in. But there was a little squirt of a man -there--probably been waiting half an hour-- I kind of admired the little -cuss--and he turns on Zilla and says, perfectly polite, ‘Madam, why are -you trying to push past me?’ And she simply-- God, I was so ashamed!--she -rips out at him, ‘You’re no gentleman,’ and she drags me into it and -hollers, ‘Paul, this person insulted me!’ and the poor skate, he got -ready to fight. - -“I made out I hadn’t heard them--sure! same as you wouldn’t hear a -boiler-factory!--and I tried to look away-- I can tell you exactly how -every tile looks in the ceiling of that lobby; there’s one with brown -spots on it like the face of the devil--and all the time the people -there--they were packed in like sardines--they kept making remarks about -us, and Zilla went right on talking about the little chap, and -screeching that ‘folks like him oughtn’t to be admitted in a place -that’s _supposed_ to be for ladies and gentlemen,’ and ‘Paul, will you -kindly call the manager, so I can report this dirty rat?’ and-- Oof! -Maybe I wasn’t glad when I could sneak inside and hide in the dark! - -“After twenty-four years of that kind of thing, you don’t expect me to -fall down and foam at the mouth when you hint that this sweet, clean, -respectable, moral life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, do you? I can’t -even talk about it, except to you, because anybody else would think I -was yellow. Maybe I am. Don’t care any longer.... Gosh, you’ve had to -stand a lot of whining from me, first and last, Georgie!” - -“Rats, now, Paul, you’ve never really what you could call whined. -Sometimes-- I’m always blowing to Myra and the kids about what a whale of -a realtor I am, and yet sometimes I get a sneaking idea I’m not such a -Pierpont Morgan as I let on to be. But if I ever do help by jollying you -along, old Paulski, I guess maybe Saint Pete may let me in after all!” - -“Yuh, you’re an old blow-hard, Georgie, you cheerful cutthroat, but -you’ve certainly kept me going.” - -“Why don’t you divorce Zilla?” - -“Why don’t I! If I only could! If she’d just give me the chance! You -couldn’t hire her to divorce me, no, nor desert me. She’s too fond of -her three squares and a few pounds of nut-center chocolates in between. -If she’d only be what they call unfaithful to me! George, I don’t want -to be too much of a stinker; back in college I’d ’ve thought a man who -could say that ought to be shot at sunrise. But honestly, I’d be -tickled to death if she’d really go making love with somebody. Fat -chance! Of course she’ll flirt with anything--you know how she holds -hands and laughs--that laugh--that horrible brassy laugh--the way she -yaps, ‘You naughty man, you better be careful or my big husband will be -after you!’--and the guy looking me over and thinking, ‘Why, you cute -little thing, you run away now or I’ll spank you!’ And she’ll let him go -just far enough so she gets some excitement out of it and then she’ll -begin to do the injured innocent and have a beautiful time wailing, ‘I -didn’t think you were that kind of a person.’ They talk about these -_demi-vierges_ in stories--” - -“These _whats_?” - -“--but the wise, hard, corseted, old married women like Zilla are worse -than any bobbed-haired girl that ever went boldly out into this-here -storm of life--and kept her umbrella slid up her sleeve! But rats, you -know what Zilla is. How she nags--nags--nags. How she wants everything I -can buy her, and a lot that I can’t, and how absolutely unreasonable she -is, and when I get sore and try to have it out with her she plays the -Perfect Lady so well that even I get fooled and get all tangled up in a -lot of ‘Why did you say’s’ and ‘I didn’t mean’s.’ I’ll tell you, -Georgie: You know my tastes are pretty fairly simple--in the matter of -food, at least. Course, as you’re always complaining, I do like decent -cigars--not those Flor de Cabagos you’re smoking--” - -“That’s all right now! That’s a good two-for. By the way, Paul, did I -tell you I decided to practically cut out smok--” - -“Yes you-- At the same time, if I can’t get what I like, why, I can do -without it. I don’t mind sitting down to burnt steak, with canned -peaches and store cake for a thrilling little dessert afterwards, but I -do draw the line at having to sympathize with Zilla because she’s so -rotten bad-tempered that the cook has quit, and she’s been so busy -sitting in a dirty lace negligée all afternoon, reading about some brave -manly Western hero, that she hasn’t had time to do any cooking. You’re -always talking about ‘morals’--meaning monogamy, I suppose. You’ve been -the rock of ages to me, all right, but you’re essentially a simp. You--” - -“Where d’ you get that ‘simp,’ little man? Let me tell you--” - -“--love to look earnest and inform the world that it’s the ‘duty of -responsible business men to be strictly moral, as an example to the -community.’ In fact you’re so earnest about morality, old Georgie, that -I hate to think how essentially immoral you must be underneath. All -right, you can--” - -“Wait, wait now! What’s--” - -“--talk about morals all you want to, old thing, but believe me, if it -hadn’t been for you and an occasional evening playing the violin to -Terrill O’Farrell’s ’cello, and three or four darling girls that let me -forget this beastly joke they call ‘respectable life,’ I’d ’ve killed -myself years ago. - -“And business! The roofing business! Roofs for cowsheds! Oh, I don’t -mean I haven’t had a lot of fun out of the Game; out of putting it over -on the labor unions, and seeing a big check coming in, and the business -increasing. But what’s the use of it? You know, my business isn’t -distributing roofing--it’s principally keeping my competitors from -distributing roofing. Same with you. All we do is cut each other’s -throats and make the public pay for it!” - -“Look here now, Paul! You’re pretty darn near talking socialism!” - -“Oh yes, of course I don’t really exactly mean that-- I s’pose. -Course--competition--brings out the best--survival of the -fittest--but-- But I mean: Take all these fellows we know, the kind right -here in the club now, that seem to be perfectly content with their -home-life and their businesses, and that boost Zenith and the Chamber of -Commerce and holler for a million population. I bet if you could cut -into their heads you’d find that one-third of ’em are sure-enough -satisfied with their wives and kids and friends and their offices; and -one-third feel kind of restless but won’t admit it; and one-third are -miserable and know it. They hate the whole peppy, boosting, go-ahead -game, and they’re bored by their wives and think their families are -fools--at least when they come to forty or forty-five they’re bored--and -they hate business, and they’d go-- Why do you suppose there’s so many -‘mysterious’ suicides? Why do you suppose so many Substantial Citizens -jumped right into the war? Think it was all patriotism?” - -Babbitt snorted, “What do you expect? Think we were sent into the world -to have a soft time and--what is it?--‘float on flowery beds of ease’? -Think Man was just made to be happy?” - -“Why not? Though I’ve never discovered anybody that knew what the deuce -Man really was made for!” - -“Well we know--not just in the Bible alone, but it stands to reason--a -man who doesn’t buckle down and do his duty, even if it does bore him -sometimes, is nothing but a--well, he’s simply a weakling. Mollycoddle, -in fact! And what do you advocate? Come down to cases! If a man is bored -by his wife, do you seriously mean he has a right to chuck her and take -a sneak, or even kill himself?” - -“Good Lord, I don’t know what ‘rights’ a man has! And I don’t know the -solution of boredom. If I did, I’d be the one philosopher that had the -cure for living. But I do know that about ten times as many people find -their lives dull, and unnecessarily dull, as ever admit it; and I do -believe that if we busted out and admitted it sometimes, instead of -being nice and patient and loyal for sixty years, and then nice and -patient and dead for the rest of eternity, why, maybe, possibly, we -might make life more fun.” - -They drifted into a maze of speculation. Babbitt was elephantishly -uneasy. Paul was bold, but not quite sure about what he was being bold. -Now and then Babbitt suddenly agreed with Paul in an admission which -contradicted all his defense of duty and Christian patience, and at -each admission he had a curious reckless joy. He said at last: - -“Look here, old Paul, you do a lot of talking about kicking things in -the face, but you never kick. Why don’t you?” - -“Nobody does. Habit too strong. But-- Georgie, I’ve been thinking of one -mild bat--oh, don’t worry, old pillar of monogamy; it’s highly proper. -It seems to be settled now, isn’t it--though of course Zilla keeps -rooting for a nice expensive vacation in New York and Atlantic City, -with the bright lights and the bootlegged cocktails and a bunch of -lounge-lizards to dance with--but the Babbitts and the Rieslings are -sure-enough going to Lake Sunasquam, aren’t we? Why couldn’t you and I -make some excuse--say business in New York--and get up to Maine four or -five days before they do, and just loaf by ourselves and smoke and cuss -and be natural?” - -“Great! Great idea!” Babbitt admired. - -Not for fourteen years had he taken a holiday without his wife, and -neither of them quite believed they could commit this audacity. Many -members of the Athletic Club did go camping without their wives, but -they were officially dedicated to fishing and hunting, whereas the -sacred and unchangeable sports of Babbitt and Paul Riesling were -golfing, motoring, and bridge. For either the fishermen or the golfers -to have changed their habits would have been an infraction of their -self-imposed discipline which would have shocked all right-thinking and -regularized citizens. - -Babbitt blustered, “Why don’t we just put our foot down and say, ‘We’re -going on ahead of you, and that’s all there is to it!’ Nothing criminal -in it. Simply say to Zilla--” - -“You don’t say anything to Zilla simply. Why, Georgie, she’s almost as -much of a moralist as you are, and if I told her the truth she’d believe -we were going to meet some dames in New York. And even Myra--she never -nags you, the way Zilla does, but she’d worry. She’d say, ‘Don’t you -_want_ me to go to Maine with you? I shouldn’t dream of going unless -you wanted me;’ and you’d give in to save her feelings. Oh, the devil! -Let’s have a shot at duck-pins.” - -During the game of duck-pins, a juvenile form of bowling, Paul was -silent. As they came down the steps of the club, not more than half an -hour after the time at which Babbitt had sternly told Miss McGoun he -would be back, Paul sighed, “Look here, old man, oughtn’t to talked -about Zilla way I did.” - -“Rats, old man, it lets off steam.” - -“Oh, I know! After spending all noon sneering at the conventional stuff, -I’m conventional enough to be ashamed of saving my life by busting out -with my fool troubles!” - -“Old Paul, your nerves are kind of on the bum. I’m going to take you -away. I’m going to rig this thing. I’m going to have an important deal -in New York and--and sure, of course!-- I’ll need you to advise me on the -roof of the building! And the ole deal will fall through, and there’ll -be nothing for us but to go on ahead to Maine. I-- Paul, when it comes -right down to it, I don’t care whether you bust loose or not. I do like -having a rep for being one of the Bunch, but if you ever needed me I’d -chuck it and come out for you every time! Not of course but what -you’re--course I don’t mean you’d ever do anything that would put--that -would put a decent position on the fritz but-- See how I mean? I’m kind -of a clumsy old codger, and I need your fine Eyetalian hand. We-- Oh, -hell, I can’t stand here gassing all day! On the job! S’ long! Don’t -take any wooden money, Paulibus! See you soon! S’ long!” - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -I - -He forgot Paul Riesling in an afternoon of not unagreeable details. -After a return to his office, which seemed to have staggered on without -him, he drove a “prospect” out to view a four-flat tenement in the -Linton district. He was inspired by the customer’s admiration of the new -cigar-lighter. Thrice its novelty made him use it, and thrice he hurled -half-smoked cigarettes from the car, protesting, “I _got_ to quit -smoking so blame much!” - -Their ample discussion of every detail of the cigar-lighter led them to -speak of electric flat-irons and bed-warmers. Babbitt apologized for -being so shabbily old-fashioned as still to use a hot-water bottle, and -he announced that he would have the sleeping-porch wired at once. He had -enormous and poetic admiration, though very little understanding, of all -mechanical devices. They were his symbols of truth and beauty. Regarding -each new intricate mechanism--metal lathe, two-jet carburetor, machine -gun, oxyacetylene welder--he learned one good realistic-sounding phrase, -and used it over and over, with a delightful feeling of being technical -and initiated. - -The customer joined him in the worship of machinery, and they came -buoyantly up to the tenement and began that examination of plastic slate -roof, kalamein doors, and seven-eighths-inch blind-nailed flooring, -began those diplomacies of hurt surprise and readiness to be persuaded -to do something they had already decided to do, which would some day -result in a sale. - -On the way back Babbitt picked up his partner and father-in-law, Henry -T. Thompson, at his kitchen-cabinet works, and they drove through South -Zenith, a high-colored, banging, exciting region: new factories of -hollow tile with gigantic wire-glass windows, surly old red-brick -factories stained with tar, high-perched water-tanks, big red trucks -like locomotives, and, on a score of hectic side-tracks, far-wandering -freight-cars from the New York Central and apple orchards, the Great -Northern and wheat-plateaus, the Southern Pacific and orange groves. - -They talked to the secretary of the Zenith Foundry Company about an -interesting artistic project--a cast-iron fence for Linden Lane -Cemetery. They drove on to the Zeeco Motor Company and interviewed the -sales-manager, Noël Ryland, about a discount on a Zeeco car for -Thompson. Babbitt and Ryland were fellow-members of the Boosters’ Club, -and no Booster felt right if he bought anything from another Booster -without receiving a discount. But Henry Thompson growled, “Oh, t’ hell -with ’em! I’m not going to crawl around mooching discounts, not from -nobody.” It was one of the differences between Thompson, the -old-fashioned, lean Yankee, rugged, traditional, stage type of American -business man, and Babbitt, the plump, smooth, efficient, -up-to-the-minute and otherwise perfected modern. Whenever Thompson -twanged, “Put your John Hancock on that line,” Babbitt was as much -amused by the antiquated provincialism as any proper Englishman by any -American. He knew himself to be of a breeding altogether more esthetic -and sensitive than Thompson’s. He was a college graduate, he played -golf, he often smoked cigarettes instead of cigars, and when he went to -Chicago he took a room with a private bath. “The whole thing is,” he -explained to Paul Riesling, “these old codgers lack the subtlety that -you got to have to-day.” - -This advance in civilization could be carried too far, Babbitt -perceived. Noël Ryland, sales-manager of the Zeeco, was a frivolous -graduate of Princeton, while Babbitt was a sound and standard ware from -that great department-store, the State University. Ryland wore spats, he -wrote long letters about City Planning and Community Singing, and, -though he was a Booster, he was known to carry in his pocket small -volumes of poetry in a foreign language. All this was going too far. -Henry Thompson was the extreme of insularity, and Noël Ryland the -extreme of frothiness, while between them, supporting the state, -defending the evangelical churches and domestic brightness and sound -business, were Babbitt and his friends. - -With this just estimate of himself--and with the promise of a discount -on Thompson’s car--he returned to his office in triumph. - -But as he went through the corridor of the Reeves Building he sighed, -“Poor old Paul! I got to-- Oh, damn Noël Ryland! Damn Charley McKelvey! -Just because they make more money than I do, they think they’re so -superior. I wouldn’t be found dead in their stuffy old Union Club! -I-- Somehow, to-day, I don’t feel like going back to work. Oh well--” - - -II - -He answered telephone calls, he read the four o’clock mail, he signed -his morning’s letters, he talked to a tenant about repairs, he fought -with Stanley Graff. - -Young Graff, the outside salesman, was always hinting that he deserved -an increase of commission, and to-day he complained, “I think I ought to -get a bonus if I put through the Heiler sale. I’m chasing around and -working on it every single evening, almost.” - -Babbitt frequently remarked to his wife that it was better to “con your -office-help along and keep ’em happy ’stead of jumping on ’em and poking -’em up--get more work out of ’em that way,” but this unexampled lack of -appreciation hurt him, and he turned on Graff: - -“Look here, Stan; let’s get this clear. You’ve got an idea somehow that -it’s you that do all the selling. Where d’ you get that stuff? Where d’ -you think you’d be if it wasn’t for our capital behind you, and our -lists of properties, and all the prospects we find for you? All you got -to do is follow up our tips and close the deal. The hall-porter could -sell Babbitt-Thompson listings! You say you’re engaged to a girl, but -have to put in your evenings chasing after buyers. Well, why the devil -shouldn’t you? What do you want to do? Sit around holding her hand? Let -me tell you, Stan, if your girl is worth her salt, she’ll be glad to -know you’re out hustling, making some money to furnish the home-nest, -instead of doing the lovey-dovey. The kind of fellow that kicks about -working overtime, that wants to spend his evenings reading trashy novels -or spooning and exchanging a lot of nonsense and foolishness with some -girl, he ain’t the kind of upstanding, energetic young man, with a -future--and with Vision!--that we want here. How about it? What’s your -Ideal, anyway? Do you want to make money and be a responsible member of -the community, or do you want to be a loafer, with no Inspiration or -Pep?” - -Graff was not so amenable to Vision and Ideals as usual. “You bet I want -to make money! That’s why I want that bonus! Honest, Mr. Babbitt, I -don’t want to get fresh, but this Heiler house is a terror. Nobody’ll -fall for it. The flooring is rotten and the walls are full of cracks.” - -“That’s exactly what I mean! To a salesman with a love for his -profession, it’s hard problems like that that inspire him to do his -best. Besides, Stan-- Matter o’ fact, Thompson and I are against bonuses, -as a matter of principle. We like you, and we want to help you so you -can get married, but we can’t be unfair to the others on the staff. If -we start giving you bonuses, don’t you see we’re going to hurt the -feeling and be unjust to Penniman and Laylock? Right’s right, and -discrimination is unfair, and there ain’t going to be any of it in this -office! Don’t get the idea, Stan, that because during the war salesmen -were hard to hire, now, when there’s a lot of men out of work, there -aren’t a slew of bright young fellows that would be glad to step in and -enjoy your opportunities, and not act as if Thompson and I were his -enemies and not do any work except for bonuses. How about it, heh? How -about it?” - -“Oh--well--gee--of course--” sighed Graff, as he went out, crabwise. - -Babbitt did not often squabble with his employees. He liked to like the -people about him; he was dismayed when they did not like him. It was -only when they attacked the sacred purse that he was frightened into -fury, but then, being a man given to oratory and high principles, he -enjoyed the sound of his own vocabulary and the warmth of his own -virtue. To-day he had so passionately indulged in self-approval that he -wondered whether he had been entirely just: - -“After all, Stan isn’t a boy any more. Oughtn’t to call him so hard. But -rats, got to haul folks over the coals now and then for their own good. -Unpleasant duty, but-- I wonder if Stan is sore? What’s he saying to -McGoun out there?” - -So chill a wind of hatred blew from the outer office that the normal -comfort of his evening home-going was ruined. He was distressed by -losing that approval of his employees to which an executive is always -slave. Ordinarily he left the office with a thousand enjoyable fussy -directions to the effect that there would undoubtedly be important tasks -to-morrow, and Miss McGoun and Miss Bannigan would do well to be there -early, and for heaven’s sake remind him to call up Conrad Lyte soon ’s -he came in. To-night he departed with feigned and apologetic liveliness. -He was as afraid of his still-faced clerks--of the eyes focused on him, -Miss McGoun staring with head lifted from her typing, Miss Bannigan -looking over her ledger, Mat Penniman craning around at his desk in the -dark alcove, Stanley Graff sullenly expressionless--as a parvenu before -the bleak propriety of his butler. He hated to expose his back to their -laughter, and in his effort to be casually merry he stammered and was -raucously friendly and oozed wretchedly out of the door. - -But he forgot his misery when he saw from Smith Street the charms of -Floral Heights; the roofs of red tile and green slate, the shining new -sun-parlors, and the stainless walls. - - -III - -He stopped to inform Howard Littlefield, his scholarly neighbor, that -though the day had been springlike the evening might be cold. He went in -to shout “Where are you?” at his wife, with no very definite desire to -know where she was. He examined the lawn to see whether the furnace-man -had raked it properly. With some satisfaction and a good deal of -discussion of the matter with Mrs. Babbitt, Ted, and Howard Littlefield, -he concluded that the furnace-man had not raked it properly. He cut two -tufts of wild grass with his wife’s largest dressmaking-scissors; he -informed Ted that it was all nonsense having a furnace-man--“big husky -fellow like you ought to do all the work around the house;” and -privately he meditated that it was agreeable to have it known throughout -the neighborhood that he was so prosperous that his son never worked -around the house. - -He stood on the sleeping-porch and did his day’s exercises: arms out -sidewise for two minutes, up for two minutes, while he muttered, “Ought -take more exercise; keep in shape;” then went in to see whether his -collar needed changing before dinner. As usual it apparently did not. - -The Lettish-Croat maid, a powerful woman, beat the dinner-gong. - -The roast of beef, roasted potatoes, and string beans were excellent -this evening and, after an adequate sketch of the day’s progressive -weather-states, his four-hundred-and-fifty-dollar fee, his lunch with -Paul Riesling, and the proven merits of the new cigar-lighter, he was -moved to a benign, “Sort o’ thinking about buying a new car. Don’t -believe we’ll get one till next year, but still, we might.” - -Verona, the older daughter, cried, “Oh, Dad, if you do, why don’t you -get a sedan? That would be perfectly slick! A closed car is so much more -comfy than an open one.” - -“Well now, I don’t know about that. I kind of like an open car. You get -more fresh air that way.” - -“Oh, shoot, that’s just because you never tried a sedan. Let’s get one. -It’s got a lot more class,” said Ted. - -“A closed car does keep the clothes nicer,” from Mrs. Babbitt; “You -don’t get your hair blown all to pieces,” from Verona; “It’s a lot -sportier,” from Ted; and from Tinka, the youngest, “Oh, let’s have a -sedan! Mary Ellen’s father has got one.” Ted wound up, “Oh, everybody’s -got a closed car now, except us!” - -Babbitt faced them: “I guess you got nothing very terrible to complain -about! Anyway, I don’t keep a car just to enable you children to look -like millionaires! And I like an open car, so you can put the top down -on summer evenings and go out for a drive and get some good fresh air. -Besides-- A closed car costs more money.” - -“Aw, gee whiz, if the Doppelbraus can afford a closed car, I guess we -can!” prodded Ted. - -“Humph! I make eight thousand a year to his seven! But I don’t blow it -all in and waste it and throw it around, the way he does! Don’t believe -in this business of going and spending a whole lot of money to show off -and--” - -They went, with ardor and some thoroughness, into the matters of -streamline bodies, hill-climbing power, wire wheels, chrome steel, -ignition systems, and body colors. It was much more than a study of -transportation. It was an aspiration for knightly rank. In the city of -Zenith, in the barbarous twentieth century, a family’s motor indicated -its social rank as precisely as the grades of the peerage determined the -rank of an English family--indeed, more precisely, considering the -opinion of old county families upon newly created brewery barons and -woolen-mill viscounts. The details of precedence were never officially -determined. There was no court to decide whether the second son of a -Pierce Arrow limousine should go in to dinner before the first son of a -Buick roadster, but of their respective social importance there was no -doubt; and where Babbitt as a boy had aspired to the presidency, his son -Ted aspired to a Packard twin-six and an established position in the -motored gentry. - -The favor which Babbitt had won from his family by speaking of a new car -evaporated as they realized that he didn’t intend to buy one this year. -Ted lamented, “Oh, punk! The old boat looks as if it’d had fleas and -been scratching its varnish off.” Mrs. Babbitt said abstractedly, -“Snoway talkcher father.” Babbitt raged, “If you’re too much of a -high-class gentleman, and you belong to the _bon ton_ and so on, why, -you needn’t take the car out this evening.” Ted explained, “I didn’t -mean--” and dinner dragged on with normal domestic delight to the -inevitable point at which Babbitt protested, “Come, come now, we can’t -sit here all evening. Give the girl a chance to clear away the table.” - -He was fretting, “What a family! I don’t know how we all get to -scrapping this way. Like to go off some place and be able to hear myself -think.... Paul... Maine.... Wear old pants, and loaf, and cuss.” He said -cautiously to his wife, “I’ve been in correspondence with a man in New -York--wants me to see him about a real-estate trade--may not come off -till summer. Hope it doesn’t break just when we and the Rieslings get -ready to go to Maine. Be a shame if we couldn’t make the trip there -together. Well, no use worrying now.” - -Verona escaped, immediately after dinner, with no discussion save an -automatic “Why don’t you ever stay home?” from Babbitt. - -In the living-room, in a corner of the davenport, Ted settled down to -his Home Study; plain geometry, Cicero, and the agonizing metaphors of -Comus. - -“I don’t see why they give us this old-fashioned junk by Milton and -Shakespeare and Wordsworth and all these has-beens,” he protested. “Oh, -I guess I could stand it to see a show by Shakespeare, if they had swell -scenery and put on a lot of dog, but to sit down in cold blood and -_read_ ’em-- These teachers--how do they get that way?” - -Mrs. Babbitt, darning socks, speculated, “Yes, I wonder why. Of course I -don’t want to fly in the face of the professors and everybody, but I do -think there’s things in Shakespeare--not that I read him much, but when -I was young the girls used to show me passages that weren’t, really, -they weren’t at all nice.” - -Babbitt looked up irritably from the comic strips in the _Evening -Advocate_. They composed his favorite literature and art, these -illustrated chronicles in which Mr. Mutt hit Mr. Jeff with a rotten egg, -and Mother corrected Father’s vulgarisms by means of a rolling-pin. With -the solemn face of a devotee, breathing heavily through his open mouth, -he plodded nightly through every picture, and during the rite he -detested interruptions. Furthermore, he felt that on the subject of -Shakespeare he wasn’t really an authority. Neither the _Advocate-Times_, -the _Evening Advocate_, nor the _Bulletin of the Zenith Chamber of -Commerce_ had ever had an editorial on the matter, and until one of them -had spoken he found it hard to form an original opinion. But even at -risk of floundering in strange bogs, he could not keep out of an open -controversy. - -“I’ll tell you why you have to study Shakespeare and those. It’s because -they’re required for college entrance, and that’s all there is to it! -Personally, I don’t see myself why they stuck ’em into an up-to-date -high-school system like we have in this state. Be a good deal better if -you took Business English, and learned how to write an ad, or letters -that would pull. But there it is, and there’s no talk, argument, or -discussion about it! Trouble with you, Ted, is you always want to do -something different! If you’re going to law-school--and you are!-- I -never had a chance to, but I’ll see that you do--why, you’ll want to -lay in all the English and Latin you can get.” - -“Oh punk. I don’t see what’s the use of law-school--or even finishing -high school. I don’t want to go to college specially. Honest, there’s -lot of fellows that have graduated from colleges that don’t begin to -make as much money as fellows that went to work early. Old Shimmy -Peters, that teaches Latin in the High, he’s a what-is-it from Columbia -and he sits up all night reading a lot of greasy books and he’s always -spieling about the ‘value of languages,’ and the poor soak doesn’t make -but eighteen hundred a year, and no traveling salesman would think of -working for that. I know what I’d like to do. I’d like to be an aviator, -or own a corking big garage, or else--a fellow was telling me about it -yesterday-- I’d like to be one of these fellows that the Standard Oil -Company sends out to China, and you live in a compound and don’t have to -do any work, and you get to see the world and pagodas and the ocean and -everything! And then I could take up correspondence-courses. That’s the -real stuff! You don’t have to recite to some frosty-faced old dame -that’s trying to show off to the principal, and you can study any -subject you want to. Just listen to these! I clipped out the ads of some -swell courses.” - -He snatched from the back of his geometry half a hundred advertisements -of those home-study courses which the energy and foresight of American -commerce have contributed to the science of education. The first -displayed the portrait of a young man with a pure brow, an iron jaw, -silk socks, and hair like patent leather. Standing with one hand in his -trousers-pocket and the other extended with chiding forefinger, he was -bewitching an audience of men with gray beards, paunches, bald heads, -and every other sign of wisdom and prosperity. Above the picture was an -inspiring educational symbol--no antiquated lamp or torch or owl of -Minerva, but a row of dollar signs. The text ran: - - - $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ - - POWER AND PROSPERITY IN PUBLIC SPEAKING - - A Yarn Told at the Club - -Who do you think I ran into the other evening at the De Luxe Restaurant? -Why, old Freddy Durkee, that used to be a dead-or-alive shipping clerk -in my old place-- Mr. Mouse-Man we used to laughingly call the dear -fellow. One time he was so timid he was plumb scared of the Super, and -never got credit for the dandy work he did. Him at the De Luxe! And if -he wasn’t ordering a tony feed with all the “fixings” from celery to -nuts! And instead of being embarrassed by the waiters, like he used to -be at the little dump where we lunched in Old Lang Syne, he was bossing -them around like he was a millionaire! - - WHAT WE TEACH YOU! - - How to address your lodge. - - How to give toasts. - - How to tell dialect stories. - - How to propose to a lady. - - How to entertain banquets. - - How to make convincing selling-talks. - - How to build big vocabulary. - - How to create a strong personality. - - How to become a rational, powerful and original thinker. - - How to be a MASTER MAN! - -I cautiously asked him what he was doing. Freddy laughed and said, “Say, -old chum, I guess you’re wondering what’s come over me. You’ll be glad -to know I’m now Assistant Super at the old shop, and right on the High -Road to Prosperity and Domination, and I look forward with confidence to -a twelve-cylinder car, and the wife is making things hum in the best -society and the kiddies getting a first-class education. - -“Here’s how it happened. I ran across an ad of a course that claimed to -teach people how to talk easily and on their feet, how to answer -complaints, how to lay a proposition before the Boss, how to hit a bank -for a loan, how to hold a big audience spellbound with wit, humor, -anecdote, inspiration, etc. It was compiled by the Master Orator, Prof. -Waldo F. Peet. I was skeptical, too, but I wrote (just _on a postcard_, -with name and address) to the publisher for the lessons--sent On Trial, -money back if you are not absolutely satisfied. There were eight simple -lessons in plain language anybody could understand, and I studied them -just a few hours a night, then started practising on the wife. Soon -found I could talk right up to the Super and get due credit for all the -good work I did. They began to appreciate me and advance me fast, and -say, old doggo, what do you think they’re paying me now? $6,500 per -year! And say, I find I can keep a big audience fascinated, speaking on -any topic. As a friend, old boy, I advise you to send for circular (no -obligation) and valuable free Art Picture to:-- - - SHORTCUT EDUCATIONAL PUB. CO. - Desk WA Sandpit, Iowa. - - ARE YOU A 100 PERCENTER OR A 10 PERCENTER? - - PROF. W. F. PEET - - author of the Shortcut Course in Public-Speaking, is easily the - foremost figure in practical literature, psychology & oratory. A - graduate of some of our leading universities, lecturer, extensive - traveler, author of books, poetry, etc., a man with the unique - PERSONALITY OF THE MASTER MINDS, he is ready to give _YOU_ all the - secrets of his culture and hammering Force, in a few easy lessons - that will not interfere with other occupations. - -Babbitt was again without a canon which would enable him to speak with -authority. Nothing in motoring or real estate had indicated what a Solid -Citizen and Regular Fellow ought to think about culture by mail. He -began with hesitation: - -“Well--sounds as if it covered the ground. It certainly is a fine thing -to be able to orate. I’ve sometimes thought I had a little talent that -way myself, and I know darn well that one reason why a fourflushing old -back-number like Chan Mott can get away with it in real estate is just -because he can make a good talk, even when he hasn’t got a doggone thing -to say! And it certainly is pretty cute the way they get out all these -courses on various topics and subjects nowadays. I’ll tell you, though: -No need to blow in a lot of good money on this stuff when you can get a -first-rate course in eloquence and English and all that right in your -own school--and one of the biggest school buildings in the entire -country!” - -“That’s so,” said Mrs. Babbitt comfortably, while Ted complained: - -“Yuh, but Dad, they just teach a lot of old junk that isn’t any -practical use--except the manual training and typewriting and basketball -and dancing--and in these correspondence-courses, gee, you can get all -kinds of stuff that would come in handy. Say, listen to this one:” - -CAN YOU PLAY A MAN’S PART? - -If you are walking with your mother, sister or best -girl and some one passes a slighting remark or uses -improper language, won’t you be ashamed if you can’t -take her part? Well, can you? - -We teach boxing and self-defense by mail. Many -pupils have written saying that after a few lessons -they’ve outboxed bigger and heavier opponents. The -lessons start with simple movements practised before -your mirror--holding out your hand for a coin, the -breast-stroke in swimming, etc. Before you realize it -you are striking scientifically, ducking, guarding and -feinting, just as if you had a real opponent before you. - - - -“Oh, baby, maybe I wouldn’t like that!” Ted chanted. “I’ll tell the -world! Gosh, I’d like to take one fellow I know in school that’s always -shooting off his mouth, and catch him alone--” - -“Nonsense! The idea! Most useless thing I ever heard of!” Babbitt -fulminated. - -“Well, just suppose I was walking with Mama or Rone, and somebody passed -a slighting remark or used improper language. What would I do?” - -“Why, you’d probably bust the record for the hundred-yard dash!” - -“I _would_ not! I’d stand right up to any mucker that passed a slighting -remark on _my_ sister and I’d show him--” - -“Look here, young Dempsey! If I ever catch you fighting I’ll whale the -everlasting daylights out of you--and I’ll do it without practising -holding out my hand for a coin before the mirror, too!” - -“Why, Ted dear,” Mrs. Babbitt said placidly, “it’s not at all nice, your -talking of fighting this way!” - -“Well, gosh almighty, that’s a fine way to appreciate-- And then suppose -I was walking with _you_, Ma, and somebody passed a slighting remark--” - -“Nobody’s going to pass no slighting remarks on nobody,” Babbitt -observed, “not if they stay home and study their geometry and mind their -own affairs instead of hanging around a lot of poolrooms and -soda-fountains and places where nobody’s got any business to be!” - -“But gooooooosh, Dad, if they DID!” - -Mrs. Babbitt chirped, “Well, if they did, I wouldn’t do them the honor -of paying any attention to them! Besides, they never do. You always hear -about these women that get followed and insulted and all, but I don’t -believe a word of it, or it’s their own fault, the way some women look -at a person. I certainly never’ve been insulted by--” - -“Aw shoot, Mother, just suppose you _were_ sometime! Just _suppose_! -Can’t you suppose something? Can’t you imagine things?” - -“Certainly I can imagine things! The idea!” - -“Certainly your mother can imagine things--and suppose things! Think -you’re the only member of this household that’s got an imagination?” -Babbitt demanded. “But what’s the use of a lot of supposing? Supposing -never gets you anywhere. No sense supposing when there’s a lot of real -facts to take into considera--” - -“Look here, Dad. Suppose-- I mean, just--just suppose you were in your -office and some rival real-estate man--” - -“Realtor!” - -“--some realtor that you hated came in--” - -“I don’t hate any realtor.” - -“But suppose you _did_!” - -“I don’t intend to suppose anything of the kind! There’s plenty of -fellows in my profession that stoop and hate their competitors, but if -you were a little older and understood business, instead of always going -to the movies and running around with a lot of fool girls with their -dresses up to their knees and powdered and painted and rouged and God -knows what all as if they were chorus-girls, then you’d know--and you’d -suppose--that if there’s any one thing that I stand for in the -real-estate circles of Zenith, it is that we ought to always speak of -each other only in the friendliest terms and institute a spirit of -brotherhood and coöperation, and so I certainly can’t suppose and I -can’t imagine my hating any realtor, not even that dirty, fourflushing -society sneak, Cecil Rountree!” - -“But--” - -“And there’s no If, And or But about it! But if I _were_ going to -lambaste somebody, I wouldn’t require any fancy ducks or -swimming-strokes before a mirror, or any of these doodads and flipflops! -Suppose you were out some place and a fellow called you vile names. -Think you’d want to box and jump around like a dancing-master? You’d -just lay him out cold (at least I certainly hope any son of mine would!) -and then you’d dust off your hands and go on about your business, and -that’s all there is to it, and you aren’t going to have any -boxing-lessons by mail, either!” - -“Well but-- Yes-- I just wanted to show how many different kinds of -correspondence-courses there are, instead of all the camembert they -teach us in the High.” - -“But I thought they taught boxing in the school gymnasium.” - -“That’s different. They stick you up there and some big stiff amuses -himself pounding the stuffin’s out of you before you have a chance to -learn. Hunka! Not any! But anyway-- Listen to some of these others.” - -The advertisements were truly philanthropic. One of them bore the -rousing headline: “Money! Money!! Money!!!” The second announced that -“Mr. P. R., formerly making only eighteen a week in a barber shop, -writes to us that since taking our course he is now pulling down $5,000 -as an Osteo-vitalic Physician;” and the third that “Miss J. L., recently -a wrapper in a store, is now getting Ten Real Dollars a day teaching our -Hindu System of Vibratory Breathing and Mental Control.” - -Ted had collected fifty or sixty announcements, from annual -reference-books, from Sunday School periodicals, fiction-magazines, and -journals of discussion. One benefactor implored, “Don’t be a -Wallflower-- Be More Popular and Make More Money-- You Can Ukulele or Sing -Yourself into Society! By the secret principles of a Newly Discovered -System of Music Teaching, any one--man, lady or child--can, without -tiresome exercises, special training or long drawn out study, and -without waste of time, money or energy, learn to play by note, piano, -banjo, cornet, clarinet, saxophone, violin or drum, and learn -sight-singing.” - -The next, under the wistful appeal “Finger Print Detectives Wanted-- Big -Incomes!” confided: “YOU red-blooded men and women--this is the -PROFESSION you have been looking for. There’s MONEY in it, BIG money, -and that rapid change of scene, that entrancing and compelling interest -and fascination, which your active mind and adventurous spirit crave. -Think of being the chief figure and directing factor in solving strange -mysteries and baffling crimes. This wonderful profession brings you into -contact with influential men on the basis of equality, and often calls -upon you to travel everywhere, maybe to distant lands--all expenses -paid. NO SPECIAL EDUCATION REQUIRED.” - -“Oh, boy! I guess that wins the fire-brick necklace! Wouldn’t it be -swell to travel everywhere and nab some famous crook!” whooped Ted. - -“Well, I don’t think much of that. Doggone likely to get hurt. Still, -that music-study stunt might be pretty fair, though. There’s no reason -why, if efficiency-experts put their minds to it the way they have to -routing products in a factory, they couldn’t figure out some scheme so a -person wouldn’t have to monkey with all this practising and exercises -that you get in music.” Babbitt was impressed, and he had a delightful -parental feeling that they two, the men of the family, understood each -other. - -He listened to the notices of mail-box universities which taught -Short-story Writing and Improving the Memory, Motion-picture-acting and -Developing the Soul-power, Banking and Spanish, Chiropody and -Photography, Electrical Engineering and Window-trimming, Poultry-raising -and Chemistry. - -“Well--well--” Babbitt sought for adequate expression of his admiration. -“I’m a son of a gun! I knew this correspondence-school business had -become a mighty profitable game--makes suburban real-estate look like -two cents!--but I didn’t realize it’d got to be such a reg’lar -key-industry! Must rank right up with groceries and movies. Always -figured somebody’d come along with the brains to not leave education to -a lot of bookworms and impractical theorists but make a big thing out -of it. Yes, I can see how a lot of these courses might interest you. I -must ask the fellows at the Athletic if they ever realized-- But same -time, Ted, you know how advertisers, I means some advertisers, -exaggerate. I don’t know as they’d be able to jam you through these -courses as fast as they claim they can.” - -“Oh sure, Dad; of course.” Ted had the immense and joyful maturity of a -boy who is respectfully listened to by his elders. Babbitt concentrated -on him with grateful affection: - -“I can see what an influence these courses might have on the whole -educational works. Course I’d never admit it publicly--fellow like -myself, a State U. graduate, it’s only decent and patriotic for him to -blow his horn and boost the Alma Mater--but smatter of fact, there’s a -whole lot of valuable time lost even at the U., studying poetry and -French and subjects that never brought in anybody a cent. I don’t know -but what maybe these correspondence-courses might prove to be one of the -most important American inventions. - -“Trouble with a lot of folks is: they’re so blame material; they don’t -see the spiritual and mental side of American supremacy; they think that -inventions like the telephone and the areoplane and wireless--no, that -was a Wop invention, but anyway: they think these mechanical -improvements are all that we stand for; whereas to a real thinker, he -sees that spiritual and, uh, dominating movements like Efficiency, and -Rotarianism, and Prohibition, and Democracy are what compose our deepest -and truest wealth. And maybe this new principle in education-at-home may -be another--may be another factor. I tell you, Ted, we’ve got to have -Vision--” - -“I think those correspondence-courses are terrible!” - -The philosophers gasped. It was Mrs. Babbitt who had made this discord -in their spiritual harmony, and one of Mrs. Babbitt’s virtues was that, -except during dinner-parties, when she was transformed into a raging -hostess, she took care of the house and didn’t bother the males by -thinking. She went on firmly: - -“It sounds awful to me, the way they coax those poor young folks to -think they’re learning something, and nobody ’round to help them -and-- You two learn so quick, but me, I always was slow. But just the -same--” - -Babbitt attended to her: “Nonsense! Get just as much, studying at home. -You don’t think a fellow learns any more because he blows in his -father’s hard-earned money and sits around in Morris chairs in a swell -Harvard dormitory with pictures and shields and table-covers and those -doodads, do you? I tell you, I’m a college man-- I _know_! There is one -objection you might make though. I certainly do protest against any -effort to get a lot of fellows out of barber shops and factories into -the professions. They’re too crowded already, and what’ll we do for -workmen if all those fellows go and get educated?” - -Ted was leaning back, smoking a cigarette without reproof. He was, for -the moment, sharing the high thin air of Babbitt’s speculation as though -he were Paul Riesling or even Dr. Howard Littlefield. He hinted: - -“Well, what do you think then, Dad? Wouldn’t it be a good idea if I -could go off to China or some peppy place, and study engineering or -something by mail?” - -“No, and I’ll tell you why, son. I’ve found out it’s a mighty nice thing -to be able to say you’re a B.A. Some client that doesn’t know what you -are and thinks you’re just a plug business man, he gets to shooting off -his mouth about economics or literature or foreign trade conditions, and -you just ease in something like, ‘When I was in college--course I got my -B.A. in sociology and all that junk--’ Oh, it puts an awful crimp in -their style! But there wouldn’t be any class to saying ‘I got the degree -of Stamp-licker from the Bezuzus Mail-order University!’ You see-- My -dad was a pretty good old coot, but he never had much style to him, and -I had to work darn hard to earn my way through college. Well, it’s been -worth it, to be able to associate with the finest gentlemen in Zenith, -at the clubs and so on, and I wouldn’t want you to drop out of the -gentlemen class--the class that are just as red-blooded as the Common -People but still have power and personality. It would kind of hurt me if -you did that, old man!” - -“I know, Dad! Sure! All right. I’ll stick to it. Say! Gosh! Gee whiz! I -forgot all about those kids I was going to take to the chorus rehearsal. -I’ll have to duck!” - -“But you haven’t done all your home-work.” - -“Do it first thing in the morning.” - -“Well--” - -Six times in the past sixty days Babbitt had stormed, “You will not ‘do -it first thing in the morning’! You’ll do it right now!” but to-night he -said, “Well, better hustle,” and his smile was the rare shy radiance he -kept for Paul Riesling. - - -IV - -“Ted’s a good boy,” he said to Mrs. Babbitt. - -“Oh, he is!” - -“Who’s these girls he’s going to pick up? Are they nice decent girls?” - -“I don’t know. Oh dear, Ted never tells me anything any more. I don’t -understand what’s come over the children of this generation. I used to -have to tell Papa and Mama everything, but seems like the children -to-day have just slipped away from all control.” - -“I hope they’re decent girls. Course Ted’s no longer a kid, and I -wouldn’t want him to, uh, get mixed up and everything.” - -“George: I wonder if you oughtn’t to take him aside and tell him -about-- Things!” She blushed and lowered her eyes. - -“Well, I don’t know. Way I figure it, Myra, no sense suggesting a lot of -Things to a boy’s mind. Think up enough devilment by himself. But I -wonder-- It’s kind of a hard question. Wonder what Littlefield thinks -about it?” - -“Course Papa agrees with you. He says all this--Instruction--is-- He says -’tisn’t decent.” - -“Oh, he does, does he! Well, let me tell you that whatever Henry T. -Thompson thinks--about morals, I mean, though course you can’t beat the -old duffer--” - -“Why, what a way to talk of Papa!” - -“--simply can’t beat him at getting in on the ground floor of a deal, -but let me tell you whenever he springs any ideas about higher things -and education, then I know I think just the opposite. You may not regard -me as any great brain-shark, but believe me, I’m a regular college -president, compared with Henry T.! Yes sir, by golly, I’m going to take -Ted aside and tell him why I lead a strictly moral life.” - -“Oh, will you? When?” - -“When? When? What’s the use of trying to pin me down to When and Why and -Where and How and When? That’s the trouble with women, that’s why they -don’t make high-class executives; they haven’t any sense of diplomacy. -When the proper opportunity and occasion arises so it just comes in -natural, why then I’ll have a friendly little talk with him -and--and-- Was that Tinka hollering up-stairs? She ought to been asleep, -long ago.” - -He prowled through the living-room, and stood in the sun-parlor, that -glass-walled room of wicker chairs and swinging couch in which they -loafed on Sunday afternoons. Outside, only the lights of Doppelbrau’s -house and the dim presence of Babbitt’s favorite elm broke the softness -of April night. - -“Good visit with the boy. Getting over feeling cranky, way I did this -morning. And restless. Though, by golly, I will have a few days alone -with Paul in Maine!... That devil Zilla!... But.... Ted’s all right. -Whole family all right. And good business. Not many fellows make four -hundred and fifty bucks, practically half of a thousand dollars, easy as -I did to-day! Maybe when we all get to rowing it’s just as much my -fault as it is theirs. Oughtn’t to get grouchy like I do. But-- Wish I’d -been a pioneer, same as my grand-dad. But then, wouldn’t have a house -like this. I-- Oh, gosh, _I don’t know_!” - -He thought moodily of Paul Riesling, of their youth together, of the -girls they had known. - -When Babbitt had graduated from the State University, twenty-four years -ago, he had intended to be a lawyer. He had been a ponderous debater in -college; he felt that he was an orator; he saw himself becoming governor -of the state. While he read law he worked as a real-estate salesman. He -saved money, lived in a boarding-house, supped on poached egg on hash. -The lively Paul Riesling (who was certainly going off to Europe to study -violin, next month or next year) was his refuge till Paul was bespelled -by Zilla Colbeck, who laughed and danced and drew men after her plump -and gaily wagging finger. - -Babbitt’s evenings were barren then, and he found comfort only in Paul’s -second cousin, Myra Thompson, a sleek and gentle girl who showed her -capacity by agreeing with the ardent young Babbitt that of course he was -going to be governor some day. Where Zilla mocked him as a country boy, -Myra said indignantly that he was ever so much solider than the young -dandies who had been born in the great city of Zenith--an ancient -settlement in 1897, one hundred and five years old, with two hundred -thousand population, the queen and wonder of all the state and, to the -Catawba boy, George Babbitt, so vast and thunderous and luxurious that -he was flattered to know a girl ennobled by birth in Zenith. - -Of love there was no talk between them. He knew that if he was to study -law he could not marry for years; and Myra was distinctly a Nice -Girl--one didn’t kiss her, one didn’t “think about her that way at all” -unless one was going to marry her. But she was a dependable companion. -She was always ready to go skating, walking; always content to hear his -discourses on the great things he was going to do, the distressed poor -whom he would defend against the Unjust Rich, the speeches he would make -at Banquets, the inexactitudes of popular thought which he would -correct. - -One evening when he was weary and soft-minded, he saw that she had been -weeping. She had been left out of a party given by Zilla. Somehow her -head was on his shoulder and he was kissing away the tears--and she -raised her head to say trustingly, “Now that we’re engaged, shall we be -married soon or shall we wait?” - -Engaged? It was his first hint of it. His affection for this brown -tender woman thing went cold and fearful, but he could not hurt her, -could not abuse her trust. He mumbled something about waiting, and -escaped. He walked for an hour, trying to find a way of telling her that -it was a mistake. Often, in the month after, he got near to telling her, -but it was pleasant to have a girl in his arms, and less and less could -he insult her by blurting that he didn’t love her. He himself had no -doubt. The evening before his marriage was an agony, and the morning -wild with the desire to flee. - -She made him what is known as a Good Wife. She was loyal, industrious, -and at rare times merry. She passed from a feeble disgust at their -closer relations into what promised to be ardent affection, but it -drooped into bored routine. Yet she existed only for him and for the -children, and she was as sorry, as worried as himself, when he gave up -the law and trudged on in a rut of listing real estate. - -“Poor kid, she hasn’t had much better time than I have,” Babbitt -reflected, standing in the dark sun-parlor. “But-- I wish I could’ve had -a whirl at law and politics. Seen what I could do. Well-- Maybe I’ve made -more money as it is.” - -He returned to the living-room but before he settled down he smoothed -his wife’s hair, and she glanced up, happy and somewhat surprised. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -I - -He solemnly finished the last copy of the _American Magazine_, while his -wife sighed, laid away her darning, and looked enviously at the lingerie -designs in a women’s magazine. The room was very still. - -It was a room which observed the best Floral Heights standards. The gray -walls were divided into artificial paneling by strips of white-enameled -pine. From the Babbitts’ former house had come two much-carved -rocking-chairs, but the other chairs were new, very deep and restful, -upholstered in blue and gold-striped velvet. A blue velvet davenport -faced the fireplace, and behind it was a cherrywood table and a tall -piano-lamp with a shade of golden silk. (Two out of every three houses -in Floral Heights had before the fireplace a davenport, a mahogany table -real or imitation, and a piano-lamp or a reading-lamp with a shade of -yellow or rose silk.) - -On the table was a runner of gold-threaded Chinese fabric, four -magazines, a silver box containing cigarette-crumbs, and three -“gift-books”--large, expensive editions of fairy-tales illustrated by -English artists and as yet unread by any Babbitt save Tinka. - -In a corner by the front windows was a large cabinet Victrola. (Eight -out of every nine Floral Heights houses had a cabinet phonograph.) - -Among the pictures, hung in the exact center of each gray panel, were a -red and black imitation English hunting-print, an anemic imitation -boudoir-print with a French caption of whose morality Babbitt had always -been rather suspicious, and a “hand-colored” photograph of a Colonial -room--rag rug, maiden spinning, cat demure before a white fireplace. -(Nineteen out of every twenty houses in Floral Heights had either a -hunting-print, a _Madame Fait la Toilette_ print, a colored photograph -of a New England house, a photograph of a Rocky Mountain, or all four.) - -It was a room as superior in comfort to the “parlor” of Babbitt’s -boyhood as his motor was superior to his father’s buggy. Though there -was nothing in the room that was interesting, there was nothing that was -offensive. It was as neat, and as negative, as a block of artificial -ice. The fireplace was unsoftened by downy ashes or by sooty brick; the -brass fire-irons were of immaculate polish; and the grenadier andirons -were like samples in a shop, desolate, unwanted, lifeless things of -commerce. - -Against the wall was a piano, with another piano-lamp, but no one used -it save Tinka. The hard briskness of the phonograph contented them; -their store of jazz records made them feel wealthy and cultured; and all -they knew of creating music was the nice adjustment of a bamboo needle. -The books on the table were unspotted and laid in rigid parallels; not -one corner of the carpet-rug was curled; and nowhere was there a -hockey-stick, a torn picture-book, an old cap, or a gregarious and -disorganizing dog. - - -II - -At home, Babbitt never read with absorption. He was concentrated enough -at the office but here he crossed his legs and fidgeted. When his story -was interesting he read the best, that is the funniest, paragraphs to -his wife; when it did not hold him he coughed, scratched his ankles and -his right ear, thrust his left thumb into his vest pocket, jingled his -silver, whirled the cigar-cutter and the keys on one end of his -watch-chain, yawned, rubbed his nose, and found errands to do. He went -upstairs to put on his slippers--his elegant slippers of seal-brown, -shaped like medieval shoes. He brought up an apple from the barrel which -stood by the trunk-closet in the basement. - -“An apple a day keeps the doctor away,” he enlightened Mrs. Babbitt, for -quite the first time in fourteen hours. - -“That’s so.” - -“An apple is Nature’s best regulator.” - -“Yes, it--” - -“Trouble with women is, they never have sense enough to form regular -habits.” - -“Well, I--” - -“Always nibbling and eating between meals.” - -“George!” She looked up from her reading. “Did you have a light lunch -to-day, like you were going to? I did!” - -This malicious and unprovoked attack astounded him. “Well, maybe it -wasn’t as light as-- Went to lunch with Paul and didn’t have much chance -to diet. Oh, you needn’t to grin like a chessy cat! If it wasn’t for me -watching out and keeping an eye on our diet-- I’m the only member of this -family that appreciates the value of oatmeal for breakfast. I--” - -She stooped over her story while he piously sliced and gulped down the -apple, discoursing: - -“One thing I’ve done: cut down my smoking. - -“Had kind of a run-in with Graff in the office. He’s getting too darn -fresh. I’ll stand for a good deal, but once in a while I got to assert -my authority, and I jumped him. ‘Stan,’ I said-- Well, I told him just -exactly where he got off. - -“Funny kind of a day. Makes you feel restless. - -“Wellllllllll, uh--” That sleepiest sound in the world, the terminal -yawn. Mrs. Babbitt yawned with it, and looked grateful as he droned, -“How about going to bed, eh? Don’t suppose Rone and Ted will be in till -all hours. Yep, funny kind of a day; not terribly warm but yet-- Gosh, -I’d like-- Some day I’m going to take a long motor trip.” - -“Yes, we’d enjoy that,” she yawned. - -He looked away from her as he realized that he did not wish to have her -go with him. As he locked doors and tried windows and set the heat -regulator so that the furnace-drafts would open automatically in the -morning, he sighed a little, heavy with a lonely feeling which perplexed -and frightened him. So absent-minded was he that he could not remember -which window-catches he had inspected, and through the darkness, -fumbling at unseen perilous chairs, he crept back to try them all over -again. His feet were loud on the steps as he clumped upstairs at the end -of this great and treacherous day of veiled rebellions. - - -III - -Before breakfast he always reverted to up-state village boyhood, and -shrank from the complex urban demands of shaving, bathing, deciding -whether the current shirt was clean enough for another day. Whenever he -stayed home in the evening he went to bed early, and thriftily got ahead -in those dismal duties. It was his luxurious custom to shave while -sitting snugly in a tubful of hot water. He may be viewed to-night as a -plump, smooth, pink, baldish, podgy goodman, robbed of the importance of -spectacles, squatting in breast-high water, scraping his lather-smeared -cheeks with a safety-razor like a tiny lawn-mower, and with melancholy -dignity clawing through the water to recover a slippery and active piece -of soap. - -He was lulled to dreaming by the caressing warmth. The light fell on the -inner surface of the tub in a pattern of delicate wrinkled lines which -slipped with a green sparkle over the curving porcelain as the clear -water trembled. Babbitt lazily watched it; noted that along the -silhouette of his legs against the radiance on the bottom of the tub, -the shadows of the air-bubbles clinging to the hairs were reproduced as -strange jungle mosses. He patted the water, and the reflected light -capsized and leaped and volleyed. He was content and childish. He -played. He shaved a swath down the calf of one plump leg. - -The drain-pipe was dripping, a dulcet and lively song: drippety drip -drip dribble, drippety drip drip drip. He was enchanted by it. He looked -at the solid tub, the beautiful nickel taps, the tiled walls of the -room, and felt virtuous in the possession of this splendor. - -He roused himself and spoke gruffly to his bath-things. “Come here! -You’ve done enough fooling!” he reproved the treacherous soap, and -defied the scratchy nail-brush with “Oh, you would, would you!” He -soaped himself, and rinsed himself, and austerely rubbed himself; he -noted a hole in the Turkish towel, and meditatively thrust a finger -through it, and marched back to the bedroom, a grave and unbending -citizen. - -There was a moment of gorgeous abandon, a flash of melodrama such as he -found in traffic-driving, when he laid out a clean collar, discovered -that it was frayed in front, and tore it up with a magnificent yeeeeeing -sound. - -Most important of all was the preparation of his bed and the -sleeping-porch. - -It is not known whether he enjoyed his sleeping-porch because of the -fresh air or because it was the standard thing to have a sleeping-porch. - -Just as he was an Elk, a Booster, and a member of the Chamber of -Commerce, just as the priests of the Presbyterian Church determined his -every religious belief and the senators who controlled the Republican -Party decided in little smoky rooms in Washington what he should think -about disarmament, tariff, and Germany, so did the large national -advertisers fix the surface of his life, fix what he believed to be his -individuality. These standard advertised wares--toothpastes, socks, -tires, cameras, instantaneous hot-water heaters--were his symbols and -proofs of excellence; at first the signs, then the substitutes, for joy -and passion and wisdom. - -But none of these advertised tokens of financial and social success was -more significant than a sleeping-porch with a sun-parlor below. - -The rites of preparing for bed were elaborate and unchanging. The -blankets had to be tucked in at the foot of his cot. (Also, the reason -why the maid hadn’t tucked in the blankets had to be discussed with Mrs. -Babbitt.) The rag rug was adjusted so that his bare feet would strike it -when he arose in the morning. The alarm clock was wound. The hot-water -bottle was filled and placed precisely two feet from the bottom of the -cot. - -These tremendous undertakings yielded to his determination; one by one -they were announced to Mrs. Babbitt and smashed through to -accomplishment. At last his brow cleared, and in his “Gnight!” rang -virile power. But there was yet need of courage. As he sank into sleep, -just at the first exquisite relaxation, the Doppelbrau car came home. He -bounced into wakefulness, lamenting, “Why the devil can’t some people -never get to bed at a reasonable hour?” So familiar was he with the -process of putting up his own car that he awaited each step like an able -executioner condemned to his own rack. - -The car insultingly cheerful on the driveway. The car door opened and -banged shut, then the garage door slid open, grating on the sill, and -the car door again. The motor raced for the climb up into the garage and -raced once more, explosively, before it was shut off. A final opening -and slamming of the car door. Silence then, a horrible silence filled -with waiting, till the leisurely Mr. Doppelbrau had examined the state -of his tires and had at last shut the garage door. Instantly, for -Babbitt, a blessed state of oblivion. - - -IV - -At that moment in the city of Zenith, Horace Updike was making love to -Lucile McKelvey in her mauve drawing-room on Royal Ridge, after their -return from a lecture by an eminent English novelist. Updike was -Zenith’s professional bachelor; a slim-waisted man of forty-six with an -effeminate voice and taste in flowers, cretonnes, and flappers. Mrs. -McKelvey was red-haired, creamy, discontented, exquisite, rude, and -honest. Updike tried his invariable first maneuver--touching her nervous -wrist. - -“Don’t be an idiot!” she said. - -“Do you mind awfully?” - -“No! That’s what I mind!” - -He changed to conversation. He was famous at conversation. He spoke -reasonably of psychoanalysis, Long Island polo, and the Ming platter he -had found in Vancouver. She promised to meet him in Deauville, the -coming summer, “though,” she sighed, “it’s becoming too dreadfully -banal; nothing but Americans and frowsy English baronesses.” - -And at that moment in Zenith, a cocaine-runner and a prostitute were -drinking cocktails in Healey Hanson’s saloon on Front Street. Since -national prohibition was now in force, and since Zenith was notoriously -law-abiding, they were compelled to keep the cocktails innocent by -drinking them out of tea-cups. The lady threw her cup at the -cocaine-runner’s head. He worked his revolver out of the pocket in his -sleeve, and casually murdered her. - -At that moment in Zenith, two men sat in a laboratory. For thirty-seven -hours now they had been working on a report of their investigations of -synthetic rubber. - -At that moment in Zenith, there was a conference of four union officials -as to whether the twelve thousand coal-miners within a hundred miles of -the city should strike. Of these men one resembled a testy and -prosperous grocer, one a Yankee carpenter, one a soda-clerk, and one a -Russian Jewish actor. The Russian Jew quoted Kautsky, Gene Debs, and -Abraham Lincoln. - -At that moment a G. A. R. veteran was dying. He had come from the Civil -War straight to a farm which, though it was officially within the -city-limits of Zenith, was primitive as the backwoods. He had never -ridden in a motor car, never seen a bath-tub, never read any book save -the Bible, McGuffey’s readers, and religious tracts; and he believed -that the earth is flat, that the English are the Lost Ten Tribes of -Israel, and that the United States is a democracy. - -At that moment the steel and cement town which composed the factory of -the Pullmore Tractor Company of Zenith was running on night shift to -fill an order of tractors for the Polish army. It hummed like a million -bees, glared through its wide windows like a volcano. Along the high -wire fences, searchlights played on cinder-lined yards, switch-tracks, -and armed guards on patrol. - -At that moment Mike Monday was finishing a meeting. Mr. Monday, the -distinguished evangelist, the best-known Protestant pontiff in America, -had once been a prize-fighter. Satan had not dealt justly with him. As a -prize-fighter he gained nothing but his crooked nose, his celebrated -vocabulary, and his stage-presence. The service of the Lord had been -more profitable. He was about to retire with a fortune. It had been well -earned, for, to quote his last report, “Rev. Mr. Monday, the Prophet -with a Punch, has shown that he is the world’s greatest salesman of -salvation, and that by efficient organization the overhead of spiritual -regeneration may be kept down to an unprecedented rock-bottom basis. He -has converted over two hundred thousand lost and priceless souls at an -average cost of less than ten dollars a head.” - -Of the larger cities of the land, only Zenith had hesitated to submit -its vices to Mike Monday and his expert reclamation corps. The more -enterprising organizations of the city had voted to invite him-- Mr. -George F. Babbitt had once praised him in a speech at the Boosters’ -Club. But there was opposition from certain Episcopalian and -Congregationalist ministers, those renegades whom Mr. Monday so finely -called “a bunch of gospel-pushers with dish-water instead of blood, a -gang of squealers that need more dust on the knees of their pants and -more hair on their skinny old chests.” This opposition had been crushed -when the secretary of the Chamber of Commerce had reported to a -committee of manufacturers that in every city where he had appeared, Mr. -Monday had turned the minds of workmen from wages and hours to higher -things, and thus averted strikes. He was immediately invited. - -An expense fund of forty thousand dollars had been underwritten; out on -the County Fair Grounds a Mike Monday Tabernacle had been erected, to -seat fifteen thousand people. In it the prophet was at this moment -concluding his message: - -“There’s a lot of smart college professors and tea-guzzling slobs in -this burg that say I’m a roughneck and a never-wuzzer and my knowledge -of history is not-yet. Oh, there’s a gang of woolly-whiskered book-lice -that think they know more than Almighty God, and prefer a lot of Hun -science and smutty German criticism to the straight and simple Word of -God. Oh, there’s a swell bunch of Lizzie boys and lemon-suckers and -pie-faces and infidels and beer-bloated scribblers that love to fire off -their filthy mouths and yip that Mike Monday is vulgar and full of mush. -Those pups are saying now that I hog the gospel-show, that I’m in it for -the coin. Well, now listen, folks! I’m going to give those birds a -chance! They can stand right up here and tell me to my face that I’m a -galoot and a liar and a hick! Only if they do--if they do!--don’t faint -with surprise if some of those rum-dumm liars get one good swift poke -from Mike, with all the kick of God’s Flaming Righteousness behind the -wallop! Well, come on, folks! Who says it? Who says Mike Monday is a -fourflush and a yahoo? Huh? Don’t I see anybody standing up? Well, there -you are! Now I guess the folks in this man’s town will quit listening to -all this kyoodling from behind the fence; I guess you’ll quit listening -to the guys that pan and roast and kick and beef, and vomit out filthy -atheism; and all of you’ll come in, with every grain of pep and -reverence you got, and boost all together for Jesus Christ and his -everlasting mercy and tenderness!” - - -V - -At that moment Seneca Doane, the radical lawyer, and Dr. Kurt Yavitch, -the histologist (whose report on the destruction of epithelial cells -under radium had made the name of Zenith known in Munich, Prague, and -Rome), were talking in Doane’s library. - -“Zenith’s a city with gigantic power--gigantic buildings, gigantic -machines, gigantic transportation,” meditated Doane. - -“I hate your city. It has standardized all the beauty out of life. It is -one big railroad station--with all the people taking tickets for the -best cemeteries,” Dr. Yavitch said placidly. - -Doane roused. “I’m hanged if it is! You make me sick, Kurt, with your -perpetual whine about ‘standardization.’ Don’t you suppose any other -nation is ‘standardized?’ Is anything more standardized than England, -with every house that can afford it having the same muffins at the same -tea-hour, and every retired general going to exactly the same evensong -at the same gray stone church with a square tower, and every golfing -prig in Harris tweeds saying ‘Right you are!’ to every other prosperous -ass? Yet I love England. And for standardization--just look at the -sidewalk cafés in France and the love-making in Italy! - -“Standardization is excellent, _per se_. When I buy an Ingersoll watch -or a Ford, I get a better tool for less money, and I know precisely what -I’m getting, and that leaves me more time and energy to be individual -in. And-- I remember once in London I saw a picture of an American -suburb, in a toothpaste ad on the back of the _Saturday Evening -Post_--an elm-lined snowy street of these new houses, Georgian some of -’em, or with low raking roofs and-- The kind of street you’d find here in -Zenith, say in Floral Heights. Open. Trees. Grass. And I was homesick! -There’s no other country in the world that has such pleasant houses. And -I don’t care if they _are_ standardized. It’s a corking standard! - -“No, what I fight in Zenith is standardization of thought, and, of -course, the traditions of competition. The real villains of the piece -are the clean, kind, industrious Family Men who use every known brand of -trickery and cruelty to insure the prosperity of their cubs. The worst -thing about these fellows is that they’re so good and, in their work at -least, so intelligent. You can’t hate them properly, and yet their -standardized minds are the enemy. - -“Then this boosting-- Sneakingly I have a notion that Zenith is a better -place to live in than Manchester or Glasgow or Lyons or Berlin or -Turin--” - -“It is not, and I have lift in most of them,” murmured Dr. Yavitch. - -“Well, matter of taste. Personally, I prefer a city with a future so -unknown that it excites my imagination. But what I particularly want--” - -“You,” said Dr. Yavitch, “are a middle-road liberal, and you haven’t the -slightest idea what you want. I, being a revolutionist, know exactly -what I want--and what I want now is a drink.” - - -VI - -At that moment in Zenith, Jake Offutt, the politician, and Henry T. -Thompson were in conference. Offutt suggested, “The thing to do is to -get your fool son-in-law, Babbitt, to put it over. He’s one of these -patriotic guys. When he grabs a piece of property for the gang, he makes -it look like we were dyin’ of love for the dear peepul, and I do love to -buy respectability--reasonable. Wonder how long we can keep it up, Hank? -We’re safe as long as the good little boys like George Babbitt and all -the nice respectable labor-leaders think you and me are rugged patriots. -There’s swell pickings for an honest politician here, Hank: a whole city -working to provide cigars and fried chicken and dry martinis for us, and -rallying to our banner with indignation, oh, fierce indignation, -whenever some squealer like this fellow Seneca Doane comes along! -Honest, Hank, a smart codger like me ought to be ashamed of himself if -he didn’t milk cattle like them, when they come around mooing for it! -But the Traction gang can’t get away with grand larceny like it used to. -I wonder when-- Hank, I wish we could fix some way to run this fellow -Seneca Doane out of town. It’s him or us!” - -At that moment in Zenith, three hundred and forty or fifty thousand -Ordinary People were asleep, a vast unpenetrated shadow. In the slum -beyond the railroad tracks, a young man who for six months had sought -work turned on the gas and killed himself and his wife. - -At that moment Lloyd Mallam, the poet, owner of the Hafiz Book Shop, was -finishing a rondeau to show how diverting was life amid the feuds of -medieval Florence, but how dull it was in so obvious a place as Zenith. - - * * * * * - -And at that moment George F. Babbitt turned ponderously in bed--the last -turn, signifying that he’d had enough of this worried business of -falling asleep and was about it in earnest. - -Instantly he was in the magic dream. He was somewhere among unknown -people who laughed at him. He slipped away, ran down the paths of a -midnight garden, and at the gate the fairy child was waiting. Her dear -and tranquil hand caressed his cheek. He was gallant and wise and -well-beloved; warm ivory were her arms; and beyond perilous moors the -brave sea glittered. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -I - -The great events of Babbitt’s spring were the secret buying of -real-estate options in Linton for certain street-traction officials, -before the public announcement that the Linton Avenue Car Line would be -extended, and a dinner which was, as he rejoiced to his wife, not only -“a regular society spread but a real sure-enough highbrow affair, with -some of the keenest intellects and the brightest bunch of little women -in town.” It was so absorbing an occasion that he almost forgot his -desire to run off to Maine with Paul Riesling. - -Though he had been born in the village of Catawba, Babbitt had risen to -that metropolitan social plane on which hosts have as many as four -people at dinner without planning it for more than an evening or two. -But a dinner of twelve, with flowers from the florist’s and all the -cut-glass out, staggered even the Babbitts. - -For two weeks they studied, debated, and arbitrated the list of guests. - -Babbitt marveled, “Of course we’re up-to-date ourselves, but still, -think of us entertaining a famous poet like Chum Frink, a fellow that on -nothing but a poem or so every day and just writing a few advertisements -pulls down fifteen thousand berries a year!” - -“Yes, and Howard Littlefield. Do you know, the other evening Eunice told -me her papa speaks three languages!” said Mrs. Babbitt. - -“Huh! That’s nothing! So do I--American, baseball, and poker!” - -“I don’t think it’s nice to be funny about a matter like that. Think -how wonderful it must be to speak three languages, and so useful -and-- And with people like that, I don’t see why we invite the Orville -Joneses.” - -“Well now, Orville is a mighty up-and-coming fellow!” - -“Yes, I know, but-- A laundry!” - -“I’ll admit a laundry hasn’t got the class of poetry or real estate, but -just the same, Orvy is mighty deep. Ever start him spieling about -gardening? Say, that fellow can tell you the name of every kind of tree, -and some of their Greek and Latin names too! Besides, we owe the Joneses -a dinner. Besides, gosh, we got to have some boob for audience, when a -bunch of hot-air artists like Frink and Littlefield get going.” - -“Well, dear--I meant to speak of this--I do think that as host you ought -to sit back and listen, and let your guests have a chance to talk once -in a while!” - -“Oh, you do, do you! Sure! I talk all the time! And I’m just a business -man--oh sure!--I’m no Ph.D. like Littlefield, and no poet, and I haven’t -anything to spring! Well, let me tell you, just the other day your darn -Chum Frink comes up to me at the club begging to know what I thought -about the Springfield school-bond issue. And who told him? I did! You -bet your life I told him! Little me! I certainly did! He came up and -asked me, and I told him all about it! You bet! And he was darn glad to -listen to me and-- Duty as a host! I guess I know my duty as a host and -let me tell you--” - -In fact, the Orville Joneses were invited. - - -II - -On the morning of the dinner, Mrs. Babbitt was restive. - -“Now, George, I want you to be sure and be home early to-night. -Remember, you have to dress.” - -“Uh-huh. I see by the _Advocate_ that the Presbyterian General Assembly -has voted to quit the Interchurch World Movement. That--” - -“George! Did you hear what I said? You must be home in time to dress -to-night.” - -“Dress? Hell! I’m dressed now! Think I’m going down to the office in my -B.V.D.’s?” - -“I will not have you talking indecently before the children! And you do -have to put on your dinner-jacket!” - -“I guess you mean my Tux. I tell you, of all the doggone nonsensical -nuisances that was ever invented--” - -Three minutes later, after Babbitt had wailed, “Well, I don’t know -whether I’m going to dress or _not_” in a manner which showed that he -was going to dress, the discussion moved on. - -“Now, George, you mustn’t forget to call in at Vecchia’s on the way home -and get the ice cream. Their delivery-wagon is broken down, and I don’t -want to trust them to send it by--” - -“All right! You told me that before breakfast!” - -“Well, I don’t want you to forget. I’ll be working my head off all day -long, training the girl that’s to help with the dinner--” - -“All nonsense, anyway, hiring an extra girl for the feed. Matilda could -perfectly well--” - -“--and I have to go out and buy the flowers, and fix them, and set the -table, and order the salted almonds, and look at the chickens, and -arrange for the children to have their supper up-stairs and-- And I -simply must depend on you to go to Vecchia’s for the ice cream.” - -“All riiiiiight! Gosh, I’m going to get it!” - -“All you have to do is to go in and say you want the ice cream that Mrs. -Babbitt ordered yesterday by ’phone, and it will be all ready for you.” - -At ten-thirty she telephoned to him not to forget the ice cream from -Vecchia’s. - -He was surprised and blasted then by a thought. He wondered whether -Floral Heights dinners were worth the hideous toil involved. But he -repented the sacrilege in the excitement of buying the materials for -cocktails. - -Now this was the manner of obtaining alcohol under the reign of -righteousness and prohibition: - -He drove from the severe rectangular streets of the modern business -center into the tangled byways of Old Town--jagged blocks filled with -sooty warehouses and lofts; on into The Arbor, once a pleasant orchard -but now a morass of lodging-houses, tenements, and brothels. Exquisite -shivers chilled his spine and stomach, and he looked at every policeman -with intense innocence, as one who loved the law, and admired the Force, -and longed to stop and play with them. He parked his car a block from -Healey Hanson’s saloon, worrying, “Well, rats, if anybody did see me, -they’d think I was here on business.” - -He entered a place curiously like the saloons of ante-prohibition days, -with a long greasy bar with sawdust in front and streaky mirror behind, -a pine table at which a dirty old man dreamed over a glass of something -which resembled whisky, and with two men at the bar, drinking something -which resembled beer, and giving that impression of forming a large -crowd which two men always give in a saloon. The bartender, a tall pale -Swede with a diamond in his lilac scarf, stared at Babbitt as he stalked -plumply up to the bar and whispered, “I’d, uh-- Friend of Hanson’s sent -me here. Like to get some gin.” - -The bartender gazed down on him in the manner of an outraged bishop. “I -guess you got the wrong place, my friend. We sell nothing but soft -drinks here.” He cleaned the bar with a rag which would itself have done -with a little cleaning, and glared across his mechanically moving elbow. - -The old dreamer at the table petitioned the bartender, “Say, Oscar, -listen.” - -Oscar did not listen. - -“Aw, say, Oscar, listen, will yuh? Say, lis-sen!” - -The decayed and drowsy voice of the loafer, the agreeable stink of -beer-dregs, threw a spell of inanition over Babbitt. The bartender moved -grimly toward the crowd of two men. Babbitt followed him as delicately -as a cat, and wheedled, “Say, Oscar, I want to speak to Mr. Hanson.” - -“Whajuh wanta see him for?” - -“I just want to talk to him. Here’s my card.” - -It was a beautiful card, an engraved card, a card in the blackest black -and the sharpest red, announcing that Mr. George F. Babbitt was Estates, -Insurance, Rents. The bartender held it as though it weighed ten pounds, -and read it as though it were a hundred words long. He did not bend from -his episcopal dignity, but he growled, “I’ll see if he’s around.” - -From the back room he brought an immensely old young man, a quiet -sharp-eyed man, in tan silk shirt, checked vest hanging open, and -burning brown trousers--Mr. Healey Hanson. Mr. Hanson said only “Yuh?” -but his implacable and contemptuous eyes queried Babbitt’s soul, and he -seemed not at all impressed by the new dark-gray suit for which (as he -had admitted to every acquaintance at the Athletic Club) Babbitt had -paid a hundred and twenty-five dollars. - -“Glad meet you, Mr. Hanson. Say, uh-- I’m George Babbitt of the -Babbitt-Thompson Realty Company. I’m a great friend of Jake Offutt’s.” - -“Well, what of it?” - -“Say, uh, I’m going to have a party, and Jake told me you’d be able to -fix me up with a little gin.” In alarm, in obsequiousness, as Hanson’s -eyes grew more bored, “You telephone to Jake about me, if you want to.” - -Hanson answered by jerking his head to indicate the entrance to the back -room, and strolled away. Babbitt melodramatically crept into an -apartment containing four round tables, eleven chairs, a brewery -calendar, and a smell. He waited. Thrice he saw Healey Hanson saunter -through, humming, hands in pockets, ignoring him. - -By this time Babbitt had modified his valiant morning vow, “I won’t pay -one cent over seven dollars a quart” to “I might pay ten.” On Hanson’s -next weary entrance he besought, “Could you fix that up?” Hanson -scowled, and grated, “Just a minute--Pete’s sake--just a min-ute!” In -growing meekness Babbitt went on waiting till Hanson casually reappeared -with a quart of gin--what is euphemistically known as a quart--in his -disdainful long white hands. - -“Twelve bucks,” he snapped. - -“Say, uh, but say, cap’n, Jake thought you’d be able to fix me up for -eight or nine a bottle.” - -“Nup. Twelve. This is the real stuff, smuggled from Canada. This is none -o’ your neutral spirits with a drop of juniper extract,” the honest -merchant said virtuously. “Twelve bones--if you want it. Course y’ -understand I’m just doing this anyway as a friend of Jake’s.” - -“Sure! Sure! I understand!” Babbitt gratefully held out twelve dollars. -He felt honored by contact with greatness as Hanson yawned, stuffed the -bills, uncounted, into his radiant vest, and swaggered away. - -He had a number of titillations out of concealing the gin-bottle under -his coat and out of hiding it in his desk. All afternoon he snorted and -chuckled and gurgled over his ability to “give the Boys a real shot in -the arm to-night.” He was, in fact, so exhilarated that he was within a -block of his house before he remembered that there was a certain matter, -mentioned by his wife, of fetching ice cream from Vecchia’s. He -explained, “Well, darn it--” and drove back. - -Vecchia was not a caterer, he was The Caterer of Zenith. Most coming-out -parties were held in the white and gold ballroom of the Maison Vecchia; -at all nice teas the guests recognized the five kinds of Vecchia -sandwiches and the seven kinds of Vecchia cakes; and all really smart -dinners ended, as on a resolving chord, in Vecchia Neapolitan ice cream -in one of the three reliable molds--the melon mold, the round mold like -a layer cake, and the long brick. - -Vecchia’s shop had pale blue woodwork, tracery of plaster roses, -attendants in frilled aprons, and glass shelves of “kisses” with all the -refinement that inheres in whites of eggs. Babbitt felt heavy and thick -amid this professional daintiness, and as he waited for the ice cream he -decided, with hot prickles at the back of his neck, that a girl customer -was giggling at him. He went home in a touchy temper. The first thing he -heard was his wife’s agitated: - -“George! _Did_ you remember to go to Vecchia’s and get the ice cream?” - -“Say! Look here! Do I ever forget to do things?” - -“Yes! Often!” - -“Well now, it’s darn seldom I do, and it certainly makes me tired, after -going into a pink-tea joint like Vecchia’s and having to stand around -looking at a lot of half-naked young girls, all rouged up like they were -sixty and eating a lot of stuff that simply ruins their stomachs--” - -“Oh, it’s too bad about you! I’ve noticed how you hate to look at pretty -girls!” - -With a jar Babbitt realized that his wife was too busy to be impressed -by that moral indignation with which males rule the world, and he went -humbly up-stairs to dress. He had an impression of a glorified -dining-room, of cut-glass, candles, polished wood, lace, silver, roses. -With the awed swelling of the heart suitable to so grave a business as -giving a dinner, he slew the temptation to wear his plaited dress-shirt -for a fourth time, took out an entirely fresh one, tightened his black -bow, and rubbed his patent-leather pumps with a handkerchief. He glanced -with pleasure at his garnet and silver studs. He smoothed and patted his -ankles, transformed by silk socks from the sturdy shanks of George -Babbitt to the elegant limbs of what is called a Clubman. He stood -before the pier-glass, viewing his trim dinner-coat, his beautiful -triple-braided trousers; and murmured in lyric beatitude, “By golly, I -don’t look so bad. I certainly don’t look like Catawba. If the hicks -back home could see me in this rig, they’d have a fit!” - -He moved majestically down to mix the cocktails. As he chipped ice, as -he squeezed oranges, as he collected vast stores of bottles, glasses, -and spoons at the sink in the pantry, he felt as authoritative as the -bartender at Healey Hanson’s saloon. True, Mrs. Babbitt said he was -under foot, and Matilda and the maid hired for the evening brushed by -him, elbowed him, shrieked “Pleasopn door,” as they tottered through -with trays, but in this high moment he ignored them. - -Besides the new bottle of gin, his cellar consisted of one half-bottle -of Bourbon whisky, a quarter of a bottle of Italian vermouth, and -approximately one hundred drops of orange bitters. He did not possess a -cocktail-shaker. A shaker was proof of dissipation, the symbol of a -Drinker, and Babbitt disliked being known as a Drinker even more than he -liked a Drink. He mixed by pouring from an ancient gravy-boat into a -handleless pitcher; he poured with a noble dignity, holding his alembics -high beneath the powerful Mazda globe, his face hot, his shirt-front a -glaring white, the copper sink a scoured red-gold. - -He tasted the sacred essence. “Now, by golly, if that isn’t pretty near -one fine old cocktail! Kind of a Bronx, and yet like a Manhattan. -Ummmmmm! Hey, Myra, want a little nip before the folks come?” - -Bustling into the dining-room, moving each glass a quarter of an inch, -rushing back with resolution implacable on her face, her gray and -silver-lace party frock protected by a denim towel, Mrs. Babbitt glared -at him, and rebuked him, “Certainly not!” - -“Well,” in a loose, jocose manner, “I think the old man will!” - -The cocktail filled him with a whirling exhilaration behind which he was -aware of devastating desires--to rush places in fast motors, to kiss -girls, to sing, to be witty. He sought to regain his lost dignity by -announcing to Matilda: - -“I’m going to stick this pitcher of cocktails in the refrigerator. Be -sure you don’t upset any of ’em.” - -“Yeh.” - -“Well, be sure now. Don’t go putting anything on this top shelf.” - -“Yeh.” - -“Well, be--” He was dizzy. His voice was thin and distant. “Whee!” With -enormous impressiveness he commanded, “Well, be sure now,” and minced -into the safety of the living-room. He wondered whether he could -persuade “as slow a bunch as Myra and the Littlefields to go some place -aft’ dinner and raise Cain and maybe dig up smore booze.” He perceived -that he had gifts of profligacy which had been neglected. - -By the time the guests had come, including the inevitable late couple -for whom the others waited with painful amiability, a great gray -emptiness had replaced the purple swirling in Babbitt’s head, and he had -to force the tumultuous greetings suitable to a host on Floral Heights. - -The guests were Howard Littlefield, the doctor of philosophy who -furnished publicity and comforting economics to the Street Traction -Company; Vergil Gunch, the coal-dealer, equally powerful in the Elks and -in the Boosters’ Club; Eddie Swanson, the agent for the Javelin Motor -Car, who lived across the street; and Orville Jones, owner of the Lily -White Laundry, which justly announced itself “the biggest, busiest, -bulliest cleanerie shoppe in Zenith.” But, naturally, the most -distinguished of all was T. Cholmondeley Frink, who was not only the -author of “Poemulations,” which, syndicated daily in sixty-seven leading -newspapers, gave him one of the largest audiences of any poet in the -world, but also an optimistic lecturer and the creator of “Ads that -Add.” Despite the searching philosophy and high morality of his verses, -they were humorous and easily understood by any child of twelve; and it -added a neat air of pleasantry to them that they were set not as verse -but as prose. Mr. Frink was known from Coast to Coast as “Chum.” - -With them were six wives, more or less--it was hard to tell, so early in -the evening, as at first glance they all looked alike, and as they all -said, “Oh, _isn’t_ this nice!” in the same tone of determined -liveliness. To the eye, the men were less similar: Littlefield, a -hedge-scholar, tall and horse-faced; Chum Frink, a trifle of a man with -soft and mouse-like hair, advertising his profession as poet by a silk -cord on his eye-glasses; Vergil Gunch, broad, with coarse black hair _en -brosse_; Eddie Swanson, a bald and bouncing young man who showed his -taste for elegance by an evening waistcoat of figured black silk with -glass buttons; Orville Jones, a steady-looking, stubby, not very -memorable person, with a hemp-colored toothbrush mustache. Yet they were -all so well fed and clean, they all shouted “’Evenin’, Georgie!” with -such robustness, that they seemed to be cousins, and the strange thing -is that the longer one knew the women, the less alike they seemed; while -the longer one knew the men, the more alike their bold patterns -appeared. - -The drinking of the cocktails was as canonical a rite as the mixing. The -company waited, uneasily, hopefully, agreeing in a strained manner that -the weather had been rather warm and slightly cold, but still Babbitt -said nothing about drinks. They became despondent. But when the late -couple (the Swansons) had arrived, Babbitt hinted, “Well, folks, do you -think you could stand breaking the law a little?” - -They looked at Chum Frink, the recognized lord of language. Frink pulled -at his eye-glass cord as at a bell-rope, he cleared his throat and said -that which was the custom: - -“I’ll tell you, George: I’m a law-abiding man, but they do say Verg -Gunch is a regular yegg, and of course he’s bigger ’n I am, and I just -can’t figure out what I’d do if he tried to force me into anything -criminal!” - -Gunch was roaring, “Well, I’ll take a chance--” when Frink held up his -hand and went on, “So if Verg and you insist, Georgie, I’ll park my car -on the wrong side of the street, because I take it for granted that’s -the crime you’re hinting at!” - -There was a great deal of laughter. Mrs. Jones asserted, “Mr. Frink is -simply too killing! You’d think he was so innocent!” - -Babbitt clamored, “How did you guess it, Chum? Well, you-all just wait a -moment while I go out and get the--keys to your cars!” Through a froth -of merriment he brought the shining promise, the mighty tray of glasses -with the cloudy yellow cocktails in the glass pitcher in the center. The -men babbled, “Oh, gosh, have a look!” and “This gets me right where I -live!” and “Let me at it!” But Chum Frink, a traveled man and not unused -to woes, was stricken by the thought that the potion might be merely -fruit-juice with a little neutral spirits. He looked timorous as -Babbitt, a moist and ecstatic almoner, held out a glass, but as he -tasted it he piped, “Oh, man, let me dream on! It ain’t true, but don’t -waken me! Jus’ lemme slumber!” - -Two hours before, Frink had completed a newspaper lyric beginning: - -_I sat alone and groused and thunk, and scratched my head and sighed and -wunk, and groaned, “There still are boobs, alack, who’d like the -old-time gin-mill back; that den that makes a sage a loon, the vile and -smelly old saloon!” I’ll never miss their poison booze, whilst I the -bubbling spring can use, that leaves my head at merry morn as clear as -any babe new-born!_ - -Babbitt drank with the others; his moment’s depression was gone; he -perceived that these were the best fellows in the world; he wanted to -give them a thousand cocktails. “Think you could stand another?” he -cried. The wives refused, with giggles, but the men, speaking in a -wide, elaborate, enjoyable manner, gloated, “Well, sooner than have you -get sore at me, Georgie--” - -“You got a little dividend coming,” said Babbitt to each of them, and -each intoned, “Squeeze it, Georgie, squeeze it!” - -When, beyond hope, the pitcher was empty, they stood and talked about -prohibition. The men leaned back on their heels, put their hands in -their trousers-pockets, and proclaimed their views with the booming -profundity of a prosperous male repeating a thoroughly hackneyed -statement about a matter of which he knows nothing whatever. - -“Now, I’ll tell you,” said Vergil Gunch; “way I figure it is this, and I -can speak by the book, because I’ve talked to a lot of doctors and -fellows that ought to know, and the way I see it is that it’s a good -thing to get rid of the saloon, but they ought to let a fellow have beer -and light wines.” - -Howard Littlefield observed, “What isn’t generally realized is that it’s -a dangerous prop’sition to invade the rights of personal liberty. Now, -take this for instance: The King of-- Bavaria? I think it was -Bavaria--yes, Bavaria, it was--in 1862, March, 1862, he issued a -proclamation against public grazing of live-stock. The peasantry had -stood for overtaxation without the slightest complaint, but when this -proclamation came out, they rebelled. Or it may have been Saxony. But it -just goes to show the dangers of invading the rights of personal -liberty.” - -“That’s it--no one got a right to invade personal liberty,” said Orville -Jones. - -“Just the same, you don’t want to forget prohibition is a mighty good -thing for the working-classes. Keeps ’em from wasting their money and -lowering their productiveness,” said Vergil Gunch. - -“Yes, that’s so. But the trouble is the manner of enforcement,” insisted -Howard Littlefield. “Congress didn’t understand the right system. Now, -if I’d been running the thing, I’d have arranged it so that the drinker -himself was licensed, and then we could have taken care of the shiftless -workman--kept him from drinking--and yet not’ve interfered with the -rights--with the personal liberty--of fellows like ourselves.” - -They bobbed their heads, looked admiringly at one another, and stated, -“That’s so, that would be the stunt.” - -“The thing that worries me is that a lot of these guys will take to -cocaine,” sighed Eddie Swanson. - -They bobbed more violently, and groaned, “That’s so, there is a danger -of that.” - -Chum Frink chanted, “Oh, say, I got hold of a swell new receipt for -home-made beer the other day. You take--” - -Gunch interrupted, “Wait! Let me tell you mine!” Littlefield snorted, -“Beer! Rats! Thing to do is to ferment cider!” Jones insisted, “I’ve got -the receipt that does the business!” Swanson begged, “Oh, say, lemme -tell you the story--” But Frink went on resolutely, “You take and save -the shells from peas, and pour six gallons of water on a bushel of -shells and boil the mixture till--” - -Mrs. Babbitt turned toward them with yearning sweetness; Frink hastened -to finish even his best beer-recipe; and she said gaily, “Dinner is -served.” - -There was a good deal of friendly argument among the men as to which -should go in last, and while they were crossing the hall from the -living-room to the dining-room Vergil Gunch made them laugh by -thundering, “If I can’t sit next to Myra Babbitt and hold her hand under -the table, I won’t play-- I’m goin’ home.” In the dining-room they stood -embarrassed while Mrs. Babbitt fluttered, “Now, let me see-- Oh, I was -going to have some nice hand-painted place-cards for you but-- Oh, let me -see; Mr. Frink, you sit there.” - -The dinner was in the best style of women’s-magazine art, whereby the -salad was served in hollowed apples, and everything but the invincible -fried chicken resembled something else. - -Ordinarily the men found it hard to talk to the women; flirtation was an -art unknown on Floral Heights, and the realms of offices and of kitchens -had no alliances. But under the inspiration of the cocktails, -conversation was violent. Each of the men still had a number of -important things to say about prohibition, and now that each had a loyal -listener in his dinner-partner he burst out: - -“I found a place where I can get all the hootch I want at eight a -quart--” - -“Did you read about this fellow that went and paid a thousand dollars -for ten cases of red-eye that proved to be nothing but water? Seems this -fellow was standing on the corner and fellow comes up to him--” - -“They say there’s a whole raft of stuff being smuggled across at -Detroit--” - -“What I always say is--what a lot of folks don’t realize about -prohibition--” - -“And then you get all this awful poison stuff--wood alcohol and -everything--” - -“Course I believe in it on principle, but I don’t propose to have -anybody telling me what I got to think and do. No American’ll ever stand -for that!” - -But they all felt that it was rather in bad taste for Orville Jones--and -he not recognized as one of the wits of the occasion anyway--to say, “In -fact, the whole thing about prohibition is this: it isn’t the initial -cost, it’s the humidity.” - -Not till the one required topic had been dealt with did the conversation -become general. - -It was often and admiringly said of Vergil Gunch, “Gee, that fellow can -get away with murder! Why, he can pull a Raw One in mixed company and -all the ladies’ll laugh their heads off, but me, gosh, if I crack -anything that’s just the least bit off color I get the razz for fair!” -Now Gunch delighted them by crying to Mrs. Eddie Swanson, youngest of -the women, “Louetta! I managed to pinch Eddie’s doorkey out of his -pocket, and what say you and me sneak across the street when the folks -aren’t looking? Got something,” with a gorgeous leer, “awful important -to tell you!” - -The women wriggled, and Babbitt was stirred to like naughtiness. “Say, -folks, I wished I dared show you a book I borrowed from Doc Patten!” - -“Now, George! The idea!” Mrs. Babbitt warned him. - -“This book--racy isn’t the word! It’s some kind of an anthropological -report about--about Customs, in the South Seas, and what it doesn’t -_say_! It’s a book you can’t buy. Verg, I’ll lend it to you.” - -“Me first!” insisted Eddie Swanson. “Sounds spicy!” - -Orville Jones announced, “Say, I heard a Good One the other day about a -coupla Swedes and their wives,” and, in the best Jewish accent, he -resolutely carried the Good One to a slightly disinfected ending. Gunch -capped it. But the cocktails waned, the seekers dropped back into -cautious reality. - -Chum Frink had recently been on a lecture-tour among the small towns, -and he chuckled, “Awful good to get back to civilization! I certainly -been seeing some hick towns! I mean-- Course the folks there are the best -on earth, but, gee whiz, those Main Street burgs are slow, and you -fellows can’t hardly appreciate what it means to be here with a bunch of -live ones!” - -“You bet!” exulted Orville Jones. “They’re the best folks on earth, -those small-town folks, but, oh, mama! what conversation! Why, say, they -can’t talk about anything but the weather and the ne-oo Ford, by -heckalorum!” - -“That’s right. They all talk about just the same things,” said Eddie -Swanson. - -“Don’t they, though! They just say the same things over and over,” said -Vergil Gunch. - -“Yes, it’s really remarkable. They seem to lack all power of looking at -things impersonally. They simply go over and over the same talk about -Fords and the weather and so on,” said Howard Littlefield. - -“Still, at that, you can’t blame ’em. They haven’t got any intellectual -stimulus such as you get up here in the city,” said Chum Frink. - -“Gosh, that’s right,” said Babbitt. “I don’t want you highbrows to get -stuck on yourselves but I must say it keeps a fellow right up on his -toes to sit in with a poet and with Howard, the guy that put the con in -economics! But these small-town boobs, with nobody but each other to -talk to, no wonder they get so sloppy and uncultured in their speech, -and so balled-up in their thinking!” - -Orville Jones commented, “And, then take our other advantages--the -movies, frinstance. These Yapville sports think they’re all-get-out if -they have one change of bill a week, where here in the city you got your -choice of a dozen diff’rent movies any evening you want to name!” - -“Sure, and the inspiration we get from rubbing up against high-class -hustlers every day and getting jam full of ginger,” said Eddie Swanson. - -“Same time,” said Babbitt, “no sense excusing these rube burgs too easy. -Fellow’s own fault if he doesn’t show the initiative to up and beat it -to the city, like we done--did. And, just speaking in confidence among -friends, they’re jealous as the devil of a city man. Every time I go up -to Catawba I have to go around apologizing to the fellows I was brought -up with because I’ve more or less succeeded and they haven’t. And if you -talk natural to ’em, way we do here, and show finesse and what you might -call a broad point of view, why, they think you’re putting on side. -There’s my own half-brother Martin--runs the little ole general store my -Dad used to keep. Say, I’ll bet he don’t know there is such a thing as a -Tux--as a dinner-jacket. If he was to come in here now, he’d think we -were a bunch of--of-- Why, gosh, I swear, he wouldn’t know what to think! -Yes, sir, they’re jealous!” - -Chum Frink agreed, “That’s so. But what I mind is their lack of culture -and appreciation of the Beautiful--if you’ll excuse me for being -highbrow. Now, I like to give a high-class lecture, and read some of my -best poetry--not the newspaper stuff but the magazine things. But say, -when I get out in the tall grass, there’s nothing will take but a lot of -cheesy old stories and slang and junk that if any of us were to indulge -in it here, he’d get the gate so fast it would make his head swim.” - -Vergil Gunch summed it up: “Fact is, we’re mighty lucky to be living -among a bunch of city-folks, that recognize artistic things and -business-punch equally. We’d feel pretty glum if we got stuck in some -Main Street burg and tried to wise up the old codgers to the kind of -life we’re used to here. But, by golly, there’s this you got to say for -’em: Every small American town is trying to get population and modern -ideals. And darn if a lot of ’em don’t put it across! Somebody starts -panning a rube crossroads, telling how he was there in 1900 and it -consisted of one muddy street, count ’em, one, and nine hundred human -clams. Well, you go back there in 1920, and you find pavements and a -swell little hotel and a first-class ladies’ ready-to-wear shop--real -perfection, in fact! You don’t want to just look at what these small -towns are, you want to look at what they’re aiming to become, and they -all got an ambition that in the long run is going to make ’em the finest -spots on earth--they all want to be just like Zenith!” - - -III - -However intimate they might be with T. Cholmondeley Frink as a neighbor, -as a borrower of lawn-mowers and monkey-wrenches, they knew that he was -also a Famous Poet and a distinguished advertising-agent; that behind -his easiness were sultry literary mysteries which they could not -penetrate. But to-night, in the gin-evolved confidence, he admitted them -to the arcanum: - -“I’ve got a literary problem that’s worrying me to death. I’m doing a -series of ads for the Zeeco Car and I want to make each of ’em a real -little gem--reg’lar stylistic stuff. I’m all for this theory that -perfection is the stunt, or nothing at all, and these are as tough -things as I ever tackled. You might think it’d be harder to do my -poems--all these Heart Topics: home and fireside and happiness--but -they’re cinches. You can’t go wrong on ’em; you know what sentiments any -decent go-ahead fellow must have if he plays the game, and you stick -right to ’em. But the poetry of industrialism, now there’s a literary -line where you got to open up new territory. Do you know the fellow -who’s really _the_ American genius? The fellow who you don’t know his -name and I don’t either, but his work ought to be preserved so’s future -generations can judge our American thought and originality to-day? Why, -the fellow that writes the Prince Albert Tobacco ads! Just listen to -this: - - It’s P.A. that jams such joy in jimmy pipes. Say--bet you’ve often - bent-an-ear to that spill-of-speech about hopping from five to - f-i-f-t-y p-e-r by “stepping on her a bit!” Guess that’s going - some, all right--BUT--just among ourselves, you better start a - rapidwhiz system to keep tabs as to how fast you’ll buzz from low - smoke spirits to _tip-top-high_--once you line up behind a jimmy - pipe that’s all aglow with that peach-of-a-pal, Prince Albert. - - Prince Albert is john-on-the-job--always joy’usly more-_ish_ in - flavor; always delightfully cool and fragrant! For a fact, you - never hooked such double-decked, copper-riveted, two-fisted smoke - enjoyment! - - Go to a pipe--speed-o-quick like you light on a good thing! - Why--packed with Prince Albert you can play a joy’us jimmy straight - across the boards! _And you know what that means!_” - -“Now that,” caroled the motor agent, Eddie Swanson, “that’s what I call -he-literature! That Prince Albert fellow--though, gosh, there can’t be -just one fellow that writes ’em; must be a big board of classy -ink-slingers in conference, but anyway: now, him, he doesn’t write for -long-haired pikers, he writes for Regular Guys, he writes for _me_, and -I tip my benny to him! The only thing is: I wonder if it sells the -goods? Course, like all these poets, this Prince Albert fellow lets his -idea run away with him. It makes elegant reading, but it don’t say -nothing. I’d never go out and buy Prince Albert Tobacco after reading -it, because it doesn’t tell me anything about the stuff. It’s just a -bunch of fluff.” - -Frink faced him: “Oh, you’re crazy! Have I got to sell you the idea of -Style? Anyway, that’s the kind of stuff I’d like to do for the Zeeco. -But I simply can’t. So I decided to stick to the straight poetic, and I -took a shot at a highbrow ad for the Zeeco. How do you like this: - - The long white trail is calling--calling--and it’s over the hills - and far away for every man or woman that has red blood in his veins - and on his lips the ancient song of the buccaneers. It’s away with - dull drudging, and a fig for care. Speed--glorious Speed--it’s more - than just a moment’s exhilaration--it’s Life for you and me! This - great new truth the makers of the Zeeco Car have considered as much - as price and style. It’s fleet as the antelope, smooth as the glide - of a swallow, yet powerful as the charge of a bull-elephant. Class - breathes in every line. Listen, brother! You’ll never know what the - high art of hiking is till you TRY LIFE’S ZIPPINGEST ZEST--THE - ZEECO!” - -“Yes,” Frink mused, “that’s got an elegant color to it, if I do say so, -but it ain’t got the originality of ‘spill-of-speech!’” - -The whole company sighed with sympathy and admiration. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -I - -Babbitt was fond of his friends, he loved the importance of being host -and shouting, “Certainly, you’re going to have smore chicken--the idea!” -and he appreciated the genius of T. Cholmondeley Frink, but the vigor of -the cocktails was gone, and the more he ate the less joyful he felt. -Then the amity of the dinner was destroyed by the nagging of the -Swansons. - -In Floral Heights and the other prosperous sections of Zenith, -especially in the “young married set,” there were many women who had -nothing to do. Though they had few servants, yet with gas stoves, -electric ranges and dish-washers and vacuum cleaners, and tiled kitchen -walls, their houses were so convenient that they had little housework, -and much of their food came from bakeries and delicatessens. They had -but two, one, or no children; and despite the myth that the Great War -had made work respectable, their husbands objected to their “wasting -time and getting a lot of crank ideas” in unpaid social work, and still -more to their causing a rumor, by earning money, that they were not -adequately supported. They worked perhaps two hours a day, and the rest -of the time they ate chocolates, went to the motion-pictures, went -window-shopping, went in gossiping twos and threes to card-parties, read -magazines, thought timorously of the lovers who never appeared, and -accumulated a splendid restlessness which they got rid of by nagging -their husbands. The husbands nagged back. - -Of these naggers the Swansons were perfect specimens. - -Throughout the dinner Eddie Swanson had been complaining, publicly, -about his wife’s new frock. It was, he submitted, too short, too low, -too immodestly thin, and much too expensive. He appealed to Babbitt: - -“Honest, George, what do you think of that rag Louetta went and bought? -Don’t you think it’s the limit?” - -“What’s eating you, Eddie? I call it a swell little dress.” - -“Oh, it is, Mr. Swanson. It’s a sweet frock,” Mrs. Babbitt protested. - -“There now, do you see, smarty! You’re such an authority on clothes!” -Louetta raged, while the guests ruminated and peeped at her shoulders. - -“That’s all right now,” said Swanson. “I’m authority enough so I know it -was a waste of money, and it makes me tired to see you not wearing out a -whole closetful of clothes you got already. I’ve expressed my idea about -this before, and you know good and well you didn’t pay the least bit of -attention. I have to camp on your trail to get you to do anything--” - -There was much more of it, and they all assisted, all but Babbitt. -Everything about him was dim except his stomach, and that was a bright -scarlet disturbance. “Had too much grub; oughtn’t to eat this stuff,” he -groaned--while he went on eating, while he gulped down a chill and -glutinous slice of the ice-cream brick, and cocoanut cake as oozy as -shaving-cream. He felt as though he had been stuffed with clay; his body -was bursting, his throat was bursting, his brain was hot mud; and only -with agony did he continue to smile and shout as became a host on Floral -Heights. - -He would, except for his guests, have fled outdoors and walked off the -intoxication of food, but in the haze which filled the room they sat -forever, talking, talking, while he agonized, “Darn fool to be eating -all this--not ’nother mouthful,” and discovered that he was again -tasting the sickly welter of melted ice cream on his plate. There was no -magic in his friends; he was not uplifted when Howard Littlefield -produced from his treasure-house of scholarship the information that -the chemical symbol for raw rubber is C₁₀H₁₆, which turns into -isoprene, or 2C₅H₈. Suddenly, without precedent, Babbitt was not merely -bored but admitting that he was bored. It was ecstasy to escape from the -table, from the torture of a straight chair, and loll on the davenport -in the living-room. - -The others, from their fitful unconvincing talk, their expressions of -being slowly and painfully smothered, seemed to be suffering from the -toil of social life and the horror of good food as much as himself. All -of them accepted with relief the suggestion of bridge. - -Babbitt recovered from the feeling of being boiled. He won at bridge. He -was again able to endure Vergil Gunch’s inexorable heartiness. But he -pictured loafing with Paul Riesling beside a lake in Maine. It was as -overpowering and imaginative as homesickness. He had never seen Maine, -yet he beheld the shrouded mountains, the tranquil lake of evening. -“That boy Paul’s worth all these ballyhooing highbrows put together,” he -muttered; and, “I’d like to get away from--everything.” - -Even Louetta Swanson did not rouse him. - -Mrs. Swanson was pretty and pliant. Babbitt was not an analyst of women, -except as to their tastes in Furnished Houses to Rent. He divided them -into Real Ladies, Working Women, Old Cranks, and Fly Chickens. He mooned -over their charms but he was of opinion that all of them (save the women -of his own family) were “different” and “mysterious.” Yet he had known -by instinct that Louetta Swanson could be approached. Her eyes and lips -were moist. Her face tapered from a broad forehead to a pointed chin, -her mouth was thin but strong and avid, and between her brows were two -outcurving and passionate wrinkles. She was thirty, perhaps, or younger. -Gossip had never touched her, but every man naturally and instantly rose -to flirtatiousness when he spoke to her, and every woman watched her -with stilled blankness. - -Between games, sitting on the davenport, Babbitt spoke to her with the -requisite gallantry, that sonorous Floral Heights gallantry which is -not flirtation but a terrified flight from it: - -“You’re looking like a new soda-fountain to-night, Louetta.” - -“Am I?” - -“Ole Eddie kind of on the rampage.” - -“Yes. I get so sick of it.” - -“Well, when you get tired of hubby, you can run off with Uncle George.” - -“If I ran away-- Oh, well--” - -“Anybody ever tell you your hands are awful pretty?” - -She looked down at them, she pulled the lace of her sleeves over them, -but otherwise she did not heed him. She was lost in unexpressed -imaginings. - -Babbitt was too languid this evening to pursue his duty of being a -captivating (though strictly moral) male. He ambled back to the -bridge-tables. He was not much thrilled when Mrs. Frink, a small -twittering woman, proposed that they “try and do some spiritualism and -table-tipping--you know Chum can make the spirits come--honest, he just -scares me!” - -The ladies of the party had not emerged all evening, but now, as the sex -given to things of the spirit while the men warred against base things -material, they took command and cried, “Oh, let’s!” In the dimness the -men were rather solemn and foolish, but the goodwives quivered and -adored as they sat about the table. They laughed, “Now, you be good or -I’ll tell!” when the men took their hands in the circle. - -Babbitt tingled with a slight return of interest in life as Louetta -Swanson’s hand closed on his with quiet firmness. - -All of them hunched over, intent. They startled as some one drew a -strained breath. In the dusty light from the hall they looked unreal, -they felt disembodied. Mrs. Gunch squeaked, and they jumped with -unnatural jocularity, but at Frink’s hiss they sank into subdued awe. -Suddenly, incredibly, they heard a knocking. They stared at Frink’s -half-revealed hands and found them lying still. They wriggled, and -pretended not to be impressed. - -Frink spoke with gravity: “Is some one there?” A thud. “Is one knock to -be the sign for ‘yes’?” A thud. “And two for ‘no’?” A thud. - -“Now, ladies and gentlemen, shall we ask the guide to put us into -communication with the spirit of some great one passed over?” Frink -mumbled. - -Mrs. Orville Jones begged, “Oh, let’s talk to Dante! We studied him at -the Reading Circle. You know who he was, Orvy.” - -“Certainly I know who he was! The Wop poet. Where do you think I was -raised?” from her insulted husband. - -“Sure--the fellow that took the Cook’s Tour to Hell. I’ve never waded -through his po’try, but we learned about him in the U.,” said Babbitt. - -“Page Mr. Dannnnnty!” intoned Eddie Swanson. - -“You ought to get him easy, Mr. Frink, you and he being fellow-poets,” -said Louetta Swanson. - -“Fellow-poets, rats! Where d’ you get that stuff?” protested Vergil -Gunch. “I suppose Dante showed a lot of speed for an old-timer--not that -I’ve actually read him, of course--but to come right down to hard facts, -he wouldn’t stand one-two-three if he had to buckle down to practical -literature and turn out a poem for the newspaper-syndicate every day, -like Chum does!” - -“That’s so,” from Eddie Swanson. “Those old birds could take their time. -Judas Priest, I could write poetry myself if I had a whole year for it, -and just wrote about that old-fashioned junk like Dante wrote about.” - -Frink demanded, “Hush, now! I’ll call him.... O, Laughing Eyes, emerge -forth into the, uh, the ultimates and bring hither the spirit of Dante, -that we mortals may list to his words of wisdom.” - -“You forgot to give um the address: 1658 Brimstone Avenue, Fiery -Heights, Hell,” Gunch chuckled, but the others felt that this was -irreligious. And besides--“probably it was just Chum making the knocks, -but still, if there did happen to be something to all this, be exciting -to talk to an old fellow belonging to--way back in early times--” - -A thud. The spirit of Dante had come to the parlor of George F. Babbitt. - -He was, it seemed, quite ready to answer their questions. He was “glad -to be with them, this evening.” - -Frink spelled out the messages by running through the alphabet till the -spirit interpreter knocked at the right letter. - -Littlefield asked, in a learned tone, “Do you like it in the Paradiso, -Messire?” - -“We are very happy on the higher plane, Signor. We are glad that you are -studying this great truth of spiritualism,” Dante replied. - -The circle moved with an awed creaking of stays and shirtfronts. -“Suppose--suppose there were something to this?” - -Babbitt had a different worry. “Suppose Chum Frink was really one of -these spiritualists! Chum had, for a literary fellow, always seemed to -be a Regular Guy; he belonged to the Chatham Road Presbyterian Church -and went to the Boosters’ lunches and liked cigars and motors and racy -stories. But suppose that secretly-- After all, you never could tell -about these darn highbrows; and to be an out-and-out spiritualist would -be almost like being a socialist!” - -No one could long be serious in the presence of Vergil Gunch. “Ask Dant’ -how Jack Shakespeare and old Verg’--the guy they named after me--are -gettin’ along, and don’t they wish they could get into the movie game!” -he blared, and instantly all was mirth. Mrs. Jones shrieked, and Eddie -Swanson desired to know whether Dante didn’t catch cold with nothing on -but his wreath. - -The pleased Dante made humble answer. - -But Babbitt--the curst discontent was torturing him again, and heavily, -in the impersonal darkness, he pondered, “I don’t-- We’re all so flip -and think we’re so smart. There’d be-- A fellow like Dante-- I wish I’d -read some of his pieces. I don’t suppose I ever will, now.” - -He had, without explanation, the impression of a slaggy cliff and on it, -in silhouette against menacing clouds, a lone and austere figure. He was -dismayed by a sudden contempt for his surest friends. He grasped Louetta -Swanson’s hand, and found the comfort of human warmth. Habit came, a -veteran warrior; and he shook himself. “What the deuce is the matter -with me, this evening?” - -He patted Louetta’s hand, to indicate that he hadn’t meant anything -improper by squeezing it, and demanded of Frink, “Say, see if you can -get old Dant’ to spiel us some of his poetry. Talk up to him. Tell him, -‘_Buena giorna, señor, com sa va, wie geht’s? Keskersaykersa_ a little -pome, _señor_?’” - - -II - -The lights were switched on; the women sat on the fronts of their chairs -in that determined suspense whereby a wife indicates that as soon as the -present speaker has finished, she is going to remark brightly to her -husband, “Well, dear, I think per-_haps_ it’s about time for us to be -saying good-night.” For once Babbitt did not break out in blustering -efforts to keep the party going. He had--there was something he wished -to think out-- But the psychical research had started them off again. -(“Why didn’t they go home! Why didn’t they go home!”) Though he was -impressed by the profundity of the statement, he was only -half-enthusiastic when Howard Littlefield lectured, “The United States -is the only nation in which the government is a Moral Ideal and not just -a social arrangement.” (“True--true--weren’t they _ever_ going home?”) -He was usually delighted to have an “inside view” of the momentous world -of motors but to-night he scarcely listened to Eddie Swanson’s -revelation: “If you want to go above the Javelin class, the Zeeco is a -mighty good buy. Couple weeks ago, and mind you, this was a fair, -square test, they took a Zeeco stock touring-car and they slid up the -Tonawanda hill on high, and fellow told me--” (“Zeeco--good boat -but-- Were they planning to stay all night?”) - -They really were going, with a flutter of “We did have the best time!” - -Most aggressively friendly of all was Babbitt, yet as he burbled he was -reflecting, “I got through it, but for a while there I didn’t hardly -think I’d last out.” He prepared to taste that most delicate pleasure of -the host: making fun of his guests in the relaxation of midnight. As the -door closed he yawned voluptuously, chest out, shoulders wriggling, and -turned cynically to his wife. - -She was beaming. “Oh, it was nice, wasn’t it! I know they enjoyed every -minute of it. Don’t you think so?” - -He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t mock. It would have been like sneering at -a happy child. He lied ponderously: “You bet! Best party this year, by a -long shot.” - -“Wasn’t the dinner good! And honestly I thought the fried chicken was -delicious!” - -“You bet! Fried to the Queen’s taste. Best fried chicken I’ve tasted for -a coon’s age.” - -“Didn’t Matilda fry it beautifully! And don’t you think the soup was -simply delicious?” - -“It certainly was! It was corking! Best soup I’ve tasted since Heck was -a pup!” But his voice was seeping away. They stood in the hall, under -the electric light in its square box-like shade of red glass bound with -nickel. She stared at him. - -“Why, George, you don’t sound--you sound as if you hadn’t really enjoyed -it.” - -“Sure I did! Course I did!” - -“George! What is it?” - -“Oh, I’m kind of tired, I guess. Been pounding pretty hard at the -office. Need to get away and rest up a little.” - -“Well, we’re going to Maine in just a few weeks now, dear.” - -“Yuh--” Then he was pouring it out nakedly, robbed of reticence. “Myra: -I think it’d be a good thing for me to get up there early.” - -“But you have this man you have to meet in New York about business.” - -“What man? Oh, sure. Him. Oh, that’s all off. But I want to hit Maine -early--get in a little fishing, catch me a big trout, by golly!” A -nervous, artificial laugh. - -“Well, why don’t we do it? Verona and Matilda can run the house between -them, and you and I can go any time, if you think we can afford it.” - -“But that’s-- I’ve been feeling so jumpy lately, I thought maybe it might -be a good thing if I kind of got off by myself and sweat it out of me.” - -“George! Don’t you _want_ me to go along?” She was too wretchedly in -earnest to be tragic, or gloriously insulted, or anything save dumpy and -defenseless and flushed to the red steaminess of a boiled beet. - -“Of course I do! I just meant--” Remembering that Paul Riesling had -predicted this, he was as desperate as she. “I mean, sometimes it’s a -good thing for an old grouch like me to go off and get it out of his -system.” He tried to sound paternal. “Then when you and the kids -arrive-- I figured maybe I might skip up to Maine just a few days ahead -of you-- I’d be ready for a real bat, see how I mean?” He coaxed her with -large booming sounds, with affable smiles, like a popular preacher -blessing an Easter congregation, like a humorous lecturer completing his -stint of eloquence, like all perpetrators of masculine wiles. - -She stared at him, the joy of festival drained from her face. “Do I -bother you when we go on vacations? Don’t I add anything to your fun?” - -He broke. Suddenly, dreadfully, he was hysterical, he was a yelping -baby. “Yes, yes, yes! Hell, yes! But can’t you understand I’m shot to -pieces? I’m all in! I got to take care of myself! I tell you, I got -to-- I’m sick of everything and everybody! I got to--” - -It was she who was mature and protective now. “Why, of course! You shall -run off by yourself! Why don’t you get Paul to go along, and you boys -just fish and have a good time?” She patted his shoulder--reaching up to -it--while he shook with palsied helplessness, and in that moment was not -merely by habit fond of her but clung to her strength. - -She cried cheerily, “Now up-stairs you go, and pop into bed. We’ll fix -it all up. I’ll see to the doors. Now skip!” - -For many minutes, for many hours, for a bleak eternity, he lay awake, -shivering, reduced to primitive terror, comprehending that he had won -freedom, and wondering what he could do with anything so unknown and so -embarrassing as freedom. - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -I - -No apartment-house in Zenith had more resolutely experimented in -condensation than the Revelstoke Arms, in which Paul and Zilla Riesling -had a flat. By sliding the beds into low closets the bedrooms were -converted into living-rooms. The kitchens were cupboards each containing -an electric range, a copper sink, a glass refrigerator, and, very -intermittently, a Balkan maid. Everything about the Arms was excessively -modern, and everything was compressed--except the garages. - -The Babbitts were calling on the Rieslings at the Arms. It was a -speculative venture to call on the Rieslings; interesting and sometimes -disconcerting. Zilla was an active, strident, full-blown, high-bosomed -blonde. When she condescended to be good-humored she was nervously -amusing. Her comments on people were saltily satiric and penetrative of -accepted hypocrisies. “That’s so!” you said, and looked sheepish. She -danced wildly, and called on the world to be merry, but in the midst of -it she would turn indignant. She was always becoming indignant. Life was -a plot against her, and she exposed it furiously. - -She was affable to-night. She merely hinted that Orville Jones wore a -toupé, that Mrs. T. Cholmondeley Frink’s singing resembled a Ford going -into high, and that the Hon. Otis Deeble, mayor of Zenith and candidate -for Congress, was a flatulent fool (which was quite true). The Babbitts -and Rieslings sat doubtfully on stone-hard brocade chairs in the small -living-room of the flat, with its mantel unprovided with a fireplace, -and its strip of heavy gilt fabric upon a glaring new player-piano, till -Mrs. Riesling shrieked, “Come on! Let’s put some pep in it! Get out -your fiddle, Paul, and I’ll try to make Georgie dance decently.” - -The Babbitts were in earnest. They were plotting for the escape to -Maine. But when Mrs. Babbitt hinted with plump smilingness, “Does Paul -get as tired after the winter’s work as Georgie does?” then Zilla -remembered an injury; and when Zilla Riesling remembered an injury the -world stopped till something had been done about it. - -“Does he get tired? No, he doesn’t get tired, he just goes crazy, that’s -all! You think Paul is so reasonable, oh, yes, and he loves to make out -he’s a little lamb, but he’s stubborn as a mule. Oh, if you had to live -with him--! You’d find out how sweet he is! He just pretends to be meek -so he can have his own way. And me, I get the credit for being a -terrible old crank, but if I didn’t blow up once in a while and get -something started, we’d die of dry-rot. He never wants to go any place -and-- Why, last evening, just because the car was out of order--and that -was his fault, too, because he ought to have taken it to the -service-station and had the battery looked at--and he didn’t want to go -down to the movies on the trolley. But we went, and then there was one -of those impudent conductors, and Paul wouldn’t do a thing. - -“I was standing on the platform waiting for the people to let me into -the car, and this beast, this conductor, hollered at me, ‘Come on, you, -move up!’ Why, I’ve never had anybody speak to me that way in all my -life! I was so astonished I just turned to him and said-- I thought there -must be some mistake, and so I said to him, perfectly pleasant, ‘Were -you speaking to me?’ and he went on and bellowed at me, ‘Yes, I was! -You’re keeping the whole car from starting!’ he said, and then I saw he -was one of these dirty ill-bred hogs that kindness is wasted on, and so -I stopped and looked right at him, and I said, ‘I--beg--your--pardon, I -am not doing anything of the kind,’ I said, ‘it’s the people ahead of -me, who won’t move up,’ I said, ‘and furthermore, let me tell you, -young man, that you’re a low-down, foul-mouthed, impertinent skunk,’ I -said, ‘and you’re no gentleman! I certainly intend to report you, and -we’ll see,’ I said, ‘whether a lady is to be insulted by any drunken bum -that chooses to put on a ragged uniform, and I’d thank you,’ I said, ‘to -keep your filthy abuse to yourself.’ And then I waited for Paul to show -he was half a man and come to my defense, and he just stood there and -pretended he hadn’t heard a word, and so I said to him, ‘Well,’ I -said--” - -“Oh, cut it, cut it, Zill!” Paul groaned. “We all know I’m a -mollycoddle, and you’re a tender bud, and let’s let it go at that.” - -“Let it go?” Zilla’s face was wrinkled like the Medusa, her voice was a -dagger of corroded brass. She was full of the joy of righteousness and -bad temper. She was a crusader and, like every crusader, she exulted in -the opportunity to be vicious in the name of virtue. “Let it go? If -people knew how many things I’ve let go--” - -“Oh, quit being such a bully.” - -“Yes, a fine figure you’d cut if I didn’t bully you! You’d lie abed till -noon and play your idiotic fiddle till midnight! You’re born lazy, and -you’re born shiftless, and you’re born cowardly, Paul Riesling--” - -“Oh, now, don’t say that, Zilla; you don’t mean a word of it!” protested -Mrs. Babbitt. - -“I will say that, and I mean every single last word of it!” - -“Oh, now, Zilla, the idea!” Mrs. Babbitt was maternal and fussy. She was -no older than Zilla, but she seemed so--at first. She was placid and -puffy and mature, where Zilla, at forty-five, was so bleached and -tight-corseted that you knew only that she was older than she looked. -“The idea of talking to poor Paul like that!” - -“Poor Paul is right! We’d both be poor, we’d be in the poorhouse, if I -didn’t jazz him up!” - -“Why, now, Zilla, Georgie and I were just saying how hard Paul’s been -working all year, and we were thinking it would be lovely if the Boys -could run off by themselves. I’ve been coaxing George to go up to Maine -ahead of the rest of us, and get the tired out of his system before we -come, and I think it would be lovely if Paul could manage to get away -and join him.” - -At this exposure of his plot to escape, Paul was startled out of -impassivity. He rubbed his fingers. His hands twitched. - -Zilla bayed, “Yes! You’re lucky! You can let George go, and not have to -watch him. Fat old Georgie! Never peeps at another woman! Hasn’t got the -spunk!” - -“The hell I haven’t!” Babbitt was fervently defending his priceless -immorality when Paul interrupted him--and Paul looked dangerous. He rose -quickly; he said gently to Zilla: - -“I suppose you imply I have a lot of sweethearts.” - -“Yes, I do!” - -“Well, then, my dear, since you ask for it-- There hasn’t been a time in -the last ten years when I haven’t found some nice little girl to comfort -me, and as long as you continue your amiability I shall probably -continue to deceive you. It isn’t hard. You’re so stupid.” - -Zilla gibbered; she howled; words could not be distinguished in her -slaver of abuse. - -Then the bland George F. Babbitt was transformed. If Paul was dangerous, -if Zilla was a snake-locked fury, if the neat emotions suitable to the -Revelstoke Arms had been slashed into raw hatreds, it was Babbitt who -was the most formidable. He leaped up. He seemed very large. He seized -Zilla’s shoulder. The cautions of the broker were wiped from his face, -and his voice was cruel: - -“I’ve had enough of all this damn nonsense! I’ve known you for -twenty-five years, Zil, and I never knew you to miss a chance to take -your disappointments out on Paul. You’re not wicked. You’re worse. -You’re a fool. And let me tell you that Paul is the finest boy God ever -made. Every decent person is sick and tired of your taking advantage of -being a woman and springing every mean innuendo you can think of. Who -the hell are you that a person like Paul should have to ask your -_permission_ to go with me? You act like you were a combination of Queen -Victoria and Cleopatra. You fool, can’t you see how people snicker at -you, and sneer at you?” - -Zilla was sobbing, “I’ve never-- I’ve never--nobody ever talked to me -like this in all my life!” - -“No, but that’s the way they talk behind your back! Always! They say -you’re a scolding old woman. Old, by God!” - -That cowardly attack broke her. Her eyes were blank. She wept. But -Babbitt glared stolidly. He felt that he was the all-powerful official -in charge; that Paul and Mrs. Babbitt looked on him with awe; that he -alone could handle this case. - -Zilla writhed. She begged, “Oh, they don’t!” - -“They certainly do!” - -“I’ve been a bad woman! I’m terribly sorry! I’ll kill myself! I’ll do -anything. Oh, I’ll-- What do you want?” - -She abased herself completely. Also, she enjoyed it. To the connoisseur -of scenes, nothing is more enjoyable than a thorough, melodramatic, -egoistic humility. - -“I want you to let Paul beat it off to Maine with me,” Babbitt demanded. - -“How can I help his going? You’ve just said I was an idiot and nobody -paid any attention to me.” - -“Oh, you can help it, all right, all right! What you got to do is to cut -out hinting that the minute he gets out of your sight, he’ll go chasing -after some petticoat. Matter fact, that’s the way you start the boy off -wrong. You ought to have more sense--” - -“Oh, I will, honestly, I will, George. I know I was bad. Oh, forgive me, -all of you, forgive me--” - -She enjoyed it. - -So did Babbitt. He condemned magnificently and forgave piously, and as -he went parading out with his wife he was grandly explanatory to her: - -“Kind of a shame to bully Zilla, but course it was the only way to -handle her. Gosh, I certainly did have her crawling!” - -She said calmly, “Yes. You were horrid. You were showing off. You were -having a lovely time thinking what a great fine person you were!” - -“Well, by golly! Can you beat it! Of course I might of expected you to -not stand by me! I might of expected you’d stick up for your own sex!” - -“Yes. Poor Zilla, she’s so unhappy. She takes it out on Paul. She hasn’t -a single thing to do, in that little flat. And she broods too much. And -she used to be so pretty and gay, and she resents losing it. And you -were just as nasty and mean as you could be. I’m not a bit proud of -you--or of Paul, boasting about his horrid love-affairs!” - -He was sulkily silent; he maintained his bad temper at a high level of -outraged nobility all the four blocks home. At the door he left her, in -self-approving haughtiness, and tramped the lawn. - -With a shock it was revealed to him: “Gosh, I wonder if she was -right--if she was partly right?” Overwork must have flayed him to -abnormal sensitiveness; it was one of the few times in his life when he -had queried his eternal excellence; and he perceived the summer night, -smelled the wet grass. Then: “I don’t care! I’ve pulled it off. We’re -going to have our spree. And for Paul, I’d do anything.” - - -II - -They were buying their Maine tackle at Ijams Brothers’, the Sporting -Goods Mart, with the help of Willis Ijams, fellow member of the -Boosters’ Club. Babbitt was completely mad. He trumpeted and danced. He -muttered to Paul, “Say, this is pretty good, eh? To be buying the stuff, -eh? And good old Willis Ijams himself coming down on the floor to wait -on us! Say, if those fellows that are getting their kit for the North -Lakes knew we were going clear up to Maine, they’d have a fit, eh?... -Well, come on, Brother Ijams--Willis, I mean. Here’s your chance! We’re -a couple of easy marks! Whee! Let me at it! I’m going to buy out the -store!” - -He gloated on fly-rods and gorgeous rubber hip-boots, on tents with -celluloid windows and folding chairs and ice-boxes. He simple-heartedly -wanted to buy all of them. It was the Paul whom he was always vaguely -protecting who kept him from his drunken desires. - -But even Paul lightened when Willis Ijams, a salesman with poetry and -diplomacy, discussed flies. “Now, of course, you boys know,” he said, -“the great scrap is between dry flies and wet flies. Personally, I’m for -dry flies. More sporting.” - -“That’s so. Lots more sporting,” fulminated Babbitt, who knew very -little about flies either wet or dry. - -“Now if you’ll take my advice, Georgie, you’ll stock up well on these -pale evening dims, and silver sedges, and red ants. Oh, boy, there’s a -fly, that red ant!” - -“You bet! That’s what it is--a fly!” rejoiced Babbitt. - -“Yes, sir, that red ant,” said Ijams, “is a real honest-to-God _fly_!” - -“Oh, I guess ole Mr. Trout won’t come a-hustling when I drop one of -those red ants on the water!” asserted Babbitt, and his thick wrists -made a rapturous motion of casting. - -“Yes, and the landlocked salmon will take it, too,” said Ijams, who had -never seen a landlocked salmon. - -“Salmon! Trout! Say, Paul, can you see Uncle George with his khaki pants -on haulin’ ’em in, some morning ’bout seven? Whee!” - - -III - -They were on the New York express, incredibly bound for Maine, -incredibly without their families. They were free, in a man’s world, in -the smoking-compartment of the Pullman. - -Outside the car window was a glaze of darkness stippled with the gold of -infrequent mysterious lights. Babbitt was immensely conscious, in the -sway and authoritative clatter of the train, of going, of going on. -Leaning toward Paul he grunted, “Gosh, pretty nice to be hiking, eh?” - -The small room, with its walls of ocher-colored steel, was filled mostly -with the sort of men he classified as the Best Fellows You’ll Ever -Meet--Real Good Mixers. There were four of them on the long seat; a fat -man with a shrewd fat face, a knife-edged man in a green velour hat, a -very young young man with an imitation amber cigarette-holder, and -Babbitt. Facing them, on two movable leather chairs, were Paul and a -lanky, old-fashioned man, very cunning, with wrinkles bracketing his -mouth. They all read newspapers or trade journals, boot-and-shoe -journals, crockery journals, and waited for the joys of conversation. It -was the very young man, now making his first journey by Pullman, who -began it. - -“Say, gee, I had a wild old time in Zenith!” he gloried. “Say, if a -fellow knows the ropes there he can have as wild a time as he can in New -York!” - -“Yuh, I bet you simply raised the old Ned. I figured you were a bad man -when I saw you get on the train!” chuckled the fat one. - -The others delightedly laid down their papers. - -“Well, that’s all right now! I guess I seen some things in the Arbor you -never seen!” complained the boy. - -“Oh, I’ll bet you did! I bet you lapped up the malted milk like a -reg’lar little devil!” - -Then, the boy having served as introduction, they ignored him and -charged into real talk. Only Paul, sitting by himself, reading at a -serial story in a newspaper, failed to join them, and all but Babbitt -regarded him as a snob, an eccentric, a person of no spirit. - -Which of them said which has never been determined, and does not matter, -since they all had the same ideas and expressed them always with the -same ponderous and brassy assurance. If it was not Babbitt who was -delivering any given verdict, at least he was beaming on the chancellor -who did deliver it. - -“At that, though,” announced the first, “they’re selling quite some booze -in Zenith. Guess they are everywhere. I don’t know how you fellows feel -about prohibition, but the way it strikes me is that it’s a mighty -beneficial thing for the poor zob that hasn’t got any will-power but for -fellows like us, it’s an infringement of personal liberty.” - -“That’s a fact. Congress has got no right to interfere with a fellow’s -personal liberty,” contended the second. - -A man came in from the car, but as all the seats were full he stood up -while he smoked his cigarette. He was an Outsider; he was not one of the -Old Families of the smoking-compartment. They looked upon him bleakly -and, after trying to appear at ease by examining his chin in the mirror, -he gave it up and went out in silence. - -“Just been making a trip through the South. Business conditions not very -good down there,” said one of the council. - -“Is that a fact! Not very good, eh?” - -“No, didn’t strike me they were up to normal.” - -“Not up to normal, eh?” - -“No, I wouldn’t hardly say they were.” - -The whole council nodded sagely and decided, “Yump, not hardly up to -snuff.” - -“Well, business conditions ain’t what they ought to be out West, -neither, not by a long shot.” - -“That’s a fact. And I guess the hotel business feels it. That’s one good -thing, though: these hotels that’ve been charging five bucks a day--yes, -and maybe six-seven!--for a rotten room are going to be darn glad to get -four, and maybe give you a little service.” - -“That’s a fact. Say, uh, speaknubout hotels, I hit the St. Francis at -San Francisco for the first time, the other day, and, say, it certainly -is a first-class place.” - -“You’re right, brother! The St. Francis is a swell place--absolutely -A1.” - -“That’s a fact. I’m right with you. It’s a first-class place.” - -“Yuh, but say, any of you fellows ever stay at the Rippleton, in -Chicago? I don’t want to knock-- I believe in boosting wherever you -can--but say, of all the rotten dumps that pass ’emselves off as -first-class hotels, that’s the worst. I’m going to _get_ those guys, one -of these days, and I told ’em so. You know how I am--well, maybe you -don’t know, but I’m accustomed to first-class accommodations, and I’m -perfectly willing to pay a reasonable price. I got into Chicago late the -other night, and the Rippleton’s near the station-- I’d never been there -before, but I says to the taxi-driver-- I always believe in taking a taxi -when you get in late; may cost a little more money, but, gosh, it’s -worth it when you got to be up early next morning and out selling a lot -of crabs--and I said to him, ‘Oh, just drive me over to the Rippleton.’ - -“Well, we got there, and I breezed up to the desk and said to the clerk, -‘Well, brother, got a nice room with bath for Cousin Bill?’ Saaaay! -You’d ’a’ thought I’d sold him a second, or asked him to work on Yom -Kippur! He hands me the cold-boiled stare and yaps, ‘I dunno, friend, -I’ll see,’ and he ducks behind the rigamajig they keep track of the -rooms on. Well, I guess he called up the Credit Association and the -American Security League to see if I was all right--he certainly took -long enough--or maybe he just went to sleep; but finally he comes out -and looks at me like it hurts him, and croaks, ‘I think I can let you -have a room with bath.’ ‘Well, that’s awful nice of you--sorry to -trouble you--how much’ll it set me back?’ I says, real sweet. ‘It’ll -cost you seven bucks a day, friend,’ he says. - -“Well, it was late, and anyway, it went down on my -expense-account--gosh, if I’d been paying it instead of the firm, I’d -’a’ tramped the streets all night before I’d ’a’ let any hick tavern -stick me seven great big round dollars, believe me! So I lets it go at -that. Well, the clerk wakes a nice young bellhop--fine lad--not a day -over seventy-nine years old--fought at the Battle of Gettysburg and -doesn’t know it’s over yet--thought I was one of the Confederates, I -guess, from the way he looked at me--and Rip van Winkle took me up to -something-- I found out afterwards they called it a room, but first I -thought there’d been some mistake-- I thought they were putting me in the -Salvation Army collection-box! At seven _per_ each and every _diem_! -Gosh!” - -“Yuh, I’ve heard the Rippleton was pretty cheesy. Now, when I go to -Chicago I always stay at the Blackstone or the La Salle--first-class -places.” - -“Say, any of you fellows ever stay at the Birchdale at Terre Haute? How -is it?” - -“Oh, the Birchdale is a first-class hotel.” - -(Twelve minutes of conference on the state of hotels in South Bend, -Flint, Dayton, Tulsa, Wichita, Fort Worth, Winona, Erie, Fargo, and -Moose Jaw.) - -“Speaknubout prices,” the man in the velour hat observed, fingering the -elk-tooth on his heavy watch-chain, “I’d like to know where they get -this stuff about clothes coming down. Now, you take this suit I got on.” -He pinched his trousers-leg. “Four years ago I paid forty-two fifty for -it, and it was real sure-’nough value. Well, here the other day I went -into a store back home and asked to see a suit, and the fellow yanks out -some hand-me-downs that, honest, I wouldn’t put on a hired man. Just out -of curiosity I asks him, ‘What you charging for that junk?’ ‘Junk,’ he -says, ‘what d’ you mean junk? That’s a swell piece of goods, all wool--’ -Like hell! It was nice vegetable wool, right off the Ole Plantation! -‘It’s all wool,’ he says, ‘and we get sixty-seven ninety for it.’ ‘Oh, -you do, do you!’ I says. ‘Not from me you don’t,’ I says, and I walks -right out on him. You bet! I says to the wife, ‘Well,’ I said, ‘as long -as your strength holds out and you can go on putting a few more patches -on papa’s pants, we’ll just pass up buying clothes.’” - -“That’s right, brother. And just look at collars, frinstance--” - -“Hey! Wait!” the fat man protested. “What’s the matter with collars? I’m -selling collars! D’you realize the cost of labor on collars is still two -hundred and seven per cent. above--” - -They voted that if their old friend the fat man sold collars, then the -price of collars was exactly what it should be; but all other clothing -was tragically too expensive. They admired and loved one another now. -They went profoundly into the science of business, and indicated that -the purpose of manufacturing a plow or a brick was so that it might be -sold. To them, the Romantic Hero was no longer the knight, the wandering -poet, the cowpuncher, the aviator, nor the brave young district -attorney, but the great sales-manager, who had an Analysis of -Merchandizing Problems on his glass-topped desk, whose title of nobility -was “Go-getter,” and who devoted himself and all his young samurai to -the cosmic purpose of Selling--not of selling anything in particular, -for or to anybody in particular, but pure Selling. - -The shop-talk roused Paul Riesling. Though he was a player of violins -and an interestingly unhappy husband, he was also a very able salesman -of tar-roofing. He listened to the fat man’s remarks on “the value of -house-organs and bulletins as a method of jazzing-up the Boys out on the -road;” and he himself offered one or two excellent thoughts on the use -of two-cent stamps on circulars. Then he committed an offense against -the holy law of the Clan of Good Fellows. He became highbrow. - -They were entering a city. On the outskirts they passed a steel-mill -which flared in scarlet and orange flame that licked at the cadaverous -stacks, at the iron-sheathed walls and sullen converters. - -“My Lord, look at that--beautiful!” said Paul. - -“You bet it’s beautiful, friend. That’s the Shelling-Horton Steel Plant, -and they tell me old John Shelling made a good three million bones out -of munitions during the war!” the man with the velour hat said -reverently. - -“I didn’t mean-- I mean it’s lovely the way the light pulls that -picturesque yard, all littered with junk, right out of the darkness,” -said Paul. - -They stared at him, while Babbitt crowed, “Paul there has certainly got -one great little eye for picturesque places and quaint sights and all -that stuff. ’D of been an author or something if he hadn’t gone into the -roofing line.” - -Paul looked annoyed. (Babbitt sometimes wondered if Paul appreciated his -loyal boosting.) The man in the velour hat grunted, “Well, personally, I -think Shelling-Horton keep their works awful dirty. Bum routing. But I -don’t suppose there’s any law against calling ’em ‘picturesque’ if it -gets you that way!” - -Paul sulkily returned to his newspaper and the conversation logically -moved on to trains. - -“What time do we get into Pittsburg?” asked Babbitt. - -“Pittsburg? I think we get in at--no, that was last year’s -schedule--wait a minute--let’s see--got a time-table right here.” - -“I wonder if we’re on time?” - -“Yuh, sure, we must be just about on time.” - -“No, we aren’t--we were seven minutes late, last station.” - -“Were we? Straight? Why, gosh, I thought we were right on time.” - -“No, we’re about seven minutes late.” - -“Yuh, that’s right; seven minutes late.” - -The porter entered--a negro in white jacket with brass buttons. - -“How late are we, George?” growled the fat man. - -“’Deed, I don’t know, sir. I think we’re about on time,” said the -porter, folding towels and deftly tossing them up on the rack above the -washbowls. The council stared at him gloomily and when he was gone they -wailed: - -“I don’t know what’s come over these niggers, nowadays. They never give -you a civil answer.” - -“That’s a fact. They’re getting so they don’t have a single bit of -respect for you. The old-fashioned coon was a fine old cuss--he knew his -place--but these young dinges don’t want to be porters or -cotton-pickers. Oh, no! They got to be lawyers and professors and Lord -knows what all! I tell you, it’s becoming a pretty serious problem. We -ought to get together and show the black man, yes, and the yellow man, -his place. Now, I haven’t got one particle of race-prejudice. I’m the -first to be glad when a nigger succeeds--so long as he stays where he -belongs and doesn’t try to usurp the rightful authority and business -ability of the white man.” - -“That’s the i.! And another thing we got to do,” said the man with the -velour hat (whose name was Koplinsky), “is to keep these damn foreigners -out of the country. Thank the Lord, we’re putting a limit on -immigration. These Dagoes and Hunkies have got to learn that this is a -white man’s country, and they ain’t wanted here. When we’ve assimilated -the foreigners we got here now and learned ’em the principles of -Americanism and turned ’em into regular folks, why then maybe we’ll let -in a few more.” - -“You bet. That’s a fact,” they observed, and passed on to lighter -topics. They rapidly reviewed motor-car prices, tire-mileage, -oil-stocks, fishing, and the prospects for the wheat-crop in Dakota. - -But the fat man was impatient at this waste of time. He was a veteran -traveler and free of illusions. Already he had asserted that he was “an -old he-one.” He leaned forward, gathered in their attention by his -expression of sly humor, and grumbled, “Oh, hell, boys, let’s cut out -the formality and get down to the stories!” - -They became very lively and intimate. - -Paul and the boy vanished. The others slid forward on the long seat, -unbuttoned their vests, thrust their feet up on the chairs, pulled the -stately brass cuspidors nearer, and ran the green window-shade down on -its little trolley, to shut them in from the uncomfortable strangeness -of night. After each bark of laughter they cried, “Say, jever hear the -one about--” Babbitt was expansive and virile. When the train stopped at -an important station, the four men walked up and down the cement -platform, under the vast smoky train-shed roof, like a stormy sky, under -the elevated footways, beside crates of ducks and sides of beef, in the -mystery of an unknown city. They strolled abreast, old friends and well -content. At the long-drawn “Alllll aboarrrrrd”--like a mountain call at -dusk--they hastened back into the smoking-compartment, and till two of -the morning continued the droll tales, their eyes damp with cigar-smoke -and laughter. When they parted they shook hands, and chuckled, “Well, -sir, it’s been a great session. Sorry to bust it up. Mighty glad to met -you.” - -Babbitt lay awake in the close hot tomb of his Pullman berth, shaking -with remembrance of the fat man’s limerick about the lady who wished to -be wild. He raised the shade; he lay with a puffy arm tucked between his -head and the skimpy pillow, looking out on the sliding silhouettes of -trees, and village lamps like exclamation-points. He was very happy. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -I - -They had four hours in New York between trains. The one thing Babbitt -wished to see was the Pennsylvania Hotel, which had been built since his -last visit. He stared up at it, muttering, “Twenty-two hundred rooms and -twenty-two hundred baths! That’s got everything in the world beat. Lord, -their turnover must be--well, suppose price of rooms is four to eight -dollars a day, and I suppose maybe some ten and--four times twenty-two -hundred--say six times twenty-two hundred--well, anyway, with -restaurants and everything, say summers between eight and fifteen -thousand a day. Every day! I never thought I’d see a thing like that! -Some town! Of course the average fellow in Zenith has got more -Individual Initiative than the fourflushers here, but I got to hand it -to New York. Yes, sir, town, you’re all right--some ways. Well, old -Paulski, I guess we’ve seen everything that’s worth while. How’ll we -kill the rest of the time? Movie?” - -But Paul desired to see a liner. “Always wanted to go to Europe--and, by -thunder, I will, too, some day before I pass out,” he sighed. - -From a rough wharf on the North River they stared at the stern of the -_Aquitania_ and her stacks and wireless antennæ lifted above the -dock-house which shut her in. - -“By golly,” Babbitt droned, “wouldn’t be so bad to go over to the Old -Country and take a squint at all these ruins, and the place where -Shakespeare was born. And think of being able to order a drink whenever -you wanted one! Just range up to a bar and holler out loud, ‘Gimme a -cocktail, and darn the police!’ Not bad at all. What juh like to see, -over there, Paulibus?” - -Paul did not answer. Babbitt turned. Paul was standing with clenched -fists, head drooping, staring at the liner as in terror. His thin body, -seen against the summer-glaring planks of the wharf, was childishly -meager. - -Again, “What would you hit for on the other side, Paul?” - -Scowling at the steamer, his breast heaving, Paul whispered, “Oh, my -God!” While Babbitt watched him anxiously he snapped, “Come on, let’s -get out of this,” and hastened down the wharf, not looking back. - -“That’s funny,” considered Babbitt. “The boy didn’t care for seeing the -ocean boats after all. I thought he’d be interested in ’em.” - - -II - -Though he exulted, and made sage speculations about locomotive -horse-power, as their train climbed the Maine mountain-ridge and from -the summit he looked down the shining way among the pines; though he -remarked, “Well, by golly!” when he discovered that the station at -Katadumcook, the end of the line, was an aged freight-car; Babbitt’s -moment of impassioned release came when they sat on a tiny wharf on Lake -Sunasquam, awaiting the launch from the hotel. A raft had floated down -the lake; between the logs and the shore, the water was transparent, -thin-looking, flashing with minnows. A guide in black felt hat with -trout-flies in the band, and flannel shirt of a peculiarly daring blue, -sat on a log and whittled and was silent. A dog, a good country dog, -black and woolly gray, a dog rich in leisure and in meditation, -scratched and grunted and slept. The thick sunlight was lavish on the -bright water, on the rim of gold-green balsam boughs, the silver birches -and tropic ferns, and across the lake it burned on the sturdy shoulders -of the mountains. Over everything was a holy peace. - -Silent, they loafed on the edge of the wharf, swinging their legs above -the water. The immense tenderness of the place sank into Babbitt, and -he murmured, “I’d just like to sit here--the rest of my life--and -whittle--and sit. And never hear a typewriter. Or Stan Graff fussing in -the ’phone. Or Rone and Ted scrapping. Just sit. Gosh!” - -He patted Paul’s shoulder. “How does it strike you, old snoozer?” - -“Oh, it’s darn good, Georgie. There’s something sort of eternal about -it.” - -For once, Babbitt understood him. - - -III - -Their launch rounded the bend; at the head of the lake, under a mountain -slope, they saw the little central dining-shack of their hotel and the -crescent of squat log cottages which served as bedrooms. They landed, -and endured the critical examination of the habitués who had been at the -hotel for a whole week. In their cottage, with its high stone fireplace, -they hastened, as Babbitt expressed it, to “get into some regular -he-togs.” They came out; Paul in an old gray suit and soft white shirt; -Babbitt in khaki shirt and vast and flapping khaki trousers. It was -excessively new khaki; his rimless spectacles belonged to a city office; -and his face was not tanned but a city pink. He made a discordant noise -in the place. But with infinite satisfaction he slapped his legs and -crowed, “Say, this is getting back home, eh?” - -They stood on the wharf before the hotel. He winked at Paul and drew -from his back pocket a plug of chewing-tobacco, a vulgarism forbidden in -the Babbitt home. He took a chew, beaming and wagging his head as he -tugged at it. “Um! Um! Maybe I haven’t been hungry for a wad of -eating-tobacco! Have some?” - -They looked at each other in a grin of understanding. Paul took the -plug, gnawed at it. They stood quiet, their jaws working. They solemnly -spat, one after the other, into the placid water. They stretched -voluptuously, with lifted arms and arched backs. From beyond the -mountains came the shuffling sound of a far-off train. A trout leaped, -and fell back in a silver circle. They sighed together. - - -IV - -They had a week before their families came. Each evening they planned to -get up early and fish before breakfast. Each morning they lay abed till -the breakfast-bell, pleasantly conscious that there were no efficient -wives to rouse them. The mornings were cold; the fire was kindly as they -dressed. - -Paul was distressingly clean, but Babbitt reveled in a good sound -dirtiness, in not having to shave till his spirit was moved to it. He -treasured every grease spot and fish-scale on his new khaki trousers. - -All morning they fished unenergetically, or tramped the dim and -aqueous-lighted trails among rank ferns and moss sprinkled with crimson -bells. They slept all afternoon, and till midnight played stud-poker -with the guides. Poker was a serious business to the guides. They did -not gossip; they shuffled the thick greasy cards with a deft ferocity -menacing to the “sports;” and Joe Paradise, king of guides, was -sarcastic to loiterers who halted the game even to scratch. - -At midnight, as Paul and he blundered to their cottage over the pungent -wet grass, and pine-roots confusing in the darkness, Babbitt rejoiced -that he did not have to explain to his wife where he had been all -evening. - -They did not talk much. The nervous loquacity and opinionation of the -Zenith Athletic Club dropped from them. But when they did talk they -slipped into the naïve intimacy of college days. Once they drew their -canoe up to the bank of Sunasquam Water, a stream walled in by the dense -green of the hardhack. The sun roared on the green jungle but in the -shade was sleepy peace, and the water was golden and rippling. Babbitt -drew his hand through the cool flood, and mused: - -“We never thought we’d come to Maine together!” - -“No. We’ve never done anything the way we thought we would. I expected -to live in Germany with my granddad’s people, and study the fiddle.” - -“That’s so. And remember how I wanted to be a lawyer and go into -politics? I still think I might have made a go of it. I’ve kind of got -the gift of the gab--anyway, I can think on my feet, and make some kind -of a spiel on most anything, and of course that’s the thing you need in -politics. By golly, Ted’s going to law-school, even if I didn’t! Well-- I -guess it’s worked out all right. Myra’s been a fine wife. And Zilla -means well, Paulibus.” - -“Yes. Up here, I figure out all sorts of plans to keep her amused. I -kind of feel life is going to be different, now that we’re getting a -good rest and can go back and start over again.” - -“I hope so, old boy.” Shyly: “Say, gosh, it’s been awful nice to sit -around and loaf and gamble and act regular, with you along, you old -horse-thief!” - -“Well, you know what it means to me, Georgie. Saved my life.” - -The shame of emotion overpowered them; they cursed a little, to prove -they were good rough fellows; and in a mellow silence, Babbitt whistling -while Paul hummed, they paddled back to the hotel. - - -V - -Though it was Paul who had seemed overwrought, Babbitt who had been the -protecting big brother, Paul became clear-eyed and merry, while Babbitt -sank into irritability. He uncovered layer on layer of hidden weariness. -At first he had played nimble jester to Paul and for him sought -amusements; by the end of the week Paul was nurse, and Babbitt accepted -favors with the condescension one always shows a patient nurse. - -The day before their families arrived, the women guests at the hotel -bubbled, “Oh, isn’t it nice! You must be so excited;” and the -proprieties compelled Babbitt and Paul to look excited. But they went to -bed early and grumpy. - -When Myra appeared she said at once, “Now, we want you boys to go on -playing around just as if we weren’t here.” - -The first evening, he stayed out for poker with the guides, and she said -in placid merriment, “My! You’re a regular bad one!” The second evening, -she groaned sleepily, “Good heavens, are you going to be out every -single night?” The third evening, he didn’t play poker. - -He was tired now in every cell. “Funny! Vacation doesn’t seem to have -done me a bit of good,” he lamented. “Paul’s frisky as a colt, but I -swear, I’m crankier and nervouser than when I came up here.” - -He had three weeks of Maine. At the end of the second week he began to -feel calm, and interested in life. He planned an expedition to climb -Sachem Mountain, and wanted to camp overnight at Box Car Pond. He was -curiously weak, yet cheerful, as though he had cleansed his veins of -poisonous energy and was filling them with wholesome blood. - -He ceased to be irritated by Ted’s infatuation with a waitress (his -seventh tragic affair this year); he played catch with Ted, and with -pride taught him to cast a fly in the pine-shadowed silence of Skowtuit -Pond. - -At the end he sighed, “Hang it, I’m just beginning to enjoy my vacation. -But, well, I feel a lot better. And it’s going to be one great year! -Maybe the Real Estate Board will elect me president, instead of some -fuzzy old-fashioned faker like Chan Mott.” - -On the way home, whenever he went into the smoking-compartment he felt -guilty at deserting his wife and angry at being expected to feel guilty, -but each time he triumphed, “Oh, this is going to be a great year, a -great old year!” - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -I - -All the way home from Maine, Babbitt was certain that he was a changed -man. He was converted to serenity. He was going to cease worrying about -business. He was going to have more “interests”--theaters, public -affairs, reading. And suddenly, as he finished an especially heavy -cigar, he was going to stop smoking. - -He invented a new and perfect method. He would buy no tobacco; he would -depend on borrowing it; and, of course, he would be ashamed to borrow -often. In a spasm of righteousness he flung his cigar-case out of the -smoking-compartment window. He went back and was kind to his wife about -nothing in particular; he admired his own purity, and decided, -“Absolutely simple. Just a matter of will-power.” He started a magazine -serial about a scientific detective. Ten miles on, he was conscious that -he desired to smoke. He ducked his head, like a turtle going into its -shell; he appeared uneasy; he skipped two pages in his story and didn’t -know it. Five miles later, he leaped up and sought the porter. “Say, uh, -George, have you got a--” The porter looked patient. “Have you got a -time-table?” Babbitt finished. At the next stop he went out and bought a -cigar. Since it was to be his last before he reached Zenith, he finished -it down to an inch stub. - -Four days later he again remembered that he had stopped smoking, but he -was too busy catching up with his office-work to keep it remembered. - - -II - -Baseball, he determined, would be an excellent hobby. “No sense a man’s -working his fool head off. I’m going out to the Game three times a -week. Besides, fellow ought to support the home team.” - -He did go and support the team, and enhance the glory of Zenith, by -yelling “Attaboy!” and “Rotten!” He performed the rite scrupulously. He -wore a cotton handkerchief about his collar; he became sweaty; he opened -his mouth in a wide loose grin; and drank lemon soda out of a bottle. He -went to the Game three times a week, for one week. Then he compromised -on watching the _Advocate-Times_ bulletin-board. He stood in the -thickest and steamiest of the crowd, and as the boy up on the lofty -platform recorded the achievements of Big Bill Bostwick, the pitcher, -Babbitt remarked to complete strangers, “Pretty nice! Good work!” and -hastened back to the office. - -He honestly believed that he loved baseball. It is true that he hadn’t, -in twenty-five years, himself played any baseball except back-lot catch -with Ted--very gentle, and strictly limited to ten minutes. But the game -was a custom of his clan, and it gave outlet for the homicidal and -sides-taking instincts which Babbitt called “patriotism” and “love of -sport.” - -As he approached the office he walked faster and faster, muttering, -“Guess better hustle.” All about him the city was hustling, for -hustling’s sake. Men in motors were hustling to pass one another in the -hustling traffic. Men were hustling to catch trolleys, with another -trolley a minute behind, and to leap from the trolleys, to gallop across -the sidewalk, to hurl themselves into buildings, into hustling express -elevators. Men in dairy lunches were hustling to gulp down the food -which cooks had hustled to fry. Men in barber shops were snapping, “Jus’ -shave me once over. Gotta hustle.” Men were feverishly getting rid of -visitors in offices adorned with the signs, “This Is My Busy Day” and -“The Lord Created the World in Six Days--You Can Spiel All You Got to -Say in Six Minutes.” Men who had made five thousand, year before last, -and ten thousand last year, were urging on nerve-yelping bodies and -parched brains so that they might make twenty thousand this year; and -the men who had broken down immediately after making their twenty -thousand dollars were hustling to catch trains, to hustle through the -vacations which the hustling doctors had ordered. - -Among them Babbitt hustled back to his office, to sit down with nothing -much to do except see that the staff looked as though they were -hustling. - - -III - -Every Saturday afternoon he hustled out to his country club and hustled -through nine holes of golf as a rest after the week’s hustle. - -In Zenith it was as necessary for a Successful Man to belong to a -country club as it was to wear a linen collar. Babbitt’s was the Outing -Golf and Country Club, a pleasant gray-shingled building with a broad -porch, on a daisy-starred cliff above Lake Kennepoose. There was -another, the Tonawanda Country Club, to which belonged Charles McKelvey, -Horace Updike, and the other rich men who lunched not at the Athletic -but at the Union Club. Babbitt explained with frequency, “You couldn’t -hire me to join the Tonawanda, even if I did have a hundred and eighty -bucks to throw away on the initiation fee. At the Outing we’ve got a -bunch of real human fellows, and the finest lot of little women in -town--just as good at joshing as the men--but at the Tonawanda there’s -nothing but these would-be’s in New York get-ups, drinking tea! Too much -dog altogether. Why, I wouldn’t join the Tonawanda even if they-- I -wouldn’t join it on a bet!” - -When he had played four or five holes, he relaxed a bit, his -tobacco-fluttering heart beat more normally, and his voice slowed to the -drawling of his hundred generations of peasant ancestors. - - -IV - -At least once a week Mr. and Mrs. Babbitt and Tinka went to the movies. -Their favorite motion-picture theater was the Château, which held three -thousand spectators and had an orchestra of fifty pieces which played -Arrangements from the Operas and suites portraying a Day on the Farm, or -a Four-alarm Fire. In the stone rotunda, decorated with -crown-embroidered velvet chairs and almost medieval tapestries, -parrakeets sat on gilded lotos columns. - -With exclamations of “Well, by golly!” and “You got to go some to beat -this dump!” Babbitt admired the Château. As he stared across the -thousands of heads, a gray plain in the dimness, as he smelled good -clothes and mild perfume and chewing-gum, he felt as when he had first -seen a mountain and realized how very, very much earth and rock there -was in it. - -He liked three kinds of films: pretty bathing girls with bare legs; -policemen or cowboys and an industrious shooting of revolvers; and funny -fat men who ate spaghetti. He chuckled with immense, moist-eyed -sentimentality at interludes portraying puppies, kittens, and chubby -babies; and he wept at deathbeds and old mothers being patient in -mortgaged cottages. Mrs. Babbitt preferred the pictures in which -handsome young women in elaborate frocks moved through sets ticketed as -the drawing-rooms of New York millionaires. As for Tinka, she preferred, -or was believed to prefer, whatever her parents told her to. - -All his relaxations--baseball, golf, movies, bridge, motoring, long -talks with Paul at the Athletic Club, or at the Good Red Beef and Old -English Chop House--were necessary to Babbitt, for he was entering a -year of such activity as he had never known. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -I - -It was by accident that Babbitt had his opportunity to address the S. A. -R. E. B. - -The S. A. R. E. B., as its members called it, with the universal passion -for mysterious and important-sounding initials, was the State -Association of Real Estate Boards; the organization of brokers and -operators. It was to hold its annual convention at Monarch, Zenith’s -chief rival among the cities of the state. Babbitt was an official -delegate; another was Cecil Rountree, whom Babbitt admired for his -picaresque speculative building, and hated for his social position, for -being present at the smartest dances on Royal Ridge. Rountree was -chairman of the convention program-committee. - -Babbitt had growled to him, “Makes me tired the way these doctors and -profs and preachers put on lugs about being ‘professional men.’ A good -realtor has to have more knowledge and finesse than any of ’em.” - -“Right you are! I say: Why don’t you put that into a paper, and give it -at the S. A. R. E. B.?” suggested Rountree. - -“Well, if it would help you in making up the program-- Tell you: the way -I look at it is this: First place, we ought to insist that folks call us -‘realtors’ and not ‘real-estate men.’ Sounds more like a reg’lar -profession. Second place-- What is it distinguishes a profession from a -mere trade, business, or occupation? What is it? Why, it’s the public -service and the skill, the trained skill, and the knowledge and, uh, all -that, whereas a fellow that merely goes out for the jack, he never -considers the--public service and trained skill and so on. Now as a -professional--” - -“Rather! That’s perfectly bully! Perfectly corking! Now you write it in -a paper,” said Rountree, as he rapidly and firmly moved away. - - -II - -However accustomed to the literary labors of advertisements and -correspondence, Babbitt was dismayed on the evening when he sat down to -prepare a paper which would take a whole ten minutes to read. - -He laid out a new fifteen-cent school exercise-book on his wife’s -collapsible sewing-table, set up for the event in the living-room. The -household had been bullied into silence; Verona and Ted requested to -disappear, and Tinka threatened with “If I hear one sound out of you--if -you holler for a glass of water one single solitary time-- You better -not, that’s all!” Mrs. Babbitt sat over by the piano, making a nightgown -and gazing with respect while Babbitt wrote in the exercise-book, to the -rhythmical wiggling and squeaking of the sewing-table. - -When he rose, damp and jumpy, and his throat dusty from cigarettes, she -marveled, “I don’t see how you can just sit down and make up things -right out of your own head!” - -“Oh, it’s the training in constructive imagination that a fellow gets in -modern business life.” - -He had written seven pages, whereof the first page set forth: - -[Illustration] - -The other six pages were rather like the first. - -For a week he went about looking important. Every morning, as he -dressed, he thought aloud: “Jever stop to consider, Myra, that before a -town can have buildings or prosperity or any of those things, some -realtor has got to sell ’em the land? All civilization starts with him. -Jever realize that?” At the Athletic Club he led unwilling men aside to -inquire, “Say, if you had to read a paper before a big convention, would -you start in with the funny stories or just kind of scatter ’em all -through?” He asked Howard Littlefield for a “set of statistics about -real-estate sales; something good and impressive,” and Littlefield -provided something exceedingly good and impressive. - -But it was to T. Cholmondeley Frink that Babbitt most often turned. He -caught Frink at the club every noon, and demanded, while Frink -looked hunted and evasive, “Say, Chum--you’re a shark on this -writing stuff--how would you put this sentence, see here in my -manuscript--manuscript--now where the deuce is that?--oh, yes, here. -Would you say ‘We ought not also to alone think?’ or ‘We ought also not -to think alone?’ or--” - -One evening when his wife was away and he had no one to impress, Babbitt -forgot about Style, Order, and the other mysteries, and scrawled off -what he really thought about the real-estate business and about himself, -and he found the paper written. When he read it to his wife she yearned, -“Why, dear, it’s splendid; beautifully written, and so clear and -interesting, and such splendid ideas! Why, it’s just--it’s just -splendid!” - -Next day he cornered Chum Frink and crowed, “Well, old son, I finished -it last evening! Just lammed it out! I used to think you writing-guys -must have a hard job making up pieces, but Lord, it’s a cinch. Pretty -soft for you fellows; you certainly earn your money easy! Some day when -I get ready to retire, guess I’ll take to writing and show you boys how -to do it. I always used to think I could write better stuff, and more -punch and originality, than all this stuff you see printed, and now I’m -doggone sure of it!” - -He had four copies of the paper typed in black with a gorgeous red -title, had them bound in pale blue manilla, and affably presented one to -old Ira Runyon, the managing editor of the _Advocate-Times_, who said -yes, indeed yes, he was very glad to have it, and he certainly would -read it all through--as soon as he could find time. - -Mrs. Babbitt could not go to Monarch. She had a women’s-club meeting. -Babbitt said that he was very sorry. - - -III - -Besides the five official delegates to the convention--Babbitt, -Rountree, W. A. Rogers, Alvin Thayer, and Elbert Wing--there were fifty -unofficial delegates, most of them with their wives. - -They met at the Union Station for the midnight train to Monarch. All of -them, save Cecil Rountree, who was such a snob that he never wore -badges, displayed celluloid buttons the size of dollars and lettered “We -zoom for Zenith.” The official delegates were magnificent with silver -and magenta ribbons. Martin Lumsen’s little boy Willy carried a tasseled -banner inscribed “Zenith the Zip City--Zeal, Zest and Zowie--1,000,000 -in 1935.” As the delegates arrived, not in taxicabs but in the family -automobile driven by the oldest son or by Cousin Fred, they formed -impromptu processions through the station waiting-room. - -It was a new and enormous waiting-room, with marble pilasters, and -frescoes depicting the exploration of the Chaloosa River Valley by Père -Emile Fauthoux in 1740. The benches were shelves of ponderous mahogany; -the news-stand a marble kiosk with a brass grill. Down the echoing -spaces of the hall the delegates paraded after Willy Lumsen’s banner, -the men waving their cigars, the women conscious of their new frocks -and strings of beads, all singing to the tune of Auld Lang Syne the -official City Song, written by Chum Frink: - - Good old Zenith, - Our kin and kith, - Wherever we may be, - Hats in the ring, - We blithely sing - Of thy Prosperity. - -Warren Whitby, the broker, who had a gift of verse for banquets and -birthdays, had added to Frink’s City Song a special verse for the -realtors’ convention: - - Oh, here we come, - The fellows from - Zenith, the Zip Citee. - We wish to state - In real estate - There’s none so live as we. - -Babbitt was stirred to hysteric patriotism. He leaped on a bench, -shouting to the crowd: - -“What’s the matter with Zenith?” - -“She’s all right!” - -“What’s best ole town in the U. S. A.?” - -“Zeeeeeen-ith!” - -The patient poor people waiting for the midnight train stared in -unenvious wonder--Italian women with shawls, old weary men with broken -shoes, roving road-wise boys in suits which had been flashy when they -were new but which were faded now and wrinkled. - -Babbitt perceived that as an official delegate he must be more -dignified. With Wing and Rogers he tramped up and down the cement -platform beside the waiting Pullmans. Motor-driven baggage-trucks and -red-capped porters carrying bags sped down the platform with an -agreeable effect of activity. Arc-lights glared and stammered overhead. -The glossy yellow sleeping-cars shone impressively. Babbitt made his -voice to be measured and lordly; he thrust out his abdomen and rumbled, -“We got to see to it that the convention lets the Legislature understand -just where they get off in this matter of taxing realty transfers.” Wing -uttered approving grunts and Babbitt swelled--gloated-- - -The blind of a Pullman compartment was raised, and Babbitt looked into -an unfamiliar world. The occupant of the compartment was Lucile -McKelvey, the pretty wife of the millionaire contractor. Possibly, -Babbitt thrilled, she was going to Europe! On the seat beside her was a -bunch of orchids and violets, and a yellow paper-bound book which seemed -foreign. While he stared, she picked up the book, then glanced out of -the window as though she was bored. She must have looked straight at -him, and he had met her, but she gave no sign. She languidly pulled down -the blind, and he stood still, a cold feeling of insignificance in his -heart. - -But on the train his pride was restored by meeting delegates from -Sparta, Pioneer, and other smaller cities of the state, who listened -respectfully when, as a magnifico from the metropolis of Zenith, he -explained politics and the value of a Good Sound Business -Administration. They fell joyfully into shop-talk, the purest and most -rapturous form of conversation: - -“How’d this fellow Rountree make out with this big apartment-hotel he -was going to put up? Whadde do? Get out bonds to finance it?” asked a -Sparta broker. - -“Well, I’ll tell you,” said Babbitt. “Now if I’d been handling it--” - -“So,” Elbert Wing was droning, “I hired this shop-window for a week, and -put up a big sign, ‘Toy Town for Tiny Tots,’ and stuck in a lot of doll -houses and some dinky little trees, and then down at the bottom, ‘Baby -Likes This Dollydale, but Papa and Mama Will Prefer Our Beautiful -Bungalows,’ and you know, that certainly got folks talking, and first -week we sold--” - -The trucks sang “lickety-lick, lickety-lick” as the train ran through -the factory district. Furnaces spurted flame, and power-hammers were -clanging. Red lights, green lights, furious white lights rushed past, -and Babbitt was important again, and eager. - - -IV - -He did a voluptuous thing: he had his clothes pressed on the train. In -the morning, half an hour before they reached Monarch, the porter came -to his berth and whispered, “There’s a drawing-room vacant, sir. I put -your suit in there.” In tan autumn overcoat over his pajamas, Babbitt -slipped down the green-curtain-lined aisle to the glory of his first -private compartment. The porter indicated that he knew Babbitt was used -to a man-servant; he held the ends of Babbitt’s trousers, that the -beautifully sponged garment might not be soiled, filled the bowl in the -private washroom, and waited with a towel. - -To have a private washroom was luxurious. However enlivening a Pullman -smoking-compartment was by night, even to Babbitt it was depressing in -the morning, when it was jammed with fat men in woolen undershirts, -every hook filled with wrinkled cottony shirts, the leather seat piled -with dingy toilet-kits, and the air nauseating with the smell of soap -and toothpaste. Babbitt did not ordinarily think much of privacy, but -now he reveled in it, reveled in his valet, and purred with pleasure as -he gave the man a tip of a dollar and a half. - -He rather hoped that he was being noticed as, in his newly pressed -clothes, with the adoring porter carrying his suit-case, he disembarked -at Monarch. - -He was to share a room at the Hotel Sedgwick with W. A. Rogers, that -shrewd, rustic-looking Zenith dealer in farm-lands. Together they had a -noble breakfast, with waffles, and coffee not in exiguous cups but in -large pots. Babbitt grew expansive, and told Rogers about the art of -writing; he gave a bellboy a quarter to fetch a morning newspaper from -the lobby, and sent to Tinka a post-card: “Papa wishes you were here to -bat round with him.” - - -V - -The meetings of the convention were held in the ballroom of the Allen -House. In an anteroom was the office of the chairman of the executive -committee. He was the busiest man in the convention; he was so busy that -he got nothing done whatever. He sat at a marquetry table, in a room -littered with crumpled paper and, all day long, town-boosters and -lobbyists and orators who wished to lead debates came and whispered to -him, whereupon he looked vague, and said rapidly, “Yes, yes, that’s a -fine idea; we’ll do that,” and instantly forgot all about it, lighted a -cigar and forgot that too, while the telephone rang mercilessly and -about him men kept beseeching, “Say, Mr. Chairman--say, Mr. Chairman!” -without penetrating his exhausted hearing. - -In the exhibit-room were plans of the new suburbs of Sparta, pictures of -the new state capitol, at Galop de Vache, and large ears of corn with -the label, “Nature’s Gold, from Shelby County, the Garden Spot of God’s -Own Country.” - -The real convention consisted of men muttering in hotel bedrooms or in -groups amid the badge-spotted crowd in the hotel-lobby, but there was a -show of public meetings. - -The first of them opened with a welcome by the mayor of Monarch. The -pastor of the First Christian Church of Monarch, a large man with a long -damp frontal lock, informed God that the real-estate men were here now. - -The venerable Minnemagantic realtor, Major Carlton Tuke, read a paper in -which he denounced coöperative stores. William A. Larkin of Eureka gave -a comforting prognosis of “The Prospects for Increased Construction,” -and reminded them that plate-glass prices were two points lower. - -The convention was on. - -The delegates were entertained, incessantly and firmly. The Monarch -Chamber of Commerce gave them a banquet, and the Manufacturers’ -Association an afternoon reception, at which a chrysanthemum was -presented to each of the ladies, and to each of the men a leather -bill-fold inscribed “From Monarch the Mighty Motor Mart.” - -Mrs. Crosby Knowlton, wife of the manufacturer of Fleetwing Automobiles, -opened her celebrated Italian garden and served tea. Six hundred -real-estate men and wives ambled down the autumnal paths. Perhaps three -hundred of them were quietly inconspicuous; perhaps three hundred -vigorously exclaimed, “This is pretty slick, eh?” surreptitiously picked -the late asters and concealed them in their pockets, and tried to get -near enough to Mrs. Knowlton to shake her lovely hand. Without request, -the Zenith delegates (except Rountree) gathered round a marble dancing -nymph and sang “Here we come, the fellows from Zenith, the Zip Citee.” - -It chanced that all the delegates from Pioneer belonged to the Brotherly -and Protective Order of Elks, and they produced an enormous banner -lettered: “B. P. O. E.--Best People on Earth--Boost Pioneer, Oh Eddie.” -Nor was Galop de Vache, the state capital, to be slighted. The leader of -the Galop de Vache delegation was a large, reddish, roundish man, but -active. He took off his coat, hurled his broad black felt hat on the -ground, rolled up his sleeves, climbed upon the sundial, spat, and -bellowed: - -“We’ll tell the world, and the good lady who’s giving the show this -afternoon, that the bonniest burg in this man’s state is Galop de Vache. -You boys can talk about your zip, but jus’ lemme murmur that old Galop -has the largest proportion of home-owning citizens in the state; and -when folks own their homes, they ain’t starting labor-troubles, and -they’re raising kids instead of raising hell! Galop de Vache! The town -for homey folks! The town that eats ’em alive oh, Bosco! -We’ll--tell--the--world!” - -The guests drove off; the garden shivered into quiet. But Mrs. Crosby -Knowlton sighed as she looked at a marble seat warm from five hundred -summers of Amalfi. On the face of a winged sphinx which supported it -some one had drawn a mustache in lead-pencil. Crumpled paper napkins -were dumped among the Michaelmas daisies. On the walk, like shredded -lovely flesh, were the petals of the last gallant rose. Cigarette stubs -floated in the goldfish pool, trailing an evil stain as they swelled and -disintegrated, and beneath the marble seat, the fragments carefully put -together, was a smashed teacup. - - -VI - -As he rode back to the hotel Babbitt reflected, “Myra would have enjoyed -all this social agony.” For himself he cared less for the garden party -than for the motor tours which the Monarch Chamber of Commerce had -arranged. Indefatigably he viewed water-reservoirs, suburban -trolley-stations, and tanneries. He devoured the statistics which were -given to him, and marveled to his roommate, W. A. Rogers, “Of course -this town isn’t a patch on Zenith; it hasn’t got our outlook and natural -resources; but did you know--I nev’ did till to-day--that they -manufactured seven hundred and sixty-three million feet of lumber last -year? What d’ you think of that!” - -He was nervous as the time for reading his paper approached. When he -stood on the low platform before the convention, he trembled and saw -only a purple haze. But he was in earnest, and when he had finished the -formal paper he talked to them, his hands in his pockets, his spectacled -face a flashing disk, like a plate set up on edge in the lamplight. They -shouted “That’s the stuff!” and in the discussion afterward they -referred with impressiveness to “our friend and brother, Mr. George F. -Babbitt.” He had in fifteen minutes changed from a minor delegate to a -personage almost as well known as that diplomat of business, Cecil -Rountree. After the meeting, delegates from all over the state said, -“Hower you, Brother Babbitt?” Sixteen complete strangers called him -“George,” and three men took him into corners to confide, “Mighty glad -you had the courage to stand up and give the Profession a real boost. -Now I’ve always maintained--” - -Next morning, with tremendous casualness, Babbitt asked the girl at the -hotel news-stand for the newspapers from Zenith. There was nothing in -the _Press_, but in the _Advocate-Times_, on the third page-- He gasped. -They had printed his picture and a half-column account. The heading was -“Sensation at Annual Land-men’s Convention. G. F. Babbitt, Prominent -Ziptown Realtor, Keynoter in Fine Address.” - -He murmured reverently, “I guess some of the folks on Floral Heights -will sit up and take notice now, and pay a little attention to old -Georgie!” - - -VII - -It was the last meeting. The delegations were presenting the claims of -their several cities to the next year’s convention. Orators were -announcing that “Galop de Vache, the Capital City, the site of Kremer -College and of the Upholtz Knitting Works, is the recognized center of -culture and high-class enterprise;” and that “Hamburg, the Big Little -City with the Logical Location, where every man is open-handed and every -woman a heaven-born hostess, throws wide to you her hospitable gates.” - -In the midst of these more diffident invitations, the golden doors of -the ballroom opened with a blatting of trumpets, and a circus parade -rolled in. It was composed of the Zenith brokers, dressed as -cowpunchers, bareback riders, Japanese jugglers. At the head was big -Warren Whitby, in the bearskin and gold-and-crimson coat of a -drum-major. Behind him, as a clown, beating a bass drum, extraordinarily -happy and noisy, was Babbitt. - -Warren Whitby leaped on the platform, made merry play with his baton, -and observed, “Boyses and girlses, the time has came to get down to -cases. A dyed-in-the-wool Zenithite sure loves his neighbors, but we’ve -made up our minds to grab this convention off our neighbor burgs like -we’ve grabbed the condensed-milk business and the paper-box business -and--” - -J. Harry Barmhill, the convention chairman, hinted, “We’re grateful to -you, Mr. Uh, but you must give the other boys a chance to hand in their -bids now.” - -A fog-horn voice blared, “In Eureka we’ll promise free motor rides -through the prettiest country--” - -Running down the aisle, clapping his hands, a lean bald young man cried, -“I’m from Sparta! Our Chamber of Commerce has wired me they’ve set aside -eight thousand dollars, in real money, for the entertainment of the -convention!” - -A clerical-looking man rose to clamor, “Money talks! Move we accept the -bid from Sparta!” - -It was accepted. - - -VIII - -The Committee on Resolutions was reporting. They said that Whereas -Almighty God in his beneficent mercy had seen fit to remove to a sphere -of higher usefulness some thirty-six realtors of the state the past -year, Therefore it was the sentiment of this convention assembled that -they were sorry God had done it, and the secretary should be, and hereby -was, instructed to spread these resolutions on the minutes, and to -console the bereaved families by sending them each a copy. - -A second resolution authorized the president of the S.A.R.E.B. to spend -fifteen thousand dollars in lobbying for sane tax measures in the State -Legislature. This resolution had a good deal to say about Menaces to -Sound Business and clearing the Wheels of Progress from ill-advised and -short-sighted obstacles. - -The Committee on Committees reported, and with startled awe Babbitt -learned that he had been appointed a member of the Committee on Torrens -Titles. - -He rejoiced, “I said it was going to be a great year! Georgie, old son, -you got big things ahead of you! You’re a natural-born orator and a good -mixer and-- Zowie!” - - -IX - -There was no formal entertainment provided for the last evening. Babbitt -had planned to go home, but that afternoon the Jered Sassburgers of -Pioneer suggested that Babbitt and W. A. Rogers have tea with them at -the Catalpa Inn. - -Teas were not unknown to Babbitt--his wife and he earnestly attended -them at least twice a year--but they were sufficiently exotic to make -him feel important. He sat at a glass-covered table in the Art Room of -the Inn, with its painted rabbits, mottoes lettered on birch bark, and -waitresses being artistic in Dutch caps; he ate insufficient lettuce -sandwiches, and was lively and naughty with Mrs. Sassburger, who was as -smooth and large-eyed as a cloak-model. Sassburger and he had met two -days before, so they were calling each other “Georgie” and “Sassy.” - -Sassburger said prayerfully, “Say, boys, before you go, seeing this is -the last chance, I’ve _got it_, up in my room, and Miriam here is the -best little mixologist in the Stati Unidos, like us Italians say.” - -With wide flowing gestures, Babbitt and Rogers followed the Sassburgers -to their room. Mrs. Sassburger shrieked, “Oh, how terrible!” when she -saw that she had left a chemise of sheer lavender crêpe on the bed. She -tucked it into a bag, while Babbitt giggled, “Don’t mind us; we’re a -couple o’ little divvils!” - -Sassburger telephoned for ice, and the bell-boy who brought it said, -prosaically and unprompted, “Highball glasses or cocktail?” Miriam -Sassburger mixed the cocktails in one of those dismal, nakedly white -water-pitchers which exist only in hotels. When they had finished the -first round she proved by intoning “Think you boys could stand -another--you got a dividend coming” that, though she was but a woman, -she knew the complete and perfect rite of cocktail-drinking. - -Outside, Babbitt hinted to Rogers, “Say, W. A., old rooster, it comes -over me that I could stand it if we didn’t go back to the lovin’ wives, -this handsome _Abend_, but just kind of stayed in Monarch and threw a -party, heh?” - -“George, you speak with the tongue of wisdom and sagashiteriferousness. -El Wing’s wife has gone on to Pittsburg. Let’s see if we can’t gather -him in.” - -At half-past seven they sat in their room, with Elbert Wing and two -up-state delegates. Their coats were off, their vests open, their faces -red, their voices emphatic. They were finishing a bottle of corrosive -bootlegged whisky and imploring the bell-boy, “Say, son, can you get us -some more of this embalming fluid?” They were smoking large cigars and -dropping ashes and stubs on the carpet. With windy guffaws they were -telling stories. They were, in fact, males in a happy state of nature. - -Babbitt sighed, “I don’t know how it strikes you hellions, but -personally I like this busting loose for a change, and kicking over a -couple of mountains and climbing up on the North Pole and waving the -aurora borealis around.” - -The man from Sparta, a grave, intense youngster, babbled, “Say! I guess -I’m as good a husband as the run of the mill, but God, I do get so tired -of going home every evening, and nothing to see but the movies. That’s -why I go out and drill with the National Guard. I guess I got the -nicest little wife in my burg, but-- Say! Know what I wanted to do as a -kid? Know what I wanted to do? Wanted to be a big chemist. Tha’s what I -wanted to do. But Dad chased me out on the road selling kitchenware, and -here I’m settled down--settled for _life_--not a chance! Oh, who the -devil started this funeral talk? How ’bout ’nother lil drink? ‘And -a-noth-er drink wouldn’ do ’s ’ny harmmmmmmm.’” - -“Yea. Cut the sob-stuff,” said W. A. Rogers genially. “You boys know I’m -the village songster? Come on now--sing up: - - Said the old Obadiah to the young Obadiah, - ‘I am dry, Obadiah, I am dry.’ - Said the young Obadiah to the old Obadiah, - ‘So am I, Obadiah, so am I.’” - - -X - -They had dinner in the Moorish Grillroom of the Hotel Sedgwick. -Somewhere, somehow, they seemed to have gathered in two other comrades: -a manufacturer of fly-paper and a dentist. They all drank whisky from -tea-cups, and they were humorous, and never listened to one another, -except when W. A. Rogers “kidded” the Italian waiter. - -“Say, Gooseppy,” he said innocently, “I want a couple o’ fried -elephants’ ears.” - -“Sorry, sir, we haven’t any.” - -“Huh? No elephants’ ears? What do you know about that!” Rogers turned to -Babbitt. “Pedro says the elephants’ ears are all out!” - -“Well, I’ll be switched!” said the man from Sparta, with difficulty -hiding his laughter. - -“Well, in that case, Carlo, just bring me a hunk o’ steak and a couple -o’ bushels o’ French fried potatoes and some peas,” Rogers went on. “I -suppose back in dear old sunny It’ the Eyetalians get their fresh -garden peas out of the can.” - -“No, sir, we have very nice peas in Italy.” - -“Is that a fact! Georgie, do you hear that? They get their fresh garden -peas out of the garden, in Italy! By golly, you live and learn, don’t -you, Antonio, you certainly do live and learn, if you live long enough -and keep your strength. All right, Garibaldi, just shoot me in that -steak, with about two printers’-reams of French fried spuds on the -promenade deck, _comprehenez-vous_, Michelovitch Angeloni?” - -Afterward Elbert Wing admired, “Gee, you certainly did have that poor -Dago going, W. A. He couldn’t make you out at all!” - -In the _Monarch Herald_, Babbitt found an advertisement which he read -aloud, to applause and laughter: - - Old Colony Theatre - - Shake the Old Dogs to the - WROLLICKING WRENS - The bonniest bevy of beauteous - bathing babes in burlesque. - Pete Menutti and his - Oh, Gee, Kids. - - This is the straight steer, Benny, the painless chicklets of the - Wrollicking Wrens are the cuddlingest bunch that ever hit town. - Steer the feet, get the card board, and twist the pupils to the - PDQest show ever. You will get 111% on your kale in this fun-fest. - The Calroza Sisters are sure some lookers and will give you a run - for your gelt. Jock Silbersteen is one of the pepper lads and slips - you a dose of real laughter. Shoot the up and down to Jackson and - West for graceful tappers. They run 1-2 under the wire. Provin and - Adams will blow the blues in their laugh skit “Hootch Mon!” - Something doing, boys. Listen to what the Hep Bird twitters. - -“Sounds like a juicy show to me. Let’s all take it in,” said Babbitt. - -But they put off departure as long as they could. They were safe while -they sat here, legs firmly crossed under the table, but they felt -unsteady; they were afraid of navigating the long and slippery floor of -the grillroom under the eyes of the other guests and the too-attentive -waiters. - -When they did venture, tables got in their way, and they sought to cover -embarrassment by heavy jocularity at the coatroom. As the girl handed -out their hats, they smiled at her, and hoped that she, a cool and -expert judge, would feel that they were gentlemen. They croaked at one -another, “Who owns the bum lid?” and “You take a good one, George; I’ll -take what’s left,” and to the check-girl they stammered, “Better come -along, sister! High, wide, and fancy evening ahead!” All of them tried -to tip her, urging one another, “No! Wait! Here! I got it right here!” -Among them, they gave her three dollars. - - -XI - -Flamboyantly smoking cigars they sat in a box at the burlesque show, -their feet up on the rail, while a chorus of twenty daubed, worried, and -inextinguishably respectable grandams swung their legs in the more -elementary chorus-evolutions, and a Jewish comedian made vicious fun of -Jews. In the entr’actes they met other lone delegates. A dozen of them -went in taxicabs out to Bright Blossom Inn, where the blossoms were made -of dusty paper festooned along a room low and stinking, like a -cow-stable no longer wisely used. - -Here, whisky was served openly, in glasses. Two or three clerks, who on -pay-day longed to be taken for millionaires, sheepishly danced with -telephone-girls and manicure-girls in the narrow space between the -tables. Fantastically whirled the professionals, a young man in sleek -evening-clothes and a slim mad girl in emerald silk, with amber hair -flung up as jaggedly as flames. Babbitt tried to dance with her. He -shuffled along the floor, too bulky to be guided, his steps unrelated to -the rhythm of the jungle music, and in his staggering he would have -fallen, had she not held him with supple kindly strength. He was blind -and deaf from prohibition-era alcohol; he could not see the tables, the -faces. But he was overwhelmed by the girl and her young pliant warmth. - -When she had firmly returned him to his group, he remembered, by a -connection quite untraceable, that his mother’s mother had been Scotch, -and with head thrown back, eyes closed, wide mouth indicating ecstasy, -he sang, very slowly and richly, “Loch Lomond.” - -But that was the last of his mellowness and jolly companionship. The man -from Sparta said he was a “bum singer,” and for ten minutes Babbitt -quarreled with him, in a loud, unsteady, heroic indignation. They called -for drinks till the manager insisted that the place was closed. All the -while Babbitt felt a hot raw desire for more brutal amusements. When W. -A. Rogers drawled, “What say we go down the line and look over the -girls?” he agreed savagely. Before they went, three of them secretly -made appointments with the professional dancing girl, who agreed “Yes, -yes, sure, darling” to everything they said, and amiably forgot them. - -As they drove back through the outskirts of Monarch, down streets of -small brown wooden cottages of workmen, characterless as cells, as they -rattled across warehouse-districts which by drunken night seemed vast -and perilous, as they were borne toward the red lights and violent -automatic pianos and the stocky women who simpered, Babbitt was -frightened. He wanted to leap from the taxicab, but all his body was a -murky fire, and he groaned, “Too late to quit now,” and knew that he did -not want to quit. - -There was, they felt, one very humorous incident on the way. A broker -from Minnemagantic said, “Monarch is a lot sportier than Zenith. You -Zenith tightwads haven’t got any joints like these here.” Babbitt raged, -“That’s a dirty lie! Snothin’ you can’t find in Zenith. Believe me, we -got more houses and hootch-parlors an’ all kinds o’ dives than any burg -in the state.” - -He realized they were laughing at him; he desired to fight; and forgot -it in such musty unsatisfying experiments as he had not known since -college. - -In the morning, when he returned to Zenith, his desire for rebellion was -partly satisfied. He had retrograded to a shame-faced contentment. He -was irritable. He did not smile when W. A. Rogers complained, “Ow, what -a head! I certainly do feel like the wrath of God this morning. Say! I -know what was the trouble! Somebody went and put alcohol in my booze -last night.” - -Babbitt’s excursion was never known to his family, nor to any one in -Zenith save Rogers and Wing. It was not officially recognized even by -himself. If it had any consequences, they have not been discovered. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -I - -This autumn a Mr. W. G. Harding, of Marion, Ohio, was appointed -President of the United States, but Zenith was less interested in the -national campaign than in the local election. Seneca Doane, though he -was a lawyer and a graduate of the State University, was candidate for -mayor of Zenith on an alarming labor ticket. To oppose him the Democrats -and Republicans united on Lucas Prout, a mattress-manufacturer with a -perfect record for sanity. Mr. Prout was supported by the banks, the -Chamber of Commerce, all the decent newspapers, and George F. Babbitt. - -Babbitt was precinct-leader on Floral Heights, but his district was safe -and he longed for stouter battling. His convention paper had given him -the beginning of a reputation for oratory, so the Republican-Democratic -Central Committee sent him to the Seventh Ward and South Zenith, to -address small audiences of workmen and clerks, and wives uneasy with -their new votes. He acquired a fame enduring for weeks. Now and then a -reporter was present at one of his meetings, and the headlines (though -they were not very large) indicated that George F. Babbitt had addressed -Cheering Throng, and Distinguished Man of Affairs had pointed out the -Fallacies of Doane. Once, in the rotogravure section of the Sunday -_Advocate-Times_, there was a photograph of Babbitt and a dozen other -business men, with the caption “Leaders of Zenith Finance and Commerce -Who Back Prout.” - -He deserved his glory. He was an excellent campaigner. He had faith; he -was certain that if Lincoln were alive, he would be electioneering for -Mr. W. G. Harding--unless he came to Zenith and electioneered for Lucas -Prout. He did not confuse audiences by silly subtleties; Prout -represented honest industry, Seneca Doane represented whining laziness, -and you could take your choice. With his broad shoulders and vigorous -voice, he was obviously a Good Fellow; and, rarest of all, he really -liked people. He almost liked common workmen. He wanted them to be well -paid, and able to afford high rents--though, naturally, they must not -interfere with the reasonable profits of stockholders. Thus nobly -endowed, and keyed high by the discovery that he was a natural orator, -he was popular with audiences, and he raged through the campaign, -renowned not only in the Seventh and Eighth Wards but even in parts of -the Sixteenth. - - -II - -Crowded in his car, they came driving up to Turnverein Hall, South -Zenith-- Babbitt, his wife, Verona, Ted, and Paul and Zilla Riesling. The -hall was over a delicatessen shop, in a street banging with trolleys and -smelling of onions and gasoline and fried fish. A new appreciation of -Babbitt filled all of them, including Babbitt. - -“Don’t know how you keep it up, talking to three bunches in one evening. -Wish I had your strength,” said Paul; and Ted exclaimed to Verona, “The -old man certainly does know how to kid these roughnecks along!” - -Men in black sateen shirts, their faces new-washed but with a hint of -grime under their eyes, were loitering on the broad stairs up to the -hall. Babbitt’s party politely edged through them and into the -whitewashed room, at the front of which was a dais with a red-plush -throne and a pine altar painted watery blue, as used nightly by the -Grand Masters and Supreme Potentates of innumerable lodges. The hall was -full. As Babbitt pushed through the fringe standing at the back, he -heard the precious tribute, “That’s him!” The chairman bustled down the -center aisle with an impressive, “The speaker? All ready, sir! Uh--let’s -see--what was the name, sir?” - -Then Babbitt slid into a sea of eloquence: - -“Ladies and gentlemen of the Sixteenth Ward, there is one who cannot be -with us here to-night, a man than whom there is no more stalwart Trojan -in all the political arena-- I refer to our leader, the Honorable Lucas -Prout, standard-bearer of the city and county of Zenith. Since he is not -here, I trust that you will bear with me if, as a friend and neighbor, -as one who is proud to share with you the common blessing of being a -resident of the great city of Zenith, I tell you in all candor, honesty, -and sincerity how the issues of this critical campaign appear to one -plain man of business--to one who, brought up to the blessings of -poverty and of manual labor, has, even when Fate condemned him to sit at -a desk, yet never forgotten how it feels, by heck, to be up at -five-thirty and at the factory with the ole dinner-pail in his hardened -mitt when the whistle blew at seven, unless the owner sneaked in ten -minutes on us and blew it early! (Laughter.) To come down to the basic -and fundamental issues of this campaign, the great error, insincerely -promulgated by Seneca Doane--” - -There were workmen who jeered--young cynical workmen, for the most part -foreigners, Jews, Swedes, Irishmen, Italians--but the older men, the -patient, bleached, stooped carpenters and mechanics, cheered him; and -when he worked up to his anecdote of Lincoln their eyes were wet. - -Modestly, busily, he hurried out of the hall on delicious applause, and -sped off to his third audience of the evening. “Ted, you better drive,” -he said. “Kind of all in after that spiel. Well, Paul, how’d it go? Did -I get ’em?” - -“Bully! Corking! You had a lot of pep.” - -Mrs. Babbitt worshiped, “Oh, it was fine! So clear and interesting, and -such nice ideas. When I hear you orating I realize I don’t appreciate -how profoundly you think and what a splendid brain and vocabulary you -have. Just--splendid.” - -But Verona was irritating. “Dad,” she worried, “how do you know that -public ownership of utilities and so on and so forth will always be a -failure?” - -Mrs. Babbitt reproved, “Rone, I should think you could see and realize -that when your father’s all worn out with orating, it’s no time to -expect him to explain these complicated subjects. I’m sure when he’s -rested he’ll be glad to explain it to you. Now let’s all be quiet and -give Papa a chance to get ready for his next speech. Just think! Right -now they’re gathering in Maccabee Temple, and _waiting_ for us!” - - -III - -Mr. Lucas Prout and Sound Business defeated Mr. Seneca Doane and Class -Rule, and Zenith was again saved. Babbitt was offered several minor -appointments to distribute among poor relations, but he preferred -advance information about the extension of paved highways, and this a -grateful administration gave to him. Also, he was one of only nineteen -speakers at the dinner with which the Chamber of Commerce celebrated the -victory of righteousness. - -His reputation for oratory established, at the dinner of the Zenith Real -Estate Board he made the Annual Address. The _Advocate-Times_ reported -this speech with unusual fullness: - -“One of the livest banquets that has recently been pulled off occurred -last night in the annual Get-Together Fest of the Zenith Real Estate -Board, held in the Venetian Ball Room of the O’Hearn House. Mine host -Gil O’Hearn had as usual done himself proud and those assembled feasted -on such an assemblage of plates as could be rivaled nowhere west of New -York, if there, and washed down the plenteous feed with the cup which -inspired but did not inebriate in the shape of cider from the farm of -Chandler Mott, president of the board and who acted as witty and -efficient chairman. - -“As Mr. Mott was suffering from slight infection and sore throat, G. F. -Babbitt made the principal talk. Besides outlining the progress of -Torrensing real estate titles, Mr. Babbitt spoke in part as follows: - -“‘In rising to address you, with my impromptu speech carefully tucked -into my vest pocket, I am reminded of the story of the two Irishmen, -Mike and Pat, who were riding on the Pullman. Both of them, I forgot to -say, were sailors in the Navy. It seems Mike had the lower berth and by -and by he heard a terrible racket from the upper, and when he yelled up -to find out what the trouble was, Pat answered, “Shure an’ bedad an’ how -can I ever get a night’s sleep at all, at all? I been trying to get into -this darned little hammock ever since eight bells!” - -“‘Now, gentlemen, standing up here before you, I feel a good deal like -Pat, and maybe after I’ve spieled along for a while, I may feel so darn -small that I’ll be able to crawl into a Pullman hammock with no trouble -at all, at all! - -“‘Gentlemen, it strikes me that each year at this annual occasion when -friend and foe get together and lay down the battle-ax and let the waves -of good-fellowship waft them up the flowery slopes of amity, it behooves -us, standing together eye to eye and shoulder to shoulder as -fellow-citizens of the best city in the world, to consider where we are -both as regards ourselves and the common weal. - -“‘It is true that even with our 361,000, or practically 362,000, -population, there are, by the last census, almost a score of larger -cities in the United States. But, gentlemen, if by the next census we do -not stand at least tenth, then I’ll be the first to request any knocker -to remove my shirt and to eat the same, with the compliments of G. F. -Babbitt, Esquire! It may be true that New York, Chicago, and -Philadelphia will continue to keep ahead of us in size. But aside from -these three cities, which are notoriously so overgrown that no decent -white man, nobody who loves his wife and kiddies and God’s good -out-o’-doors and likes to shake the hand of his neighbor in greeting, -would want to live in them--and let me tell you right here and now, I -wouldn’t trade a high-class Zenith acreage development for the whole -length and breadth of Broadway or State Street!--aside from these three, -it’s evident to any one with a head for facts that Zenith is the finest -example of American life and prosperity to be found anywhere. - -“‘I don’t mean to say we’re perfect. We’ve got a lot to do in the way of -extending the paving of motor boulevards, for, believe me, it’s the -fellow with four to ten thousand a year, say, and an automobile and a -nice little family in a bungalow on the edge of town, that makes the -wheels of progress go round! - -“‘That’s the type of fellow that’s ruling America to-day; in fact, it’s -the ideal type to which the entire world must tend, if there’s to be a -decent, well-balanced, Christian, go-ahead future for this little old -planet! Once in a while I just naturally sit back and size up this Solid -American Citizen, with a whale of a lot of satisfaction. - -“‘Our Ideal Citizen-- I picture him first and foremost as being busier -than a bird-dog, not wasting a lot of good time in day-dreaming or going -to sassiety teas or kicking about things that are none of his business, -but putting the zip into some store or profession or art. At night he -lights up a good cigar, and climbs into the little old ’bus, and maybe -cusses the carburetor, and shoots out home. He mows the lawn, or sneaks -in some practice putting, and then he’s ready for dinner. After dinner -he tells the kiddies a story, or takes the family to the movies, or -plays a few fists of bridge, or reads the evening paper, and a chapter -or two of some good lively Western novel if he has a taste for -literature, and maybe the folks next-door drop in and they sit and visit -about their friends and the topics of the day. Then he goes happily to -bed, his conscience clear, having contributed his mite to the -prosperity of the city and to his own bank-account. - -“‘In politics and religion this Sane Citizen is the canniest man on -earth; and in the arts he invariably has a natural taste which makes him -pick out the best, every time. In no country in the world will you find -so many reproductions of the Old Masters and of well-known paintings on -parlor walls as in these United States. No country has anything like our -number of phonographs, with not only dance records and comic but also -the best operas, such as Verdi, rendered by the world’s highest-paid -singers. - -“‘In other countries, art and literature are left to a lot of shabby -bums living in attics and feeding on booze and spaghetti, but in America -the successful writer or picture-painter is indistinguishable from any -other decent business man; and I, for one, am only too glad that the man -who has the rare skill to season his message with interesting reading -matter and who shows both purpose and pep in handling his literary wares -has a chance to drag down his fifty thousand bucks a year, to mingle -with the biggest executives on terms of perfect equality, and to show as -big a house and as swell a car as any Captain of Industry! But, mind -you, it’s the appreciation of the Regular Guy who I have been depicting -which has made this possible, and you got to hand as much credit to him -as to the authors themselves. - -“‘Finally, but most important, our Standardized Citizen, even if he is a -bachelor, is a lover of the Little Ones, a supporter of the hearthstone -which is the basic foundation of our civilization, first, last, and all -the time, and the thing that most distinguishes us from the decayed -nations of Europe. - -“‘I have never yet toured Europe--and as a matter of fact, I don’t know -that I care to such an awful lot, as long as there’s our own mighty -cities and mountains to be seen--but, the way I figure it out, there -must be a good many of our own sort of folks abroad. Indeed, one of the -most enthusiastic Rotarians I ever met boosted the tenets of -one-hundred-per-cent pep in a burr that smacked o’ bonny Scutlond and -all ye bonny braes o’ Bobby Burns. But same time, one thing that -distinguishes us from our good brothers, the hustlers over there, is -that they’re willing to take a lot off the snobs and journalists and -politicians, while the modern American business man knows how to talk -right up for himself, knows how to make it good and plenty clear that he -intends to run the works. He doesn’t have to call in some highbrow -hired-man when it’s necessary for him to answer the crooked critics of -the sane and efficient life. He’s not dumb, like the old-fashioned -merchant. He’s got a vocabulary and a punch. - -“‘With all modesty, I want to stand up here as a representative business -man and gently whisper, “Here’s our kind of folks! Here’s the -specifications of the Standardized American Citizen! Here’s the new -generation of Americans: fellows with hair on their chests and smiles in -their eyes and adding-machines in their offices. We’re not doing any -boasting, but we like ourselves first-rate, and if you don’t like us, -look out--better get under cover before the cyclone hits town!” - -“‘So! In my clumsy way I have tried to sketch the Real He-man, the -fellow with Zip and Bang. And it’s because Zenith has so large a -proportion of such men that it’s the most stable, the greatest of our -cities. New York also has its thousands of Real Folks, but New York is -cursed with unnumbered foreigners. So are Chicago and San Francisco. Oh, -we have a golden roster of cities--Detroit and Cleveland with their -renowned factories, Cincinnati with its great machine-tool and soap -products, Pittsburg and Birmingham with their steel, Kansas City and -Minneapolis and Omaha that open their bountiful gates on the bosom of -the ocean-like wheatlands, and countless other magnificent -sister-cities, for, by the last census, there were no less than -sixty-eight glorious American burgs with a population of over one -hundred thousand! And all these cities stand together for power and -purity, and against foreign ideas and communism--Atlanta with Hartford, -Rochester with Denver, Milwaukee with Indianapolis, Los Angeles with -Scranton, Portland, Maine, with Portland, Oregon. A good live wire from -Baltimore or Seattle or Duluth is the twin-brother of every like fellow -booster from Buffalo or Akron, Fort Worth or Oskaloosa! - -“‘But it’s here in Zenith, the home for manly men and womanly women and -bright kids, that you find the largest proportion of these Regular Guys, -and that’s what sets it in a class by itself; that’s why Zenith will be -remembered in history as having set the pace for a civilization that -shall endure when the old time-killing ways are gone forever and the day -of earnest efficient endeavor shall have dawned all round the world! - -“‘Some time I hope folks will quit handing all the credit to a lot of -moth-eaten, mildewed, out-of-date, old, European dumps, and give proper -credit to the famous Zenith spirit, that clean fighting determination to -win Success that has made the little old Zip City celebrated in every -land and clime, wherever condensed milk and pasteboard cartons are -known! Believe me, the world has fallen too long for these worn-out -countries that aren’t producing anything but bootblacks and scenery and -booze, that haven’t got one bathroom per hundred people, and that don’t -know a loose-leaf ledger from a slip-cover; and it’s just about time for -some Zenithite to get his back up and holler for a show-down! - -“‘I tell you, Zenith and her sister-cities are producing a new type of -civilization. There are many resemblances between Zenith and these other -burgs, and I’m darn glad of it! The extraordinary, growing, and sane -standardization of stores, offices, streets, hotels, clothes, and -newspapers throughout the United States shows how strong and enduring a -type is ours. - -“‘I always like to remember a piece that Chum Frink wrote for the -newspapers about his lecture-tours. It is doubtless familiar to many of -you, but if you will permit me, I’ll take a chance and read it. It’s -one of the classic poems, like “If” by Kipling, or Ella Wheeler Wilcox’s -“The Man Worth While”; and I always carry this clipping of it in my -note-book: - - _When I am out upon the road, a poet with a pedler’s load, I mostly - sing a hearty song, and take a chew and hike along, a-handing out - my samples fine of Cheero Brand of sweet sun-shine, and peddling - optimistic pokes and stable lines of japes and jokes to Lyceums and - other folks, to Rotarys, Kiwanis’ Clubs, and feel I ain’t like - other dubs. And then old Major Silas Satan, a brainy cuss who’s - always waitin’, he gives his tail a lively quirk, and gets in quick - his dirty work. He fills me up with mullygrubs; my hair the - backward way he rubs; he makes me lonelier than a hound, on Sunday - when the folks ain’t round. And then b’gosh, I would prefer to - never be a lecturer, a-ridin’ round in classy cars and smoking - fifty-cent cigars, and never more I want to roam; I simply want to - be back home, a-eatin’ flap-jacks, hash, and ham, with folks who - savvy whom I am!_ - - _But when I get that lonely spell, I simply seek the best hotel, no - matter in what town I be--St. Paul, Toledo, or K.C., in Washington, - Schenectady, in Louisville or Albany. And at that inn it hits my - dome that I again am right at home. If I should stand a lengthy - spell in front of that first-class hotel, that to the drummers - loves to cater, across from some big film theayter; if I should - look around and buzz, and wonder in what town I was, I swear that I - could never tell! For all the crowd would be so swell, in just the - same fine sort of jeans they wear at home, and all the queens with - spiffy bonnets on their beans, and all the fellows standing round - a-talkin’ always, I’ll be bound, the same good jolly kind of guff, - ’bout autos, politics and stuff and baseball players of renown that - Nice Guys talk in my home town!_ - - _Then when I entered that hotel, I’d look around and say, “Well, - well!” For there would be the same news-stand, same_ _magazines - and candies grand, same smokes of famous standard brand, I’d find - at home, I’ll tell! And when I saw the jolly bunch come waltzing in - for eats at lunch, and squaring up in natty duds to platters large - of French Fried spuds, why then I’d stand right up and bawl, “I’ve - never left my home at all!” And all replete I’d sit me down beside - some guy in derby brown upon a lobby chair of plush, and murmur to - him in a rush, “Hello, Bill, tell me, good old scout, how is your - stock a-holdin’ out?” Then we’d be off, two solid pals, - a-chatterin’ like giddy gals of flivvers, weather, home, and wives, - lodge-brothers then for all our lives! So when Sam Satan makes you - blue, good friend, that’s what I’d up and do, for in these States - where’er you roam, you never leave your home sweet home._ - -“‘Yes, sir, these other burgs are our true partners in the great game of -vital living. But let’s not have any mistake about this. I claim that -Zenith is the best partner and the fastest-growing partner of the whole -caboodle. I trust I may be pardoned if I give a few statistics to back -up my claims. If they are old stuff to any of you, yet the tidings of -prosperity, like the good news of the Bible, never become tedious to the -ears of a real hustler, no matter how oft the sweet story is told! Every -intelligent person knows that Zenith manufactures more condensed milk -and evaporated cream, more paper boxes, and more lighting-fixtures, than -any other city in the United States, if not in the world. But it is not -so universally known that we also stand second in the manufacture of -package-butter, sixth in the giant realm of motors and automobiles, and -somewhere about third in cheese, leather findings, tar roofing, -breakfast food, and overalls! - -“‘Our greatness, however, lies not alone in punchful prosperity but -equally in that public spirit, that forward-looking idealism and -brotherhood, which has marked Zenith ever since its foundation by the -Fathers. We have a right, indeed we have a duty toward our fair city, to -announce broadcast the facts about our high schools, characterized by -their complete plants and the finest school-ventilating systems in the -country, bar none; our magnificent new hotels and banks and the -paintings and carved marble in their lobbies; and the Second National -Tower, the second highest business building in any inland city in the -entire country. When I add that we have an unparalleled number of miles -of paved streets, bathrooms, vacuum cleaners, and all the other signs of -civilization; that our library and art museum are well supported and -housed in convenient and roomy buildings; that our park-system is more -than up to par, with its handsome driveways adorned with grass, shrubs, -and statuary, then I give but a hint of the all-round unlimited -greatness of Zenith! - -“‘I believe, however, in keeping the best to the last. When I remind you -that we have one motor car for every five and seven-eighths persons in -the city, then I give a rock-ribbed practical indication of the kind of -progress and braininess which is synonymous with the name Zenith! - -“‘But the way of the righteous is not all roses. Before I close I must -call your attention to a problem we have to face, this coming year. The -worst menace to sound government is not the avowed socialists but a lot -of cowards who work under cover--the long-haired gentry who call -themselves “liberals” and “radicals” and “non-partisan” and -“intelligentsia” and God only knows how many other trick names! -Irresponsible teachers and professors constitute the worst of this whole -gang, and I am ashamed to say that several of them are on the faculty of -our great State University! The U. is my own Alma Mater, and I am proud -to be known as an alumni, but there are certain instructors there who -seem to think we ought to turn the conduct of the nation over to hoboes -and roustabouts. - -“‘Those profs are the snakes to be scotched--they and all their -milk-and-water ilk! The American business man is generous to a fault, -but one thing he does demand of all teachers and lecturers and -journalists: if we’re going to pay them our good money, they’ve got to -help us by selling efficiency and whooping it up for rational -prosperity! And when it comes to these blab-mouth, fault-finding, -pessimistic, cynical University teachers, let me tell you that during -this golden coming year it’s just as much our duty to bring influence to -have those cusses fired as it is to sell all the real estate and gather -in all the good shekels we can. - -“‘Not till that is done will our sons and daughters see that the ideal -of American manhood and culture isn’t a lot of cranks sitting around -chewing the rag about their Rights and their Wrongs, but a God-fearing, -hustling, successful, two-fisted Regular Guy, who belongs to some church -with pep and piety to it, who belongs to the Boosters or the Rotarians -or the Kiwanis, to the Elks or Moose or Red Men or Knights of Columbus -or any one of a score of organizations of good, jolly, kidding, -laughing, sweating, upstanding, lend-a-handing Royal Good Fellows, who -plays hard and works hard, and whose answer to his critics is a -square-toed boot that’ll teach the grouches and smart alecks to respect -the He-man and get out and root for Uncle Samuel, U.S.A.!’” - - -IV - -Babbitt promised to become a recognized orator. He entertained a Smoker -of the Men’s Club of the Chatham Road Presbyterian Church with Irish, -Jewish, and Chinese dialect stories. - -But in nothing was he more clearly revealed as the Prominent Citizen -than in his lecture on “Brass Tacks Facts on Real Estate,” as delivered -before the class in Sales Methods at the Zenith Y.M.C.A. - -The _Advocate-Times_ reported the lecture so fully that Vergil Gunch -said to Babbitt, “You’re getting to be one of the classiest spellbinders -in town. Seems ’s if I couldn’t pick up a paper without reading about -your well-known eloquence. All this guff ought to bring a lot of -business into your office. Good work! Keep it up!” - -“Go on, quit your kidding,” said Babbitt feebly, but at this tribute -from Gunch, himself a man of no mean oratorical fame, he expanded with -delight and wondered how, before his vacation, he could have questioned -the joys of being a solid citizen. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - - -I - -His march to greatness was not without disastrous stumbling. - -Fame did not bring the social advancement which the Babbitts deserved. -They were not asked to join the Tonawanda Country Club nor invited to -the dances at the Union. Himself, Babbitt fretted, he didn’t “care a fat -hoot for all these highrollers, but the wife would kind of like to be -Among Those Present.” He nervously awaited his university class-dinner -and an evening of furious intimacy with such social leaders as Charles -McKelvey the millionaire contractor, Max Kruger the banker, Irving Tate -the tool-manufacturer, and Adelbert Dobson the fashionable interior -decorator. Theoretically he was their friend, as he had been in college, -and when he encountered them they still called him “Georgie,” but he -didn’t seem to encounter them often, and they never invited him to -dinner (with champagne and a butler) at their houses on Royal Ridge. - -All the week before the class-dinner he thought of them. “No reason why -we shouldn’t become real chummy now!” - - -II - -Like all true American diversions and spiritual outpourings, the dinner -of the men of the Class of 1896 was thoroughly organized. The -dinner-committee hammered like a sales-corporation. Once a week they -sent out reminders: - - TICKLER NO. 3 - - Old man, are you going to be with us at the livest Friendship Feed - the alumni of the good old U have ever known? The alumnæ of ’08 - turned out 60% strong. Are we boys going to be beaten by a bunch of - skirts? Come on, fellows, let’s work up some real genuine - enthusiasm and all boost together for the snappiest dinner yet! - Elegant eats, short ginger-talks, and memories shared together of - the brightest, gladdest days of life. - -The dinner was held in a private room at the Union Club. The club was a -dingy building, three pretentious old dwellings knocked together, and -the entrance-hall resembled a potato cellar, yet the Babbitt who was -free of the magnificence of the Athletic Club entered with -embarrassment. He nodded to the doorman, an ancient proud negro with -brass buttons and a blue tail-coat, and paraded through the hall, trying -to look like a member. - -Sixty men had come to the dinner. They made islands and eddies in the -hall; they packed the elevator and the corners of the private -dining-room. They tried to be intimate and enthusiastic. They appeared -to one another exactly as they had in college--as raw youngsters whose -present mustaches, baldnesses, paunches, and wrinkles were but jovial -disguises put on for the evening. “You haven’t changed a particle!” they -marveled. The men whom they could not recall they addressed, “Well, -well, great to see you again, old man. What are you-- Still doing the -same thing?” - -Some one was always starting a cheer or a college song, and it was -always thinning into silence. Despite their resolution to be democratic -they divided into two sets: the men with dress-clothes and the men -without. Babbitt (extremely in dress-clothes) went from one group to the -other. Though he was, almost frankly, out for social conquest, he sought -Paul Riesling first. He found him alone, neat and silent. - -Paul sighed, “I’m no good at this handshaking and ‘well, look who’s -here’ bunk.” - -“Rats now, Paulibus, loosen up and be a mixer! Finest bunch of boys on -earth! Say, you seem kind of glum. What’s matter?” - -“Oh, the usual. Run-in with Zilla.” - -“Come on! Let’s wade in and forget our troubles.” - -He kept Paul beside him, but worked toward the spot where Charles -McKelvey stood warming his admirers like a furnace. - -McKelvey had been the hero of the Class of ’96; not only football -captain and hammer-thrower but debater, and passable in what the State -University considered scholarship. He had gone on, had captured the -construction-company once owned by the Dodsworths, best-known pioneer -family of Zenith. He built state capitols, skyscrapers, railway -terminals. He was a heavy-shouldered, big-chested man, but not sluggish. -There was a quiet humor in his eyes, a syrup-smooth quickness in his -speech, which intimidated politicians and warned reporters; and in his -presence the most intelligent scientist or the most sensitive artist -felt thin-blooded, unworldly, and a little shabby. He was, particularly -when he was influencing legislatures or hiring labor-spies, very easy -and lovable and gorgeous. He was baronial; he was a peer in the rapidly -crystallizing American aristocracy, inferior only to the haughty Old -Families. (In Zenith, an Old Family is one which came to town before -1840.) His power was the greater because he was not hindered by -scruples, by either the vice or the virtue of the older Puritan -tradition. - -McKelvey was being placidly merry now with the great, the manufacturers -and bankers, the land-owners and lawyers and surgeons who had chauffeurs -and went to Europe. Babbitt squeezed among them. He liked McKelvey’s -smile as much as the social advancement to be had from his favor. If in -Paul’s company he felt ponderous and protective, with McKelvey he felt -slight and adoring. - -He heard McKelvey say to Max Kruger, the banker, “Yes, we’ll put up Sir -Gerald Doak.” Babbitt’s democratic love for titles became a rich relish. -“You know, he’s one of the biggest iron-men in England, Max. Horribly -well-off.... Why, hello, old Georgie! Say, Max, George Babbitt is -getting fatter than I am!” - -The chairman shouted, “Take your seats, fellows!” - -“Shall we make a move, Charley?” Babbitt said casually to McKelvey. - -“Right. Hello, Paul! How’s the old fiddler? Planning to sit anywhere -special, George? Come on, let’s grab some seats. Come on, Max. Georgie, -I read about your speeches in the campaign. Bully work!” - -After that, Babbitt would have followed him through fire. He was -enormously busy during the dinner, now bumblingly cheering Paul, now -approaching McKelvey with “Hear, you’re going to build some piers in -Brooklyn,” now noting how enviously the failures of the class, sitting -by themselves in a weedy group, looked up to him in his association with -the nobility, now warming himself in the Society Talk of McKelvey and -Max Kruger. They spoke of a “jungle dance” for which Mona Dodsworth had -decorated her house with thousands of orchids. They spoke, with an -excellent imitation of casualness, of a dinner in Washington at which -McKelvey had met a Senator, a Balkan princess, and an English -major-general. McKelvey called the princess “Jenny,” and let it be known -that he had danced with her. - -Babbitt was thrilled, but not so weighted with awe as to be silent. If -he was not invited by them to dinner, he was yet accustomed to talking -with bank-presidents, congressmen, and clubwomen who entertained poets. -He was bright and referential with McKelvey: - -“Say, Charley, juh remember in Junior year how we chartered a sea-going -hack and chased down to Riverdale, to the big show Madame Brown used to -put on? Remember how you beat up that hick constabule that tried to run -us in, and we pinched the pants-pressing sign and took and hung it on -Prof. Morrison’s door? Oh, gosh, those were the days!” - -Those, McKelvey agreed, were the days. - -Babbitt had reached “It isn’t the books you study in college but the -friendships you make that counts” when the men at head of the table -broke into song. He attacked McKelvey: - -“It’s a shame, uh, shame to drift apart because our, uh, business -activities lie in different fields. I’ve enjoyed talking over the good -old days. You and Mrs. McKelvey must come to dinner some night.” - -Vaguely, “Yes, indeed--” - -“Like to talk to you about the growth of real estate out beyond your -Grantsville warehouse. I might be able to tip you off to a thing or two, -possibly.” - -“Splendid! We must have dinner together, Georgie. Just let me know. And -it will be a great pleasure to have your wife and you at the house,” -said McKelvey, much less vaguely. - -Then the chairman’s voice, that prodigious voice which once had roused -them to cheer defiance at rooters from Ohio or Michigan or Indiana, -whooped, “Come on, you wombats! All together in the long yell!” Babbitt -felt that life would never be sweeter than now, when he joined with Paul -Riesling and the newly recovered hero, McKelvey, in: - - Baaaaaattle-ax - Get an ax, - Bal-ax, - Get-nax, - Who, who? The U.! - Hooroo! - - -III - -The Babbitts invited the McKelveys to dinner, in early December, and the -McKelveys not only accepted but, after changing the date once or twice, -actually came. - -The Babbitts somewhat thoroughly discussed the details of the dinner, -from the purchase of a bottle of champagne to the number of salted -almonds to be placed before each person. Especially did they mention the -matter of the other guests. To the last Babbitt held out for giving Paul -Riesling the benefit of being with the McKelveys. “Good old Charley -would like Paul and Verg Gunch better than some highfalutin’ Willy boy,” -he insisted, but Mrs. Babbitt interrupted his observations with, -“Yes--perhaps-- I think I’ll try to get some Lynnhaven oysters,” and when -she was quite ready she invited Dr. J. T. Angus, the oculist, and a -dismally respectable lawyer named Maxwell, with their glittering wives. - -Neither Angus nor Maxwell belonged to the Elks or to the Athletic Club; -neither of them had ever called Babbitt “brother” or asked his opinions -on carburetors. The only “human people” whom she invited, Babbitt raged, -were the Littlefields; and Howard Littlefield at times became so -statistical that Babbitt longed for the refreshment of Gunch’s, “Well, -old lemon-pie-face, what’s the good word?” - -Immediately after lunch Mrs. Babbitt began to set the table for the -seven-thirty dinner to the McKelveys, and Babbitt was, by order, home at -four. But they didn’t find anything for him to do, and three times Mrs. -Babbitt scolded, “Do please try to keep out of the way!” He stood in the -door of the garage, his lips drooping, and wished that Littlefield or -Sam Doppelbrau or somebody would come along and talk to him. He saw Ted -sneaking about the corner of the house. - -“What’s the matter, old man?” said Babbitt. - -“Is that you, thin, owld one? Gee, Ma certainly is on the warpath! I -told her Rone and I would jus’ soon not be let in on the fiesta -to-night, and she bit me. She says I got to take a bath, too. But, say, -the Babbitt men will be some lookers to-night! Little Theodore in a -dress-suit!” - -“The Babbitt men!” Babbitt liked the sound of it. He put his arm about -the boy’s shoulder. He wished that Paul Riesling had a daughter, so that -Ted might marry her. “Yes, your mother is kind of rouncing round, all -right,” he said, and they laughed together, and sighed together, and -dutifully went in to dress. - -The McKelveys were less than fifteen minutes late. - -Babbitt hoped that the Doppelbraus would see the McKelveys’ limousine, -and their uniformed chauffeur, waiting in front. - -The dinner was well cooked and incredibly plentiful, and Mrs. Babbitt -had brought out her grandmother’s silver candlesticks. Babbitt worked -hard. He was good. He told none of the jokes he wanted to tell. He -listened to the others. He started Maxwell off with a resounding, “Let’s -hear about your trip to the Yellowstone.” He was laudatory, extremely -laudatory. He found opportunities to remark that Dr. Angus was a -benefactor to humanity, Maxwell and Howard Littlefield profound -scholars, Charles McKelvey an inspiration to ambitious youth, and Mrs. -McKelvey an adornment to the social circles of Zenith, Washington, New -York, Paris, and numbers of other places. - -But he could not stir them. It was a dinner without a soul. For no -reason that was clear to Babbitt, heaviness was over them and they spoke -laboriously and unwillingly. - -He concentrated on Lucile McKelvey, carefully not looking at her -blanched lovely shoulder and the tawny silken band which supported her -frock. - -“I suppose you’ll be going to Europe pretty soon again, won’t you?” he -invited. - -“I’d like awfully to run over to Rome for a few weeks.” - -“I suppose you see a lot of pictures and music and curios and everything -there.” - -“No, what I really go for is: there’s a little _trattoria_ on the Via -della Scrofa where you get the best _fettuccine_ in the world.” - -“Oh, I-- Yes. That must be nice to try that. Yes.” - -At a quarter to ten McKelvey discovered with profound regret that his -wife had a headache. He said blithely, as Babbitt helped him with his -coat, “We must lunch together some time and talk over the old days.” - -When the others had labored out, at half-past ten, Babbitt turned to his -wife, pleading, “Charley said he had a corking time and we must -lunch--said they wanted to have us up to the house for dinner before -long.” - -She achieved, “Oh, it’s just been one of those quiet evenings that are -often so much more enjoyable than noisy parties where everybody talks at -once and doesn’t really settle down to--nice quiet enjoyment.” - -But from his cot on the sleeping-porch he heard her weeping, slowly, -without hope. - - -IV - -For a month they watched the social columns, and waited for a return -dinner-invitation. - -As the hosts of Sir Gerald Doak, the McKelveys were headlined all the -week after the Babbitts’ dinner. Zenith ardently received Sir Gerald -(who had come to America to buy coal). The newspapers interviewed him on -prohibition, Ireland, unemployment, naval aviation, the rate of -exchange, tea-drinking _versus_ whisky-drinking, the psychology of -American women, and daily life as lived by English county families. Sir -Gerald seemed to have heard of all those topics. The McKelveys gave him -a Singhalese dinner, and Miss Elnora Pearl Bates, society editor of the -_Advocate-Times_, rose to her highest larknote. Babbitt read aloud at -breakfast-table: - - ’Twixt the original and Oriental decorations, the strange and - delicious food, and the personalities both of the distinguished - guests, the charming hostess and the noted host, never has Zenith - seen a more recherche affair than the Ceylon dinner-dance given - last evening by Mr. and Mrs. Charles McKelvey to Sir Gerald Doak. - Methought as we--fortunate one!--were privileged to view that fairy - and foreign scene, nothing at Monte Carlo or the choicest - ambassadorial sets of foreign capitals could be more lovely. It is - not for nothing that Zenith is in matters social rapidly becoming - known as the choosiest inland city in the country. - - Though he is too modest to admit it, Lord Doak gives a cachet to - our smart quartier such as it has not received since the - ever-memorable visit of the Earl of Sittingbourne. Not only is he - of the British peerage, but he is also, on dit, a leader of the - British metal industries. As he comes from Nottingham, a favorite - haunt of Robin Hood, though now, we are informed by Lord Doak, a - live modern city of 275,573 inhabitants, and important lace as well - as other industries, we like to think that perhaps through his - veins runs some of the blood, both virile red and bonny blue, of - that earlier lord o’ the good greenwood, the roguish Robin. - - The lovely Mrs. McKelvey never was more fascinating than last - evening in her black net gown relieved by dainty bands of silver - and at her exquisite waist a glowing cluster of Aaron Ward roses. - -Babbitt said bravely, “I hope they don’t invite us to meet this Lord -Doak guy. Darn sight rather just have a nice quiet little dinner with -Charley and the Missus.” - -At the Zenith Athletic Club they discussed it amply. “I s’pose we’ll -have to call McKelvey ‘Lord Chaz’ from now on,” said Sidney Finkelstein. - -“It beats all get-out,” meditated that man of data, Howard Littlefield, -“how hard it is for some people to get things straight. Here they call -this fellow ‘Lord Doak’ when it ought to be ‘Sir Gerald.’” - -Babbitt marvelled, “Is that a fact! Well, well! ‘Sir Gerald,’ eh? That’s -what you call um, eh? Well, sir, I’m glad to know that.” - -Later he informed his salesmen, “It’s funnier ’n a goat the way some -folks that, just because they happen to lay up a big wad, go -entertaining famous foreigners, don’t have any more idea ’n a rabbit how -to address ’em so’s to make ’em feel at home!” - -That evening, as he was driving home, he passed McKelvey’s limousine and -saw Sir Gerald, a large, ruddy, pop-eyed, Teutonic Englishman whose -dribble of yellow mustache gave him an aspect sad and doubtful. Babbitt -drove on slowly, oppressed by futility. He had a sudden, unexplained, -and horrible conviction that the McKelveys were laughing at him. - -He betrayed his depression by the violence with which he informed his -wife, “Folks that really tend to business haven’t got the time to waste -on a bunch like the McKelveys. This society stuff is like any other -hobby; if you devote yourself to it, you get on. But I like to have a -chance to visit with you and the children instead of all this idiotic -chasing round.” - -They did not speak of the McKelveys again. - - -V - -It was a shame, at this worried time, to have to think about the -Overbrooks. - -Ed Overbrook was a classmate of Babbitt who had been a failure. He had a -large family and a feeble insurance business out in the suburb of -Dorchester. He was gray and thin and unimportant. He had always been -gray and thin and unimportant. He was the person whom, in any group, you -forgot to introduce, then introduced with extra enthusiasm. He had -admired Babbitt’s good-fellowship in college, had admired ever since his -power in real estate, his beautiful house and wonderful clothes. It -pleased Babbitt, though it bothered him with a sense of responsibility. -At the class-dinner he had seen poor Overbrook, in a shiny blue serge -business-suit, being diffident in a corner with three other failures. He -had gone over and been cordial: “Why, hello, young Ed! I hear you’re -writing all the insurance in Dorchester now. Bully work!” - -They recalled the good old days when Overbrook used to write poetry. -Overbrook embarrassed him by blurting, “Say, Georgie, I hate to think of -how we been drifting apart. I wish you and Mrs. Babbitt would come to -dinner some night.” - -Babbitt boomed, “Fine! Sure! Just let me know. And the wife and I want -to have you at the house.” He forgot it, but unfortunately Ed Overbrook -did not. Repeatedly he telephoned to Babbitt, inviting him to dinner. -“Might as well go and get it over,” Babbitt groaned to his wife. “But -don’t it simply amaze you the way the poor fish doesn’t know the first -thing about social etiquette? Think of him ’phoning me, instead of his -wife sitting down and writing us a regular bid! Well, I guess we’re -stuck for it. That’s the trouble with all this class-brother -hooptedoodle.” - -He accepted Overbrook’s next plaintive invitation, for an evening two -weeks off. A dinner two weeks off, even a family dinner, never seems so -appalling, till the two weeks have astoundingly disappeared and one -comes dismayed to the ambushed hour. They had to change the date, -because of their own dinner to the McKelveys, but at last they gloomily -drove out to the Overbrooks’ house in Dorchester. - -It was miserable from the beginning. The Overbrooks had dinner at -six-thirty, while the Babbitts never dined before seven. Babbitt -permitted himself to be ten minutes late. “Let’s make it as short as -possible. I think we’ll duck out quick. I’ll say I have to be at the -office extra early to-morrow,” he planned. - -The Overbrook house was depressing. It was the second story of a wooden -two-family dwelling; a place of baby-carriages, old hats hung in the -hall, cabbage-smell, and a Family Bible on the parlor table. Ed -Overbrook and his wife were as awkward and threadbare as usual, and the -other guests were two dreadful families whose names Babbitt never caught -and never desired to catch. But he was touched, and disconcerted, by the -tactless way in which Overbrook praised him: “We’re mighty proud to have -old George here to-night! Of course you’ve all read about his speeches -and oratory in the papers--and the boy’s good-looking, too, eh?--but -what I always think of is back in college, and what a great old mixer -he was, and one of the best swimmers in the class.” - -Babbitt tried to be jovial; he worked at it; but he could find nothing -to interest him in Overbrook’s timorousness, the blankness of the other -guests, or the drained stupidity of Mrs. Overbrook, with her spectacles, -drab skin, and tight-drawn hair. He told his best Irish story, but it -sank like soggy cake. Most bleary moment of all was when Mrs. Overbrook, -peering out of her fog of nursing eight children and cooking and -scrubbing, tried to be conversational. - -“I suppose you go to Chicago and New York right along, Mr. Babbitt,” she -prodded. - -“Well, I get to Chicago fairly often.” - -“It must be awfully interesting. I suppose you take in all the -theaters.” - -“Well, to tell the truth, Mrs. Overbrook, thing that hits me best is a -great big beefsteak at a Dutch restaurant in the Loop!” - -They had nothing more to say. Babbitt was sorry, but there was no hope; -the dinner was a failure. At ten, rousing out of the stupor of -meaningless talk, he said as cheerily as he could, “’Fraid we got to be -starting, Ed. I’ve got a fellow coming to see me early to-morrow.” As -Overbrook helped him with his coat, Babbitt said, “Nice to rub up on the -old days! We must have lunch together, P.D.Q.” - -Mrs. Babbitt sighed, on their drive home, “It was pretty terrible. But -how Mr. Overbrook does admire you!” - -“Yep. Poor cuss! Seems to think I’m a little tin archangel, and the -best-looking man in Zenith.” - -“Well, you’re certainly not that but-- Oh, Georgie, you don’t suppose we -have to invite them to dinner at our house now, do we?” - -“Ouch! Gaw, I hope not!” - -“See here, now, George! You didn’t say anything about it to Mr. -Overbrook, did you?” - -“No! Gee! No! Honest, I didn’t! Just made a bluff about having him to -lunch some time.” - -“Well.... Oh, dear.... I don’t want to hurt their feelings. But I don’t -see how I could stand another evening like this one. And suppose -somebody like Dr. and Mrs. Angus came in when we had the Overbrooks -there, and thought they were friends of ours!” - -For a week they worried, “We really ought to invite Ed and his wife, -poor devils!” But as they never saw the Overbrooks, they forgot them, -and after a month or two they said, “That really was the best way, just -to let it slide. It wouldn’t be kind to _them_ to have them here. They’d -feel so out of place and hard-up in our home.” - -They did not speak of the Overbrooks again. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -I - -The certainty that he was not going to be accepted by the McKelveys made -Babbitt feel guilty and a little absurd. But he went more regularly to -the Elks; at a Chamber of Commerce luncheon he was oratorical regarding -the wickedness of strikes; and again he saw himself as a Prominent -Citizen. - -His clubs and associations were food comfortable to his spirit. - -Of a decent man in Zenith it was required that he should belong to one, -preferably two or three, of the innumerous “lodges” and -prosperity-boosting lunch-clubs; to the Rotarians, the Kiwanis, or the -Boosters; to the Oddfellows, Moose, Masons, Red Men, Woodmen, Owls, -Eagles, Maccabees, Knights of Pythias, Knights of Columbus, and other -secret orders characterized by a high degree of heartiness, sound -morals, and reverence for the Constitution. There were four reasons for -joining these orders: It was the thing to do. It was good for business, -since lodge-brothers frequently became customers. It gave to Americans -unable to become Geheimräte or Commendatori such unctuous honorifics as -High Worthy Recording Scribe and Grand Hoogow to add to the commonplace -distinctions of Colonel, Judge, and Professor. And it permitted the -swaddled American husband to stay away from home for one evening a week. -The lodge was his piazza, his pavement café. He could shoot pool and -talk man-talk and be obscene and valiant. - -Babbitt was what he called a “joiner” for all these reasons. - -Behind the gold and scarlet banner of his public achievements was the -dun background of office-routine: leases, sales-contracts, lists of -properties to rent. The evenings of oratory and committees and lodges -stimulated him like brandy, but every morning he was sandy-tongued. Week -by week he accumulated nervousness. He was in open disagreement with his -outside salesman, Stanley Graff; and once, though her charms had always -kept him nickeringly polite to her, he snarled at Miss McGoun for -changing his letters. - -But in the presence of Paul Riesling he relaxed. At least once a week -they fled from maturity. On Saturday they played golf, jeering, “As a -golfer, you’re a fine tennis-player,” or they motored all Sunday -afternoon, stopping at village lunchrooms to sit on high stools at a -counter and drink coffee from thick cups. Sometimes Paul came over in -the evening with his violin, and even Zilla was silent as the lonely man -who had lost his way and forever crept down unfamiliar roads spun out -his dark soul in music. - - -II - -Nothing gave Babbitt more purification and publicity than his labors for -the Sunday School. - -His church, the Chatham Road Presbyterian, was one of the largest and -richest, one of the most oaken and velvety, in Zenith. The pastor was -the Reverend John Jennison Drew, M.A., D.D., LL.D. (The M.A. and the -D.D. were from Elbert University, Nebraska, the LL.D. from Waterbury -College, Oklahoma.) He was eloquent, efficient, and versatile. He -presided at meetings for the denunciation of unions or the elevation of -domestic service, and confided to the audiences that as a poor boy he -had carried newspapers. For the Saturday edition of the _Evening -Advocate_ he wrote editorials on “The Manly Man’s Religion” and “The -Dollars and Sense Value of Christianity,” which were printed in bold -type surrounded by a wiggly border. He often said that he was “proud to -be known as primarily a business man” and that he certainly was not -going to “permit the old Satan to monopolize all the pep and punch.” He -was a thin, rustic-faced young man with gold spectacles and a bang of -dull brown hair, but when he hurled himself into oratory he glowed with -power. He admitted that he was too much the scholar and poet to imitate -the evangelist, Mike Monday, yet he had once awakened his fold to new -life, and to larger collections, by the challenge, “My brethren, the -real cheap skate is the man who won’t lend to the Lord!” - -He had made his church a true community center. It contained everything -but a bar. It had a nursery, a Thursday evening supper with a short -bright missionary lecture afterward, a gymnasium, a fortnightly -motion-picture show, a library of technical books for young -workmen--though, unfortunately, no young workman ever entered the church -except to wash the windows or repair the furnace--and a sewing-circle -which made short little pants for the children of the poor while Mrs. -Drew read aloud from earnest novels. - -Though Dr. Drew’s theology was Presbyterian, his church-building was -gracefully Episcopalian. As he said, it had the “most perdurable -features of those noble ecclesiastical monuments of grand Old England -which stand as symbols of the eternity of faith, religious and civil.” -It was built of cheery iron-spot brick in an improved Gothic style, and -the main auditorium had indirect lighting from electric globes in lavish -alabaster bowls. - -On a December morning when the Babbitts went to church, Dr. John -Jennison Drew was unusually eloquent. The crowd was immense. Ten brisk -young ushers, in morning coats with white roses, were bringing folding -chairs up from the basement. There was an impressive musical program, -conducted by Sheldon Smeeth, educational director of the Y.M.C.A., who -also sang the offertory. Babbitt cared less for this, because some -misguided person had taught young Mr. Smeeth to smile, smile, smile -while he was singing, but with all the appreciation of a fellow-orator -he admired Dr. Drew’s sermon. It had the intellectual quality which -distinguished the Chatham Road congregation from the grubby chapels on -Smith Street. - -“At this abundant harvest-time of all the year,” Dr. Drew chanted, -“when, though stormy the sky and laborious the path to the drudging -wayfarer, yet the hovering and bodiless spirit swoops back o’er all the -labors and desires of the past twelve months, oh, then it seems to me -there sounds behind all our apparent failures the golden chorus of -greeting from those passed happily on; and lo! on the dim horizon we see -behind dolorous clouds the mighty mass of mountains--mountains of -melody, mountains of mirth, mountains of might!” - -“I certainly do like a sermon with culture and thought in it,” meditated -Babbitt. - -At the end of the service he was delighted when the pastor, actively -shaking hands at the door, twittered, “Oh, Brother Babbitt, can you wait -a jiffy? Want your advice.” - -“Sure, doctor! You bet!” - -“Drop into my office. I think you’ll like the cigars there.” Babbitt did -like the cigars. He also liked the office, which was distinguished from -other offices only by the spirited change of the familiar wall-placard -to “This is the Lord’s Busy Day.” Chum Frink came in, then William W. -Eathorne. - -Mr. Eathorne was the seventy-year-old president of the First State Bank -of Zenith. He still wore the delicate patches of side-whiskers which had -been the uniform of bankers in 1870. If Babbitt was envious of the Smart -Set of the McKelveys, before William Washington Eathorne he was -reverent. Mr. Eathorne had nothing to do with the Smart Set. He was -above it. He was the great-grandson of one of the five men who founded -Zenith, in 1792, and he was of the third generation of bankers. He could -examine credits, make loans, promote or injure a man’s business. In his -presence Babbitt breathed quickly and felt young. - -The Reverend Dr. Drew bounced into the room and flowered into speech: - -“I’ve asked you gentlemen to stay so I can put a proposition before you. -The Sunday School needs bucking up. It’s the fourth largest in Zenith, -but there’s no reason why we should take anybody’s dust. We ought to be -first. I want to request you, if you will, to form a committee of advice -and publicity for the Sunday School; look it over and make any -suggestions for its betterment, and then, perhaps, see that the press -gives us some attention--give the public some really helpful and -constructive news instead of all these murders and divorces.” - -“Excellent,” said the banker. - -Babbitt and Frink were enchanted to join him. - - -III - -If you had asked Babbitt what his religion was, he would have answered -in sonorous Boosters’-Club rhetoric, “My religion is to serve my fellow -men, to honor my brother as myself, and to do my bit to make life -happier for one and all.” If you had pressed him for more detail, he -would have announced, “I’m a member of the Presbyterian Church, and -naturally, I accept its doctrines.” If you had been so brutal as to go -on, he would have protested, “There’s no use discussing and arguing -about religion; it just stirs up bad feeling.” - -Actually, the content of his theology was that there was a supreme being -who had tried to make us perfect, but presumably had failed; that if one -was a Good Man he would go to a place called Heaven (Babbitt -unconsciously pictured it as rather like an excellent hotel with a -private garden), but if one was a Bad Man, that is, if he murdered or -committed burglary or used cocaine or had mistresses or sold -non-existent real estate, he would be punished. Babbitt was uncertain, -however, about what he called “this business of Hell.” He explained to -Ted, “Of course I’m pretty liberal; I don’t exactly believe in a -fire-and-brimstone Hell. Stands to reason, though, that a fellow can’t -get away with all sorts of Vice and not get nicked for it, see how I -mean?” - -Upon this theology he rarely pondered. The kernel of his practical -religion was that it was respectable, and beneficial to one’s business, -to be seen going to services; that the church kept the Worst Elements -from being still worse; and that the pastor’s sermons, however dull they -might seem at the time of taking, yet had a voodooistic power which “did -a fellow good--kept him in touch with Higher Things.” - -His first investigations for the Sunday School Advisory Committee did -not inspire him. - -He liked the Busy Folks’ Bible Class, composed of mature men and women -and addressed by the old-school physician, Dr. T. Atkins Jordan, in a -sparkling style comparable to that of the more refined humorous -after-dinner speakers, but when he went down to the junior classes he -was disconcerted. He heard Sheldon Smeeth, educational director of the -Y.M.C.A. and leader of the church-choir, a pale but strenuous young man -with curly hair and a smile, teaching a class of sixteen-year-old boys. -Smeeth lovingly admonished them, “Now, fellows, I’m going to have a -Heart to Heart Talk Evening at my house next Thursday. We’ll get off by -ourselves and be frank about our Secret Worries. You can just tell old -Sheldy anything, like all the fellows do at the Y. I’m going to explain -frankly about the horrible practises a kiddy falls into unless he’s -guided by a Big Brother, and about the perils and glory of Sex.” Old -Sheldy beamed damply; the boys looked ashamed; and Babbitt didn’t know -which way to turn his embarrassed eyes. - -Less annoying but also much duller were the minor classes which were -being instructed in philosophy and Oriental ethnology by earnest -spinsters. Most of them met in the highly varnished Sunday School room, -but there was an overflow to the basement, which was decorated with -varicose water-pipes and lighted by small windows high up in the oozing -wall. What Babbitt saw, however, was the First Congregational Church of -Catawba. He was back in the Sunday School of his boyhood. He smelled -again that polite stuffiness to be found only in church parlors; he -recalled the case of drab Sunday School books: “Hetty, a Humble Heroine” -and “Josephus, a Lad of Palestine;” he thumbed once more the -high-colored text-cards which no boy wanted but no boy liked to throw -away, because they were somehow sacred; he was tortured by the stumbling -rote of thirty-five years ago, as in the vast Zenith church he listened -to: - -“Now, Edgar, you read the next verse. What does it mean when it says -it’s easier for a camel to go through a needle’s eye? What does this -teach us? Clarence! Please don’t wiggle so! If you had studied your -lesson you wouldn’t be so fidgety. Now, Earl, what is the lesson Jesus -was trying to teach his disciples? The one thing I want you to -especially remember, boys, is the words, ‘With God all things are -possible.’ Just think of that always--Clarence, _please_ pay -attention--just say ‘With God all things are possible’ whenever you feel -discouraged, and, Alec, will you read the next verse; if you’d pay -attention you wouldn’t lose your place!” - -Drone--drone--drone--gigantic bees that boomed in a cavern of -drowsiness-- - -Babbitt started from his open-eyed nap, thanked the teacher for “the -privilege of listening to her splendid teaching,” and staggered on to -the next circle. - -After two weeks of this he had no suggestions whatever for the Reverend -Dr. Drew. - -Then he discovered a world of Sunday School journals, an enormous and -busy domain of weeklies and monthlies which were as technical, as -practical and forward-looking, as the real-estate columns or the -shoe-trade magazines. He bought half a dozen of them at a religious -book-shop and till after midnight he read them and admired. - -He found many lucrative tips on “Focusing Appeals,” “Scouting for New -Members,” and “Getting Prospects to Sign up with the Sunday School.” He -particularly liked the word “prospects,” and he was moved by the rubric: - -“The moral springs of the community’s life lie deep in its Sunday -Schools--its schools of religious instruction and inspiration. Neglect -now means loss of spiritual vigor and moral power in years to come.... -Facts like the above, followed by a straight-arm appeal, will reach -folks who can never be laughed or jollied into doing their part.” - -Babbitt admitted, “That’s so. I used to skin out of the ole Sunday -School at Catawba every chance I got, but same time, I wouldn’t be where -I am to-day, maybe, if it hadn’t been for its training in--in moral -power. And all about the Bible. Great literature. Have to read some of -it again, one of these days.” - -How scientifically the Sunday School could be organized he learned from -an article in the _Westminster Adult Bible Class_: - -“The second vice-president looks after the fellowship of the class. She -chooses a group to help her. These become ushers. Every one who comes -gets a glad hand. No one goes away a stranger. One member of the group -stands on the doorstep and invites passers-by to come in.” - -Perhaps most of all Babbitt appreciated the remarks by William H. -Ridgway in the _Sunday School Times_: - -“If you have a Sunday School class without any pep and get-up-and-go in -it, that is, without interest, that is uncertain in attendance, that -acts like a fellow with the spring fever, let old Dr. Ridgway write you -a prescription. Rx. Invite the Bunch for Supper.” - -The Sunday School journals were as well rounded as they were practical. -They neglected none of the arts. As to music the _Sunday School Times_ -advertised that C. Harold Lowden, “known to thousands through his sacred -compositions,” had written a new masterpiece, “entitled ‘Yearning for -You.’ The poem, by Harry D. Kerr, is one of the daintiest you could -imagine and the music is indescribably beautiful. Critics are agreed -that it will sweep the country. May be made into a charming sacred song -by substituting the hymn words, ‘I Heard the Voice of Jesus Say.’” - -Even manual training was adequately considered. Babbitt noted an -ingenious way of illustrating the resurrection of Jesus Christ: - -“Model for Pupils to Make. Tomb with Rolling Door.--Use a square covered -box turned upside down. Pull the cover forward a little to form a groove -at the bottom. Cut a square door, also cut a circle of cardboard to more -than cover the door. Cover the circular door and the tomb thickly with -stiff mixture of sand, flour and water and let it dry. It was the heavy -circular stone over the door the women found ‘rolled away’ on Easter -morning. This is the story we are to ‘Go--tell.’” - -In their advertisements the Sunday School journals were thoroughly -efficient. Babbitt was interested in a preparation which “takes the -place of exercise for sedentary men by building up depleted nerve -tissue, nourishing the brain and the digestive system.” He was edified -to learn that the selling of Bibles was a hustling and strictly -competitive industry, and as an expert on hygiene he was pleased by the -Sanitary Communion Outfit Company’s announcement of “an improved and -satisfactory outfit throughout, including highly polished beautiful -mahogany tray. This tray eliminates all noise, is lighter and more -easily handled than others and is more in keeping with the furniture of -the church than a tray of any other material.” - - -IV - -He dropped the pile of Sunday School journals. - -He pondered, “Now, there’s a real he-world. Corking! - -“Ashamed I haven’t sat in more. Fellow that’s an influence in the -community--shame if he doesn’t take part in a real virile hustling -religion. Sort of Christianity Incorporated, you might say. - -“But with all reverence. - -“Some folks might claim these Sunday School fans are undignified and -unspiritual and so on. Sure! Always some skunk to spring things like -that! Knocking and sneering and tearing-down--so much easier than -building up. But me, I certainly hand it to these magazines. They’ve -brought ole George F. Babbitt into camp, and that’s the answer to the -critics! - -“The more manly and practical a fellow is, the more he ought to lead the -enterprising Christian life. Me for it! Cut out this carelessness and -boozing and-- Rone! Where the devil you been? This is a fine time o’ -night to be coming in!” - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - - -I - -There are but three or four old houses in Floral Heights, and in Floral -Heights an old house is one which was built before 1880. The largest of -these is the residence of William Washington Eathorne, president of the -First State Bank. - -The Eathorne Mansion preserves the memory of the “nice parts” of Zenith -as they appeared from 1860 to 1900. It is a red brick immensity with -gray sandstone lintels and a roof of slate in courses of red, green, and -dyspeptic yellow. There are two anemic towers, one roofed with copper, -the other crowned with castiron ferns. The porch is like an open tomb; -it is supported by squat granite pillars above which hang frozen -cascades of brick. At one side of the house is a huge stained-glass -window in the shape of a keyhole. - -But the house has an effect not at all humorous. It embodies the heavy -dignity of those Victorian financiers who ruled the generation between -the pioneers and the brisk “sales-engineers” and created a somber -oligarchy by gaining control of banks, mills, land, railroads, mines. -Out of the dozen contradictory Zeniths which together make up the true -and complete Zenith, none is so powerful and enduring yet none so -unfamiliar to the citizens as the small, still, dry, polite, cruel -Zenith of the William Eathornes; and for that tiny hierarchy the other -Zeniths unwittingly labor and insignificantly die. - -Most of the castles of the testy Victorian tetrarchs are gone now or -decayed into boarding-houses, but the Eathorne Mansion remains virtuous -and aloof, reminiscent of London, Back Bay, Rittenhouse Square. Its -marble steps are scrubbed daily, the brass plate is reverently polished, -and the lace curtains are as prim and superior as William Washington -Eathorne himself. - -With a certain awe Babbitt and Chum Frink called on Eathorne for a -meeting of the Sunday School Advisory Committee; with uneasy stillness -they followed a uniformed maid through catacombs of reception-rooms to -the library. It was as unmistakably the library of a solid old banker as -Eathorne’s side-whiskers were the side-whiskers of a solid old banker. -The books were most of them Standard Sets, with the correct and -traditional touch of dim blue, dim gold, and glossy calf-skin. The fire -was exactly correct and traditional; a small, quiet, steady fire, -reflected by polished fire-irons. The oak desk was dark and old and -altogether perfect; the chairs were gently supercilious. - -Eathorne’s inquiries as to the healths of Mrs. Babbitt, Miss Babbitt, -and the Other Children were softly paternal, but Babbitt had nothing -with which to answer him. It was indecent to think of using the “How’s -tricks, ole socks?” which gratified Vergil Gunch and Frink and Howard -Littlefield--men who till now had seemed successful and urbane. Babbitt -and Frink sat politely, and politely did Eathorne observe, opening his -thin lips just wide enough to dismiss the words, “Gentlemen, before we -begin our conference--you may have felt the cold in coming here--so good -of you to save an old man the journey--shall we perhaps have a whisky -toddy?” - -So well trained was Babbitt in all the conversation that befits a Good -Fellow that he almost disgraced himself with “Rather than make trouble, -and always providin’ there ain’t any enforcement officers hiding in the -waste-basket--” The words died choking in his throat. He bowed in -flustered obedience. So did Chum Frink. - -Eathorne rang for the maid. - -The modern and luxurious Babbitt had never seen any one ring for a -servant in a private house, except during meals. Himself, in hotels, had -rung for bell-boys, but in the house you didn’t hurt Matilda’s -feelings; you went out in the hall and shouted for her. Nor had he, -since prohibition, known any one to be casual about drinking. It was -extraordinary merely to sip his toddy and not cry, “Oh, maaaaan, this -hits me right where I live!” And always, with the ecstasy of youth -meeting greatness, he marveled, “That little fuzzy-face there, why, he -could make me or break me! If he told my banker to call my loans--! -Gosh! That quarter-sized squirt! And looking like he hadn’t got a single -bit of hustle to him! I wonder-- Do we Boosters throw too many fits about -pep?” - -From this thought he shuddered away, and listened devoutly to Eathorne’s -ideas on the advancement of the Sunday School, which were very clear and -very bad. - -Diffidently Babbitt outlined his own suggestions: - -“I think if you analyze the needs of the school, in fact, going right at -it as if it was a merchandizing problem, of course the one basic and -fundamental need is growth. I presume we’re all agreed we won’t be -satisfied till we build up the biggest darn Sunday School in the whole -state, so the Chatham Road Presbyterian won’t have to take anything off -anybody. Now about jazzing up the campaign for prospects: they’ve -already used contesting teams, and given prizes to the kids that bring -in the most members. And they made a mistake there: the prizes were a -lot of folderols and doodads like poetry books and illustrated -Testaments, instead of something a real live kid would want to work for, -like real cash or a speedometer for his motor cycle. Course I suppose -it’s all fine and dandy to illustrate the lessons with these decorated -book-marks and blackboard drawings and so on, but when it comes down to -real he-hustling, getting out and drumming up customers--or members, I -mean, why, you got to make it worth a fellow’s while. - -“Now, I want to propose two stunts: First, divide the Sunday School into -four armies, depending on age. Everybody gets a military rank in his own -army according to how many members he brings in, and the duffers that -lie down on us and don’t bring in any, they remain privates. The pastor -and superintendent rank as generals. And everybody has got to give -salutes and all the rest of that junk, just like a regular army, to make -’em feel it’s worth while to get rank. - -“Then, second: Course the school has its advertising committee, but, -Lord, nobody ever really works good--nobody works well just for the love -of it. The thing to do is to be practical and up-to-date, and hire a -real paid press-agent for the Sunday School--some newspaper fellow who -can give part of his time.” - -“Sure, you bet!” said Chum Frink. - -“Think of the nice juicy bits he could get in!” Babbitt crowed. “Not -only the big, salient, vital facts, about how fast the Sunday -School--and the collection--is growing, but a lot of humorous gossip and -kidding: about how some blowhard fell down on his pledge to get new -members, or the good time the Sacred Trinity class of girls had at their -wieniewurst party. And on the side, if he had time, the press-agent -might even boost the lessons themselves--do a little advertising for all -the Sunday Schools in town, in fact. No use being hoggish toward the -rest of ’em, providing we can keep the bulge on ’em in membership. -Frinstance, he might get the papers to-- Course I haven’t got a literary -training like Frink here, and I’m just guessing how the pieces ought to -be written, but take frinstance, suppose the week’s lesson is about -Jacob; well, the press-agent might get in something that would have a -fine moral, and yet with a trick headline that’d get folks to read -it--say like: _Jake Fools the Old Man; Makes Getaway with Girl and -Bankroll_. See how I mean? That’d get their interest! Now, course, Mr. -Eathorne, you’re conservative, and maybe you feel these stunts would be -undignified, but honestly, I believe they’d bring home the bacon.” - -Eathorne folded his hands on his comfortable little belly and purred -like an aged pussy: - -“May I say, first, that I have been very much pleased by your analysis -of the situation, Mr. Babbitt. As you surmise, it’s necessary in My -Position to be conservative, and perhaps endeavor to maintain a certain -standard of dignity. Yet I think you’ll find me somewhat progressive. In -our bank, for example, I hope I may say that we have as modern a method -of publicity and advertising as any in the city. Yes, I fancy you’ll -find us oldsters quite cognizant of the shifting spiritual values of the -age. Yes, oh yes. And so, in fact, it pleases me to be able to say that -though personally I might prefer the sterner Presbyterianism of an -earlier era--” - -Babbitt finally gathered that Eathorne was willing. - -Chum Frink suggested as part-time press-agent one Kenneth Escott, -reporter on the _Advocate-Times_. - -They parted on a high plane of amity and Christian helpfulness. - -Babbitt did not drive home, but toward the center of the city. He wished -to be by himself and exult over the beauty of intimacy with William -Washington Eathorne. - - -II - -A snow-blanched evening of ringing pavements and eager lights. - -Great golden lights of trolley-cars sliding along the packed snow of the -roadway. Demure lights of little houses. The belching glare of a distant -foundry, wiping out the sharp-edged stars. Lights of neighborhood drug -stores where friends gossiped, well pleased, after the day’s work. - -The green light of a police-station, and greener radiance on the snow; -the drama of a patrol-wagon--gong beating like a terrified heart, -headlights scorching the crystal-sparkling street, driver not a -chauffeur but a policeman proud in uniform, another policeman perilously -dangling on the step at the back, and a glimpse of the prisoner. A -murderer, a burglar, a coiner cleverly trapped? - -An enormous graystone church with a rigid spire; dim light in the -Parlors, and cheerful droning of choir-practise. The quivering green -mercury-vapor light of a photo-engraver’s loft. Then the storming lights -of down-town; parked cars with ruby tail-lights; white arched entrances -to movie theaters, like frosty mouths of winter caves; electric -signs--serpents and little dancing men of fire; pink-shaded globes and -scarlet jazz music in a cheap up-stairs dance-hall; lights of Chinese -restaurants, lanterns painted with cherry-blossoms and with pagodas, -hung against lattices of lustrous gold and black. Small dirty lamps in -small stinking lunchrooms. The smart shopping-district, with rich and -quiet light on crystal pendants and furs and suave surfaces of polished -wood in velvet-hung reticent windows. High above the street, an -unexpected square hanging in the darkness, the window of an office where -some one was working late, for a reason unknown and stimulating. A man -meshed in bankruptcy, an ambitious boy, an oil-man suddenly become rich? - -The air was shrewd, the snow was deep in uncleared alleys, and beyond -the city, Babbitt knew, were hillsides of snow-drift among wintry oaks, -and the curving ice-enchanted river. - -He loved his city with passionate wonder. He lost the accumulated -weariness of business-worry and expansive oratory; he felt young and -potential. He was ambitious. It was not enough to be a Vergil Gunch, an -Orville Jones. No. “They’re bully fellows, simply lovely, but they -haven’t got any finesse.” No. He was going to be an Eathorne; delicately -rigorous, coldly powerful. - -“That’s the stuff. The wallop in the velvet mitt. Not let anybody get -fresh with you. Been getting careless about my diction. Slang. -Colloquial. Cut it out. I was first-rate at rhetoric in college. Themes -on-- Anyway, not bad. Had too much of this hooptedoodle and good-fellow -stuff. I-- Why couldn’t I organize a bank of my own some day? And Ted -succeed me!” - -He drove happily home, and to Mrs. Babbitt he was a William Washington -Eathorne, but she did not notice it. - - -III - -Young Kenneth Escott, reporter on the _Advocate-Times_, was appointed -press-agent of the Chatham Road Presbyterian Sunday School. He gave six -hours a week to it. At least he was paid for giving six hours a week. He -had friends on the _Press_ and the _Gazette_ and he was not (officially) -known as a press-agent. He procured a trickle of insinuating items about -neighborliness and the Bible, about class-suppers, jolly but -educational, and the value of the Prayer-life in attaining financial -success. - -The Sunday School adopted Babbitt’s system of military ranks. Quickened -by this spiritual refreshment, it had a boom. It did not become the -largest school in Zenith--the Central Methodist Church kept ahead of it -by methods which Dr. Drew scored as “unfair, undignified, un-American, -ungentlemanly, and unchristian”--but it climbed from fourth place to -second, and there was rejoicing in heaven, or at least in that portion -of heaven included in the parsonage of Dr. Drew, while Babbitt had much -praise and good repute. - -He had received the rank of colonel on the general staff of the school. -He was plumply pleased by salutes on the street from unknown small boys; -his ears were tickled to ruddy ecstasy by hearing himself called -“Colonel;” and if he did not attend Sunday School merely to be thus -exalted, certainly he thought about it all the way there. - -He was particularly pleasant to the press-agent, Kenneth Escott; he took -him to lunch at the Athletic Club and had him at the house for dinner. - -Like many of the cocksure young men who forage about cities in apparent -contentment and who express their cynicism in supercilious slang, Escott -was shy and lonely. His shrewd starveling face broadened with joy at -dinner, and he blurted, “Gee whillikins, Mrs. Babbitt, if you knew how -good it is to have home eats again!” - -Escott and Verona liked each other. All evening they “talked about -ideas.” They discovered that they were Radicals. True, they were -sensible about it. They agreed that all communists were criminals; that -this _vers libre_ was tommyrot; and that while there ought to be -universal disarmament, of course Great Britain and the United States -must, on behalf of oppressed small nations, keep a navy equal to the -tonnage of all the rest of the world. But they were so revolutionary -that they predicted (to Babbitt’s irritation) that there would some day -be a Third Party which would give trouble to the Republicans and -Democrats. - -Escott shook hands with Babbitt three times, at parting. - -Babbitt mentioned his extreme fondness for Eathorne. - -Within a week three newspapers presented accounts of Babbitt’s sterling -labors for religion, and all of them tactfully mentioned William -Washington Eathorne as his collaborator. - -Nothing had brought Babbitt quite so much credit at the Elks, the -Athletic Club, and the Boosters’. His friends had always congratulated -him on his oratory, but in their praise was doubt, for even in speeches -advertising the city there was something highbrow and degenerate, like -writing poetry. But now Orville Jones shouted across the Athletic -dining-room, “Here’s the new director of the First State Bank!” Grover -Butterbaugh, the eminent wholesaler of plumbers’ supplies, chuckled, -“Wonder you mix with common folks, after holding Eathorne’s hand!” And -Emil Wengert, the jeweler, was at last willing to discuss buying a house -in Dorchester. - - -IV - -When the Sunday School campaign was finished, Babbitt suggested to -Kenneth Escott, “Say, how about doing a little boosting for Doc Drew -personally?” - -Escott grinned. “You trust the doc to do a little boosting for himself, -Mr. Babbitt! There’s hardly a week goes by without his ringing up the -paper to say if we’ll chase a reporter up to his Study, he’ll let us in -on the story about the swell sermon he’s going to preach on the -wickedness of short skirts, or the authorship of the Pentateuch. Don’t -you worry about him. There’s just one better publicity-grabber in town, -and that’s this Dora Gibson Tucker that runs the Child Welfare and the -Americanization League, and the only reason she’s got Drew beaten is -because she has got _some_ brains!” - -“Well, now Kenneth, I don’t think you ought to talk that way about the -doctor. A preacher has to watch his interests, hasn’t he? You remember -that in the Bible about--about being diligent in the Lord’s business, or -something?” - -“All right, I’ll get something in if you want me to, Mr. Babbitt, but -I’ll have to wait till the managing editor is out of town, and then -blackjack the city editor.” - -Thus it came to pass that in the Sunday _Advocate-Times_, under a -picture of Dr. Drew at his earnestest, with eyes alert, jaw as granite, -and rustic lock flamboyant, appeared an inscription--a wood-pulp tablet -conferring twenty-four hours’ immortality: - - The Rev. Dr. John Jennison Drew, M.A., pastor of the beautiful - Chatham Road Presbyterian Church in lovely Floral Heights, is a - wizard soul-winner. He holds the local record for conversions. - During his shepherdhood an average of almost a hundred sin-weary - persons per year have declared their resolve to lead a new life and - have found a harbor of refuge and peace. - - Everything zips at the Chatham Road Church. The subsidiary - organizations are keyed to the top-notch of efficiency. Dr. Drew is - especially keen on good congregational singing. Bright cheerful - hymns are used at every meeting, and the special Sing Services - attract lovers of music and professionals from all parts of the - city. - - On the popular lecture platform as well as in the pulpit Dr. Drew - is a renowned word-painter, and during the course of the year he - receives literally scores of invitations to speak at varied - functions both here and elsewhere. - - -V - -Babbitt let Dr. Drew know that he was responsible for this tribute. Dr. -Drew called him “brother,” and shook his hand a great many times. - -During the meetings of the Advisory Committee, Babbitt had hinted that -he would be charmed to invite Eathorne to dinner, but Eathorne had -murmured, “So nice of you--old man, now--almost never go out.” Surely -Eathorne would not refuse his own pastor. Babbitt said boyishly to Drew: - -“Say, doctor, now we’ve put this thing over, strikes me it’s up to the -dominie to blow the three of us to a dinner!” - -“Bully! You bet! Delighted!” cried Dr. Drew, in his manliest way. (Some -one had once told him that he talked like the late President Roosevelt.) - -“And, uh, say, doctor, be sure and get Mr. Eathorne to come. Insist on -it. It’s, uh-- I think he sticks around home too much for his own -health.” - -Eathorne came. - -It was a friendly dinner. Babbitt spoke gracefully of the stabilizing -and educational value of bankers to the community. They were, he said, -the pastors of the fold of commerce. For the first time Eathorne -departed from the topic of Sunday Schools, and asked Babbitt about the -progress of his business. Babbitt answered modestly, almost filially. - -A few months later, when he had a chance to take part in the Street -Traction Company’s terminal deal, Babbitt did not care to go to his own -bank for a loan. It was rather a quiet sort of deal and, if it had come -out, the Public might not have understood. He went to his friend Mr. -Eathorne; he was welcomed, and received the loan as a private venture; -and they both profited in their pleasant new association. - -After that, Babbitt went to church regularly, except on spring Sunday -mornings which were obviously meant for motoring. He announced to Ted, -“I tell you, boy, there’s no stronger bulwark of sound conservatism than -the evangelical church, and no better place to make friends who’ll help -you to gain your rightful place in the community than in your own -church-home!” - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - -I - -Though he saw them twice daily, though he knew and amply discussed every -detail of their expenditures, yet for weeks together Babbitt was no more -conscious of his children than of the buttons on his coat-sleeves. - -The admiration of Kenneth Escott made him aware of Verona. - -She had become secretary to Mr. Gruensberg of the Gruensberg Leather -Company; she did her work with the thoroughness of a mind which reveres -details and never quite understands them; but she was one of the people -who give an agitating impression of being on the point of doing -something desperate--of leaving a job or a husband--without ever doing -it. Babbitt was so hopeful about Escott’s hesitant ardors that he became -the playful parent. When he returned from the Elks he peered coyly into -the living-room and gurgled, “Has our Kenny been here to-night?” He -never credited Verona’s protest, “Why, Ken and I are just good friends, -and we only talk about Ideas. I won’t have all this sentimental -nonsense, that would spoil everything.” - -It was Ted who most worried Babbitt. - -With conditions in Latin and English but with a triumphant record in -manual training, basket-ball, and the organization of dances, Ted was -struggling through his Senior year in the East Side High School. At home -he was interested only when he was asked to trace some subtle ill in the -ignition system of the car. He repeated to his tut-tutting father that -he did not wish to go to college or law-school, and Babbitt was equally -disturbed by this “shiftlessness” and by Ted’s relations with Eunice -Littlefield, next door. - -Though she was the daughter of Howard Littlefield, that wrought-iron -fact-mill, that horse-faced priest of private ownership, Eunice was a -midge in the sun. She danced into the house, she flung herself into -Babbitt’s lap when he was reading, she crumpled his paper, and laughed -at him when he adequately explained that he hated a crumpled newspaper -as he hated a broken sales-contract. She was seventeen now. Her ambition -was to be a cinema actress. She did not merely attend the showing of -every “feature film;” she also read the motion-picture magazines, those -extraordinary symptoms of the Age of Pep--monthlies and weeklies -gorgeously illustrated with portraits of young women who had recently -been manicure girls, not very skilful manicure girls, and who, unless -their every grimace had been arranged by a director, could not have -acted in the Easter cantata of the Central Methodist Church; magazines -reporting, quite seriously, in “interviews” plastered with pictures of -riding-breeches and California bungalows, the views on sculpture and -international politics of blankly beautiful, suspiciously beautiful -young men; outlining the plots of films about pure prostitutes and -kind-hearted train-robbers; and giving directions for making bootblacks -into Celebrated Scenario Authors overnight. - -These authorities Eunice studied. She could, she frequently did, tell -whether it was in November or December, 1905, that Mack Harker, the -renowned screen cowpuncher and badman, began his public career, as -chorus man in “Oh, You Naughty Girlie.” On the wall of her room, her -father reported, she had pinned up twenty-one photographs of actors. But -the signed portrait of the most graceful of the movie heroes she carried -in her young bosom. - -Babbitt was bewildered by this worship of new gods, and he suspected -that Eunice smoked cigarettes. He smelled the cloying reek from -up-stairs, and heard her giggling with Ted. He never inquired. The -agreeable child dismayed him. Her thin and charming face was sharpened -by bobbed hair; her skirts were short, her stockings were rolled, and, -as she flew after Ted, above the caressing silk were glimpses of soft -knees which made Babbitt uneasy, and wretched that she should consider -him old. Sometimes, in the veiled life of his dreams, when the fairy -child came running to him she took on the semblance of Eunice -Littlefield. - -Ted was motor-mad as Eunice was movie-mad. - -A thousand sarcastic refusals did not check his teasing for a car of his -own. However lax he might be about early rising and the prosody of -Vergil, he was tireless in tinkering. With three other boys he bought a -rheumatic Ford chassis, built an amazing racer-body out of tin and pine, -went skidding round corners in the perilous craft, and sold it at a -profit. Babbitt gave him a motor-cycle, and every Saturday afternoon, -with seven sandwiches and a bottle of Coca-Cola in his pockets, and -Eunice perched eerily on the rumble seat, he went roaring off to distant -towns. - -Usually Eunice and he were merely neighborhood chums, and quarreled with -a wholesome and violent lack of delicacy; but now and then, after the -color and scent of a dance, they were silent together and a little -furtive, and Babbitt was worried. - -Babbitt was an average father. He was affectionate, bullying, -opinionated, ignorant, and rather wistful. Like most parents, he enjoyed -the game of waiting till the victim was clearly wrong, then virtuously -pouncing. He justified himself by croaking, “Well, Ted’s mother spoils -him. Got to be somebody who tells him what’s what, and me, I’m elected -the goat. Because I try to bring him up to be a real, decent, human -being and not one of these sapheads and lounge-lizards, of course they -all call me a grouch!” - -Throughout, with the eternal human genius for arriving by the worst -possible routes at surprisingly tolerable goals, Babbitt loved his son -and warmed to his companionship and would have sacrificed everything for -him--if he could have been sure of proper credit. - - -II - -Ted was planning a party for his set in the Senior Class. - -Babbitt meant to be helpful and jolly about it. From his memory of -high-school pleasures back in Catawba he suggested the nicest games: -Going to Boston, and charades with stewpans for helmets, and word-games -in which you were an Adjective or a Quality. When he was most -enthusiastic he discovered that they weren’t paying attention; they were -only tolerating him. As for the party, it was as fixed and standardized -as a Union Club Hop. There was to be dancing in the living-room, a noble -collation in the dining-room, and in the hall two tables of bridge for -what Ted called “the poor old dumb-bells that you can’t get to dance -hardly more ’n half the time.” - -Every breakfast was monopolized by conferences on the affair. No one -listened to Babbitt’s bulletins about the February weather or to his -throat-clearing comments on the headlines. He said furiously, “If I may -be _permitted_ to interrupt your engrossing private _conversation_-- Juh -hear what I _said_?” - -“Oh, don’t be a spoiled baby! Ted and I have just as much right to talk -as you have!” flared Mrs. Babbitt. - -On the night of the party he was permitted to look on, when he was not -helping Matilda with the Vecchia ice cream and the _petits fours_. He -was deeply disquieted. Eight years ago, when Verona had given a -high-school party, the children had been featureless babies. Now they -were men and women of the world, very supercilious men and women; the -boys condescended to Babbitt, they wore evening-clothes, and with -hauteur they accepted cigarettes from silver cases. Babbitt had heard -stories of what the Athletic Club called “goings-on” at young parties; -of girls “parking” their corsets in the dressing-room, of “cuddling” and -“petting,” and a presumable increase in what was known as Immorality. -To-night he believed the stories. These children seemed bold to him, and -cold. The girls wore misty chiffon, coral velvet, or cloth of gold, and -around their dipping bobbed hair were shining wreaths. He had it, upon -urgent and secret inquiry, that no corsets were known to be parked -upstairs; but certainly these eager bodies were not stiff with steel. -Their stockings were of lustrous silk, their slippers costly and -unnatural, their lips carmined and their eyebrows penciled. They danced -cheek to cheek with the boys, and Babbitt sickened with apprehension and -unconscious envy. - -Worst of them all was Eunice Littlefield, and maddest of all the boys -was Ted. Eunice was a flying demon. She slid the length of the room; her -tender shoulders swayed; her feet were deft as a weaver’s shuttle; she -laughed, and enticed Babbitt to dance with her. - -Then he discovered the annex to the party. - -The boys and girls disappeared occasionally, and he remembered rumors of -their drinking together from hip-pocket flasks. He tiptoed round the -house, and in each of the dozen cars waiting in the street he saw the -points of light from cigarettes, from each of them heard high giggles. -He wanted to denounce them but (standing in the snow, peering round the -dark corner) he did not dare. He tried to be tactful. When he had -returned to the front hall he coaxed the boys, “Say, if any of you -fellows are thirsty, there’s some dandy ginger ale.” - -“Oh! Thanks!” they condescended. - -He sought his wife, in the pantry, and exploded, “I’d like to go in -there and throw some of those young pups out of the house! They talk -down to me like I was the butler! I’d like to--” - -“I know,” she sighed; “only everybody says, all the mothers tell me, -unless you stand for them, if you get angry because they go out to their -cars to have a drink, they won’t come to your house any more, and we -wouldn’t want Ted left out of things, would we?” - -He announced that he would be enchanted to have Ted left out of things, -and hurried in to be polite, lest Ted be left out of things. - -But, he resolved, if he found that the boys were drinking, he -would--well, he’d “hand ’em something that would surprise ’em.” While he -was trying to be agreeable to large-shouldered young bullies he was -earnestly sniffing at them. Twice he caught the reek of prohibition-time -whisky, but then, it was only twice-- - -Dr. Howard Littlefield lumbered in. - -He had come, in a mood of solemn parental patronage, to look on. Ted and -Eunice were dancing, moving together like one body. Littlefield gasped. -He called Eunice. There was a whispered duologue, and Littlefield -explained to Babbitt that Eunice’s mother had a headache and needed her. -She went off in tears. Babbitt looked after them furiously. “That little -devil! Getting Ted into trouble! And Littlefield, the conceited old -gas-bag, acting like it was Ted that was the bad influence!” - -Later he smelled whisky on Ted’s breath. - -After the civil farewell to the guests, the row was terrific, a thorough -Family Scene, like an avalanche, devastating and without reticences. -Babbitt thundered, Mrs. Babbitt wept, Ted was unconvincingly defiant, -and Verona in confusion as to whose side she was taking. - -For several months there was coolness between the Babbitts and the -Littlefields, each family sheltering their lamb from the wolf-cub next -door. Babbitt and Littlefield still spoke in pontifical periods about -motors and the senate, but they kept bleakly away from mention of their -families. Whenever Eunice came to the house she discussed with pleasant -intimacy the fact that she had been forbidden to come to the house; and -Babbitt tried, with no success whatever, to be fatherly and advisory -with her. - - -III - -“Gosh all fishhooks!” Ted wailed to Eunice, as they wolfed hot -chocolate, lumps of nougat, and an assortment of glacé nuts, in the -mosaic splendor of the Royal Drug Store, “it gets me why Dad doesn’t -just pass out from being so poky. Every evening he sits there, about -half-asleep, and if Rone or I say, ‘Oh, come on, let’s do something,’ he -doesn’t even take the trouble to think about it. He just yawns and says, -‘Naw, this suits me right here.’ He doesn’t know there’s any fun going -on anywhere. I suppose he must do some thinking, same as you and I do, -but gosh, there’s no way of telling it. I don’t believe that outside of -the office and playing a little bum golf on Saturday he knows there’s -anything in the world to do except just keep sitting there--sitting -there every night--not wanting to go anywhere--not wanting to do -anything--thinking us kids are crazy--sitting there--Lord!” - - -IV - -If he was frightened by Ted’s slackness, Babbitt was not sufficiently -frightened by Verona. She was too safe. She lived too much in the neat -little airless room of her mind. Kenneth Escott and she were always -under foot. When they were not at home, conducting their cautiously -radical courtship over sheets of statistics, they were trudging off to -lectures by authors and Hindu philosophers and Swedish lieutenants. - -“Gosh,” Babbitt wailed to his wife, as they walked home from the -Fogartys’ bridge-party, “it gets me how Rone and that fellow can be so -poky. They sit there night after night, whenever he isn’t working, and -they don’t know there’s any fun in the world. All talk and -discussion--Lord! Sitting there--sitting there--night after night--not -wanting to do anything--thinking I’m crazy because I like to go out and -play a fist of cards--sitting there--gosh!” - -Then round the swimmer, bored by struggling through the perpetual surf -of family life, new combers swelled. - - -V - -Babbitt’s father-and mother-in-law, Mr. and Mrs. Henry T. Thompson, -rented their old house in the Bellevue district and moved to the Hotel -Hatton, that glorified boarding-house filled with widows, red-plush -furniture, and the sound of ice-water pitchers. They were lonely there, -and every other Sunday evening the Babbitts had to dine with them, on -fricasseed chicken, discouraged celery, and cornstarch ice cream, and -afterward sit, polite and restrained, in the hotel lounge, while a young -woman violinist played songs from the German via Broadway. - -Then Babbitt’s own mother came down from Catawba to spend three weeks. - -She was a kind woman and magnificently uncomprehending. She -congratulated the convention-defying Verona on being a “nice, loyal -home-body without all these Ideas that so many girls seem to have -nowadays;” and when Ted filled the differential with grease, out of pure -love of mechanics and filthiness, she rejoiced that he was “so handy -around the house and helping his father and all, and not going out with -the girls all the time and trying to pretend he was a society fellow.” - -Babbitt loved his mother, and sometimes he rather liked her, but he was -annoyed by her Christian Patience, and he was reduced to pulpiness when -she discoursed about a quite mythical hero called “Your Father”: - -“You won’t remember it, Georgie, you were such a little fellow at the -time--my, I remember just how you looked that day, with your goldy -brown curls and your lace collar, you always were such a dainty child, -and kind of puny and sickly, and you loved pretty things so much and the -red tassels on your little bootees and all--and Your Father was taking -us to church and a man stopped us and said ‘Major’--so many of the -neighbors used to call Your Father ‘Major;’ of course he was only a -private in The War but everybody knew that was because of the jealousy -of his captain and he ought to have been a high-ranking officer, he had -that natural ability to command that so very, very few men have--and -this man came out into the road and held up his hand and stopped the -buggy and said, ‘Major,’ he said, ‘there’s a lot of the folks around -here that have decided to support Colonel Scanell for congress, and we -want you to join us. Meeting people the way you do in the store, you -could help us a lot.’ - -“Well, Your Father just looked at him and said, ‘I certainly shall do -nothing of the sort. I don’t like his politics,’ he said. Well, the -man--Captain Smith they used to call him, and heaven only knows why, -because he hadn’t the shadow or vestige of a right to be called -‘Captain’ or any other title--this Captain Smith said, ‘We’ll make it -hot for you if you don’t stick by your friends, Major.’ Well, you know -how Your Father was, and this Smith knew it too; he knew what a Real Man -he was, and he knew Your Father knew the political situation from A to -Z, and he ought to have seen that here was one man he couldn’t impose -on, but he went on trying to and hinting and trying till Your Father -spoke up and said to him, ‘Captain Smith,’ he said, ‘I have a reputation -around these parts for being one who is amply qualified to mind his own -business and let other folks mind theirs!’ and with that he drove on and -left the fellow standing there in the road like a bump on a log!” - -Babbitt was most exasperated when she revealed his boyhood to the -children. He had, it seemed, been fond of barley-sugar; had worn the -“loveliest little pink bow in his curls” and corrupted his own name to -“Goo-goo.” He heard (though he did not officially hear) Ted admonishing -Tinka, “Come on now, kid; stick the lovely pink bow in your curls and -beat it down to breakfast, or Goo-goo will jaw your head off.” - -Babbitt’s half-brother, Martin, with his wife and youngest baby, came -down from Catawba for two days. Martin bred cattle and ran the dusty -general-store. He was proud of being a freeborn independent American of -the good old Yankee stock; he was proud of being honest, blunt, ugly, -and disagreeable. His favorite remark was “How much did you pay for -that?” He regarded Verona’s books, Babbitt’s silver pencil, and flowers -on the table as citified extravagances, and said so. Babbitt would have -quarreled with him but for his gawky wife and the baby, whom Babbitt -teased and poked fingers at and addressed: - -“I think this baby’s a bum, yes, sir, I think this little baby’s a bum, -he’s a bum, yes, sir, he’s a bum, that’s what he is, he’s a bum, this -baby’s a bum, he’s nothing but an old bum, that’s what he is--a bum!” - -All the while Verona and Kenneth Escott held long inquiries into -epistemology; Ted was a disgraced rebel; and Tinka, aged eleven, was -demanding that she be allowed to go to the movies thrice a week, “like -all the girls.” - -Babbitt raged, “I’m sick of it! Having to carry three generations. Whole -damn bunch lean on me. Pay half of mother’s income, listen to Henry T., -listen to Myra’s worrying, be polite to Mart, and get called an old -grouch for trying to help the children. All of ’em depending on me and -picking on me and not a damn one of ’em grateful! No relief, and no -credit, and no help from anybody. And to keep it up for--good Lord, how -long?” - -He enjoyed being sick in February; he was delighted by their -consternation that he, the rock, should give way. - -He had eaten a questionable clam. For two days he was languorous and -petted and esteemed. He was allowed to snarl “Oh, let me alone!” -without reprisals. He lay on the sleeping-porch and watched the winter -sun slide along the taut curtains, turning their ruddy khaki to pale -blood red. The shadow of the draw-rope was dense black, in an enticing -ripple on the canvas. He found pleasure in the curve of it, sighed as -the fading light blurred it. He was conscious of life, and a little sad. -With no Vergil Gunches before whom to set his face in resolute optimism, -he beheld, and half admitted that he beheld, his way of life as -incredibly mechanical. Mechanical business--a brisk selling of badly -built houses. Mechanical religion--a dry, hard church, shut off from the -real life of the streets, inhumanly respectable as a top-hat. Mechanical -golf and dinner-parties and bridge and conversation. Save with Paul -Riesling, mechanical friendships--back-slapping and jocular, never -daring to essay the test of quietness. - -He turned uneasily in bed. - -He saw the years, the brilliant winter days and all the long sweet -afternoons which were meant for summery meadows, lost in such brittle -pretentiousness. He thought of telephoning about leases, of cajoling men -he hated, of making business calls and waiting in dirty anterooms--hat -on knee, yawning at fly-specked calendars, being polite to office-boys. - -“I don’t hardly want to go back to work,” he prayed. “I’d like to-- I -don’t know.” - -But he was back next day, busy and of doubtful temper. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - - -I - -The Zenith Street Traction Company planned to build car-repair shops in -the suburb of Dorchester, but when they came to buy the land they found -it held, on options, by the Babbitt-Thompson Realty Company. The -purchasing-agent, the first vice-president, and even the president of -the Traction Company protested against the Babbitt price. They mentioned -their duty toward stockholders, they threatened an appeal to the courts, -though somehow the appeal to the courts was never carried out and the -officials found it wiser to compromise with Babbitt. Carbon copies of -the correspondence are in the company’s files, where they may be viewed -by any public commission. - -Just after this Babbitt deposited three thousand dollars in the bank, -the purchasing-agent of the Street Traction Company bought a five -thousand dollar car, the first vice-president built a home in Devon -Woods, and the president was appointed minister to a foreign country. - -To obtain the options, to tie up one man’s land without letting his -neighbor know, had been an unusual strain on Babbitt. It was necessary -to introduce rumors about planning garages and stores, to pretend that -he wasn’t taking any more options, to wait and look as bored as a -poker-player at a time when the failure to secure a key-lot threatened -his whole plan. To all this was added a nerve-jabbing quarrel with his -secret associates in the deal. They did not wish Babbitt and Thompson to -have any share in the deal except as brokers. Babbitt rather agreed. -“Ethics of the business--broker ought to strictly represent his -principles and not get in on the buying,” he said to Thompson. - -“Ethics, rats! Think I’m going to see that bunch of holy grafters get -away with the swag and us not climb in?” snorted old Henry. - -“Well, I don’t like to do it. Kind of double-crossing.” - -“It ain’t. It’s triple-crossing. It’s the public that gets -double-crossed. Well, now we’ve been ethical and got it out of our -systems, the question is where we can raise a loan to handle some of the -property for ourselves, on the Q. T. We can’t go to our bank for it. -Might come out.” - -“I could see old Eathorne. He’s close as the tomb.” - -“That’s the stuff.” - -Eathorne was glad, he said, to “invest in character,” to make Babbitt -the loan and see to it that the loan did not appear on the books of the -bank. Thus certain of the options which Babbitt and Thompson obtained -were on parcels of real estate which they themselves owned, though the -property did not appear in their names. - -In the midst of closing this splendid deal, which stimulated business -and public confidence by giving an example of increased real-estate -activity, Babbitt was overwhelmed to find that he had a dishonest person -working for him. - -The dishonest one was Stanley Graff, the outside salesman. - -For some time Babbitt had been worried about Graff. He did not keep his -word to tenants. In order to rent a house he would promise repairs which -the owner had not authorized. It was suspected that he juggled -inventories of furnished houses so that when the tenant left he had to -pay for articles which had never been in the house and the price of -which Graff put into his pocket. Babbitt had not been able to prove -these suspicions, and though he had rather planned to discharge Graff he -had never quite found time for it. - -Now into Babbitt’s private room charged a red-faced man, panting, “Look -here! I’ve come to raise particular merry hell, and unless you have that -fellow pinched, I will!” - -“What’s-- Calm down, o’ man. What’s trouble?” - -“Trouble! Huh! Here’s the trouble--” - -“Sit down and take it easy! They can hear you all over the building!” - -“This fellow Graff you got working for you, he leases me a house. I was -in yesterday and signs the lease, all O.K., and he was to get the -owner’s signature and mail me the lease last night. Well, and he did. -This morning I comes down to breakfast and the girl says a fellow had -come to the house right after the early delivery and told her he wanted -an envelope that had been mailed by mistake, big long envelope with -‘Babbitt-Thompson’ in the corner of it. Sure enough, there it was, so -she lets him have it. And she describes the fellow to me, and it was -this Graff. So I ’phones to him and he, the poor fool, he admits it! He -says after my lease was all signed he got a better offer from another -fellow and he wanted my lease back. Now what you going to do about it?” - -“Your name is--?” - -“William Varney--W. K. Varney.” - -“Oh, yes. That was the Garrison house.” Babbitt sounded the buzzer. When -Miss McGoun came in, he demanded, “Graff gone out?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Will you look through his desk and see if there is a lease made out to -Mr. Varney on the Garrison house?” To Varney: “Can’t tell you how sorry -I am this happened. Needless to say, I’ll fire Graff the minute he comes -in. And of course your lease stands. But there’s one other thing I’d -like to do. I’ll tell the owner not to pay us the commission but apply -it to your rent. No! Straight! I want to. To be frank, this thing shakes -me up bad. I suppose I’ve always been a Practical Business Man. Probably -I’ve told one or two fairy stories in my time, when the occasion called -for it--you know: sometimes you have to lay things on thick, to impress -boneheads. But this is the first time I’ve ever had to accuse one of my -own employees of anything more dishonest than pinching a few stamps. -Honest, it would hurt me if we profited by it. So you’ll let me hand you -the commission? Good!” - - -II - -He walked through the February city, where trucks flung up a spattering -of slush and the sky was dark above dark brick cornices. He came back -miserable. He, who respected the law, had broken it by concealing the -Federal crime of interception of the mails. But he could not see Graff -go to jail and his wife suffer. Worse, he had to discharge Graff, and -this was a part of office routine which he feared. He liked people so -much, he so much wanted them to like him, that he could not bear -insulting them. - -Miss McGoun dashed in to whisper, with the excitement of an approaching -scene, “He’s here!” - -“Mr. Graff? Ask him to come in.” - -He tried to make himself heavy and calm in his chair, and to keep his -eyes expressionless. Graff stalked in--a man of thirty-five, dapper, -eye-glassed, with a foppish mustache. - -“Want me?” said Graff. - -“Yes. Sit down.” - -Graff continued to stand, grunting, “I suppose that old nut Varney has -been in to see you. Let me explain about him. He’s a regular tightwad, -and he sticks out for every cent, and he practically lied to me about -his ability to pay the rent-- I found that out just after we signed up. -And then another fellow comes along with a better offer for the house, -and I felt it was my duty to the firm to get rid of Varney, and I was so -worried about it I skun up there and got back the lease. Honest, Mr. -Babbitt, I didn’t intend to pull anything crooked. I just wanted the -firm to have all the commis--” - -“Wait now, Stan. This may all be true, but I’ve been having a lot of -complaints about you. Now I don’t s’pose you ever mean to do wrong, and -I think if you just get a good lesson that’ll jog you up a little, -you’ll turn out a first-class realtor yet. But I don’t see how I can -keep you on.” - -Graff leaned against the filing-cabinet, his hands in his pockets, and -laughed. “So I’m fired! Well, old Vision and Ethics, I’m tickled to -death! But I don’t want you to think you can get away with any -holier-than-thou stuff. Sure I’ve pulled some raw stuff--a little of -it--but how could I help it, in this office?” - -“Now, by God, young man--” - -“Tut, tut! Keep the naughty temper down, and don’t holler, because -everybody in the outside office will hear you. They’re probably -listening right now. Babbitt, old dear, you’re crooked in the first -place and a damn skinflint in the second. If you paid me a decent salary -I wouldn’t have to steal pennies off a blind man to keep my wife from -starving. Us married just five months, and her the nicest girl living, -and you keeping us flat broke all the time, you damned old thief, so you -can put money away for your saphead of a son and your wishywashy fool of -a daughter! Wait, now! You’ll by God take it, or I’ll bellow so the -whole office will hear it! And crooked-- Say, if I told the prosecuting -attorney what I know about this last Street Traction option steal, both -you and me would go to jail, along with some nice, clean, pious, high-up -traction guns!” - -“Well, Stan, looks like we were coming down to cases. That deal-- There -was nothing crooked about it. The only way you can get progress is for -the broad-gauged men to get things done; and they got to be rewarded--” - -“Oh, for Pete’s sake, don’t get virtuous on me! As I gather it, I’m -fired. All right. It’s a good thing for me. And if I catch you knocking -me to any other firm, I’ll squeal all I know about you and Henry T. and -the dirty little lickspittle deals that you corporals of industry pull -off for the bigger and brainier crooks, and you’ll get chased out of -town. And me--you’re right, Babbitt, I’ve been going crooked, but now -I’m going straight, and the first step will be to get a job in some -office where the boss doesn’t talk about Ideals. Bad luck, old dear, and -you can stick your job up the sewer!” - -Babbitt sat for a long time, alternately raging, “I’ll have him -arrested,” and yearning “I wonder-- No, I’ve never done anything that -wasn’t necessary to keep the Wheels of Progress moving.” - -Next day he hired in Graff’s place Fritz Weilinger, the salesman of his -most injurious rival, the East Side Homes and Development Company, and -thus at once annoyed his competitor and acquired an excellent man. Young -Fritz was a curly-headed, merry, tennis-playing youngster. He made -customers welcome to the office. Babbitt thought of him as a son, and in -him had much comfort. - - -III - -An abandoned race-track on the outskirts of Chicago, a plot excellent -for factory sites, was to be sold, and Jake Offut asked Babbitt to bid -on it for him. The strain of the Street Traction deal and his -disappointment in Stanley Graff had so shaken Babbitt that he found it -hard to sit at his desk and concentrate. He proposed to his family, -“Look here, folks! Do you know who’s going to trot up to Chicago for a -couple of days--just week-end; won’t lose but one day of school--know -who’s going with that celebrated business-ambassador, George F. Babbitt? -Why, Mr. Theodore Roosevelt Babbitt!” - -“Hurray!” Ted shouted, and “Oh, maybe the Babbitt men won’t paint that -lil ole town red!” - -And, once away from the familiar implications of home, they were two men -together. Ted was young only in his assumption of oldness, and the only -realms, apparently, in which Babbitt had a larger and more grown-up -knowledge than Ted’s were the details of real estate and the phrases of -politics. When the other sages of the Pullman smoking-compartment had -left them to themselves, Babbitt’s voice did not drop into the playful -and otherwise offensive tone in which one addresses children but -continued its overwhelming and monotonous rumble, and Ted tried to -imitate it in his strident tenor: - -“Gee, dad, you certainly did show up that poor boot when he got flip -about the League of Nations!” - -“Well, the trouble with a lot of these fellows is, they simply don’t -know what they’re talking about. They don’t get down to facts.... What -do you think of Ken Escott?” - -“I’ll tell you, dad: it strikes me Ken is a nice lad; no special faults -except he smokes too much; but slow, Lord! Why, if we don’t give him a -shove the poor dumb-bell never will propose! And Rone just as bad. -Slow.” - -“Yes, I guess you’re right. They’re slow. They haven’t either one of ’em -got our pep.” - -“That’s right. They’re slow. I swear, dad, I don’t know how Rone got -into our family! I’ll bet, if the truth were known, you were a bad old -egg when you were a kid!” - -“Well, I wasn’t so slow!” - -“I’ll bet you weren’t! I’ll bet you didn’t miss many tricks!” - -“Well, when I was out with the girls I didn’t spend all the time telling -’em about the strike in the knitting industry!” - -They roared together, and together lighted cigars. - -“What are we going to do with ’em?” Babbitt consulted. - -“Gosh, I don’t know. I swear, sometimes I feel like taking Ken aside and -putting him over the jumps and saying to him, ‘Young fella me lad, are -you going to marry young Rone, or are you going to talk her to death? -Here you are getting on toward thirty, and you’re only making twenty or -twenty-five a week. When you going to develop a sense of responsibility -and get a raise? If there’s anything that George F. or I can do to help -you, call on us, but show a little speed, anyway!’” - -“Well, at that, it might not be so bad if you or I talked to him, except -he might not understand. He’s one of these highbrows. He can’t come -down to cases and lay his cards on the table and talk straight out from -the shoulder, like you or I can.” - -“That’s right, he’s like all these highbrows.” - -“That’s so, like all of ’em.” - -“That’s a fact.” - -They sighed, and were silent and thoughtful and happy. - -The conductor came in. He had once called at Babbitt’s office, to ask -about houses. “H’ are you, Mr. Babbitt! We going to have you with us to -Chicago? This your boy?” - -“Yes, this is my son Ted.” - -“Well now, what do you know about that! Here I been thinking you were a -youngster yourself, not a day over forty, hardly, and you with this -great big fellow!” - -“Forty? Why, brother, I’ll never see forty-five again!” - -“Is that a fact! Wouldn’t hardly ’a’ thought it!” - -“Yes, sir, it’s a bad give-away for the old man when he has to travel -with a young whale like Ted here!” - -“You’re right, it is.” To Ted: “I suppose you’re in college now.” - -Proudly, “No, not till next fall. I’m just kind of giving the diff’rent -colleges the once-over now.” - -As the conductor went on his affable way, huge watch-chain jingling -against his blue chest, Babbitt and Ted gravely considered colleges. -They arrived at Chicago late at night; they lay abed in the morning, -rejoicing, “Pretty nice not to have to get up and get down to breakfast, -heh?” They were staying at the modest Eden Hotel, because Zenith -business men always stayed at the Eden, but they had dinner in the -brocade and crystal Versailles Room of the Regency Hotel. Babbitt -ordered Blue Point oysters with cocktail sauce, a tremendous steak with -a tremendous platter of French fried potatoes, two pots of coffee, apple -pie with ice cream for both of them and, for Ted, an extra piece of -mince pie. - -“Hot stuff! Some feed, young fella!” Ted admired. - -“Huh! You stick around with me, old man, and I’ll show you a good time!” - -They went to a musical comedy and nudged each other at the matrimonial -jokes and the prohibition jokes; they paraded the lobby, arm in arm, -between acts, and in the glee of his first release from the shame which -dissevers fathers and sons Ted chuckled, “Dad, did you ever hear the one -about the three milliners and the judge?” - -When Ted had returned to Zenith, Babbitt was lonely. As he was trying to -make alliance between Offutt and certain Milwaukee interests which -wanted the race-track plot, most of his time was taken up in waiting for -telephone calls.... Sitting on the edge of his bed, holding the portable -telephone, asking wearily, “Mr. Sagen not in yet? Didn’ he leave any -message for me? All right, I’ll hold the wire.” Staring at a stain on -the wall, reflecting that it resembled a shoe, and being bored by this -twentieth discovery that it resembled a shoe. Lighting a cigarette; -then, bound to the telephone with no ash-tray in reach, wondering what -to do with this burning menace and anxiously trying to toss it into the -tiled bathroom. At last, on the telephone, “No message, eh? All right, -I’ll call up again.” - -One afternoon he wandered through snow-rutted streets of which he had -never heard, streets of small tenements and two-family houses and -marooned cottages. It came to him that he had nothing to do, that there -was nothing he wanted to do. He was bleakly lonely in the evening, when -he dined by himself at the Regency Hotel. He sat in the lobby afterward, -in a plush chair bedecked with the Saxe-Coburg arms, lighting a cigar -and looking for some one who would come and play with him and save him -from thinking. In the chair next to him (showing the arms of Lithuania) -was a half-familiar man, a large red-faced man with pop eyes and a -deficient yellow mustache. He seemed kind and insignificant, and as -lonely as Babbitt himself. He wore a tweed suit and a reluctant orange -tie. - -It came to Babbitt with a pyrotechnic crash. The melancholy stranger was -Sir Gerald Doak. - -Instinctively Babbitt rose, bumbling, “How’re you, Sir Gerald? ’Member -we met in Zenith, at Charley McKelvey’s? Babbitt’s my name--real -estate.” - -“Oh! How d’you do.” Sir Gerald shook hands flabbily. - -Embarrassed, standing, wondering how he could retreat, Babbitt -maundered, “Well, I suppose you been having a great trip since we saw -you in Zenith.” - -“Quite. British Columbia and California and all over the place,” he said -doubtfully, looking at Babbitt lifelessly. - -“How did you find business conditions in British Columbia? Or I suppose -maybe you didn’t look into ’em. Scenery and sport and so on?” - -“Scenery? Oh, capital. But business conditions-- You know, Mr. Babbitt, -they’re having almost as much unemployment as we are.” Sir Gerald was -speaking warmly now. - -“So? Business conditions not so doggone good, eh?” - -“No, business conditions weren’t at all what I’d hoped to find them.” - -“Not good, eh?” - -“No, not--not really good.” - -“That’s a darn shame. Well-- I suppose you’re waiting for somebody to -take you out to some big shindig, Sir Gerald.” - -“Shindig? Oh. Shindig. No, to tell you the truth, I was wondering what -the deuce I could do this evening. Don’t know a soul in Tchicahgo. I -wonder if you happen to know whether there’s a good theater in this -city?” - -“Good? Why say, they’re running grand opera right now! I guess maybe -you’d like that.” - -“Eh? Eh? Went to the opera once in London. Covent Garden sort of thing. -Shocking! No, I was wondering if there was a good cinema--movie.” - -Babbitt was sitting down, hitching his chair over, shouting, “Movie? -Say, Sir Gerald, I supposed of course you had a raft of dames waiting to -lead you out to some soirée--” - -“God forbid!” - -“--but if you haven’t, what do you say you and me go to a movie? There’s -a peach of a film at the Grantham: Bill Hart in a bandit picture.” - -“Right-o! Just a moment while I get my coat.” - -Swollen with greatness, slightly afraid lest the noble blood of -Nottingham change its mind and leave him at any street corner, Babbitt -paraded with Sir Gerald Doak to the movie palace and in silent bliss sat -beside him, trying not to be too enthusiastic, lest the knight despise -his adoration of six-shooters and broncos. At the end Sir Gerald -murmured, “Jolly good picture, this. So awfully decent of you to take -me. Haven’t enjoyed myself so much for weeks. All these Hostesses--they -never let you go to the cinema!” - -“The devil you say!” Babbitt’s speech had lost the delicate refinement -and all the broad A’s with which he had adorned it, and become hearty -and natural. “Well, I’m tickled to death you liked it, Sir Gerald.” - -They crawled past the knees of fat women into the aisle; they stood in -the lobby waving their arms in the rite of putting on overcoats. Babbitt -hinted, “Say, how about a little something to eat? I know a place where -we could get a swell rarebit, and we might dig up a little drink--that -is, if you ever touch the stuff.” - -“Rather! But why don’t you come to my room? I’ve some Scotch--not half -bad.” - -“Oh, I don’t want to use up all your hootch. It’s darn nice of you, -but-- You probably want to hit the hay.” - -Sir Gerald was transformed. He was beefily yearning. “Oh really, now; I -haven’t had a decent evening for so long! Having to go to all these -dances. No chance to discuss business and that sort of thing. Do be a -good chap and come along. Won’t you?” - -“Will I? You bet! I just thought maybe-- Say, by golly, it does do a -fellow good, don’t it, to sit and visit about business conditions, after -he’s been to these balls and masquerades and banquets and all that -society stuff. I often feel that way in Zenith. Sure, you bet I’ll -come.” - -“That’s awfully nice of you.” They beamed along the street. “Look here, -old chap, can you tell me, do American cities always keep up this -dreadful social pace? All these magnificent parties?” - -“Go on now, quit your kidding! Gosh, you with court balls and functions -and everything--” - -“No, really, old chap! Mother and I--Lady Doak, I should say, we usually -play a hand of bezique and go to bed at ten. Bless my soul, I couldn’t -keep up your beastly pace! And talking! All your American women, they -know so much--culture and that sort of thing. This Mrs. McKelvey--your -friend--” - -“Yuh, old Lucile. Good kid.” - -“--she asked me which of the galleries I liked best in Florence. Or was -it in Firenze? Never been in Italy in my life! And primitives. Did I -like primitives. Do you know what the deuce a primitive is?” - -“Me? I should say not! But I know what a discount for cash is.” - -“Rather! So do I, by George! But primitives!” - -“Yuh! Primitives!” - -They laughed with the sound of a Boosters’ luncheon. - -Sir Gerald’s room was, except for his ponderous and durable English -bags, very much like the room of George F. Babbitt; and quite in the -manner of Babbitt he disclosed a huge whisky flask, looked proud and -hospitable, and chuckled, “Say, when, old chap.” - -It was after the third drink that Sir Gerald proclaimed, “How do you -Yankees get the notion that writing chaps like Bertrand Shaw and this -Wells represent us? The real business England, we think those chaps are -traitors. Both our countries have their comic Old Aristocracy--you know, -old county families, hunting people and all that sort of thing--and we -both have our wretched labor leaders, but we both have a backbone of -sound business men who run the whole show.” - -“You bet. Here’s to the real guys!” - -“I’m with you! Here’s to ourselves!” - -It was after the fourth drink that Sir Gerald asked humbly, “What do you -think of North Dakota mortgages?” but it was not till after the fifth -that Babbitt began to call him “Jerry,” and Sir Gerald confided, “I say, -do you mind if I pull off my boots?” and ecstatically stretched his -knightly feet, his poor, tired, hot, swollen feet out on the bed. - -After the sixth, Babbitt irregularly arose. “Well, I better be hiking -along. Jerry, you’re a regular human being! I wish to thunder we’d been -better acquainted in Zenith. Lookit. Can’t you come back and stay with -me a while?” - -“So sorry--must go to New York to-morrow. Most awfully sorry, old boy. I -haven’t enjoyed an evening so much since I’ve been in the States. Real -talk. Not all this social rot. I’d never have let them give me the -beastly title--and I didn’t get it for nothing, eh?--if I’d thought I’d -have to talk to women about primitives and polo! Goodish thing to have -in Nottingham, though; annoyed the mayor most frightfully when I got it; -and of course the missus likes it. But nobody calls me ‘Jerry’ now--” He -was almost weeping. “--and nobody in the States has treated me like a -friend till to-night! Good-by, old chap, good-by! Thanks awfully!” - -“Don’t mention it, Jerry. And remember whenever you get to Zenith, the -latch-string is always out.” - -“And don’t forget, old boy, if you ever come to Nottingham, Mother and -I will be frightfully glad to see you. I shall tell the fellows in -Nottingham your ideas about Visions and Real Guys--at our next Rotary -Club luncheon.” - - -IV - -Babbitt lay abed at his hotel, imagining the Zenith Athletic Club asking -him, “What kind of a time d’you have in Chicago?” and his answering, -“Oh, fair; ran around with Sir Gerald Doak a lot;” picturing himself -meeting Lucile McKelvey and admonishing her, “You’re all right, Mrs. -Mac, when you aren’t trying to pull this highbrow pose. It’s just as -Gerald Doak says to me in Chicago--oh, yes, Jerry’s an old friend of -mine--the wife and I are thinking of running over to England to stay -with Jerry in his castle, next year--and he said to me, ‘Georgie, old -bean, I like Lucile first-rate, but you and me, George, we got to make -her get over this highty-tighty hooptediddle way she’s got.” - -But that evening a thing happened which wrecked his pride. - - -V - -At the Regency Hotel cigar-counter he fell to talking with a salesman of -pianos, and they dined together. Babbitt was filled with friendliness -and well-being. He enjoyed the gorgeousness of the dining-room: the -chandeliers, the looped brocade curtains, the portraits of French kings -against panels of gilded oak. He enjoyed the crowd: pretty women, good -solid fellows who were “liberal spenders.” - -He gasped. He stared, and turned away, and stared again. Three tables -off, with a doubtful sort of woman, a woman at once coy and withered, -was Paul Riesling, and Paul was supposed to be in Akron, selling -tar-roofing. The woman was tapping his hand, mooning at him and -giggling. Babbitt felt that he had encountered something involved and -harmful. Paul was talking with the rapt eagerness of a man who is -telling his troubles. He was concentrated on the woman’s faded eyes. -Once he held her hand and once, blind to the other guests, he puckered -his lips as though he was pretending to kiss her. Babbitt had so strong -an impulse to go to Paul that he could feel his body uncoiling, his -shoulders moving, but he felt, desperately, that he must be diplomatic, -and not till he saw Paul paying the check did he bluster to the -piano-salesman, “By golly--friend of mine over there--’scuse me -second--just say hello to him.” - -He touched Paul’s shoulder, and cried, “Well, when did you hit town?” - -Paul glared up at him, face hardening. “Oh, hello, George. Thought you’d -gone back to Zenith.” He did not introduce his companion. Babbitt peeped -at her. She was a flabbily pretty, weakly flirtatious woman of forty-two -or three, in an atrocious flowery hat. Her rouging was thorough but -unskilful. - -“Where you staying, Paulibus?” - -The woman turned, yawned, examined her nails. She seemed accustomed to -not being introduced. - -Paul grumbled, “Campbell Inn, on the South Side.” - -“Alone?” It sounded insinuating. - -“Yes! Unfortunately!” Furiously Paul turned toward the woman, smiling -with a fondness sickening to Babbitt. “May! Want to introduce you. Mrs. -Arnold, this is my old--acquaintance, George Babbitt.” - -“Pleasmeech,” growled Babbitt, while she gurgled, “Oh, I’m very pleased -to meet any friend of Mr. Riesling’s, I’m sure.” - -Babbitt demanded, “Be back there later this evening, Paul? I’ll drop -down and see you.” - -“No, better-- We better lunch together to-morrow.” - -“All right, but I’ll see you to-night, too, Paul. I’ll go down to your -hotel, and I’ll wait for you!” - - - - -CHAPTER XX - - -I - -He sat smoking with the piano-salesman, clinging to the warm refuge of -gossip, afraid to venture into thoughts of Paul. He was the more affable -on the surface as secretly he became more apprehensive, felt more -hollow. He was certain that Paul was in Chicago without Zilla’s -knowledge, and that he was doing things not at all moral and secure. -When the salesman yawned that he had to write up his orders, Babbitt -left him, left the hotel, in leisurely calm. But savagely he said -“Campbell Inn!” to the taxi-driver. He sat agitated on the slippery -leather seat, in that chill dimness which smelled of dust and perfume -and Turkish cigarettes. He did not heed the snowy lake-front, the dark -spaces and sudden bright corners in the unknown land south of the Loop. - -The office of the Campbell Inn was hard, bright, new; the night clerk -harder and brighter. “Yep?” he said to Babbitt. - -“Mr. Paul Riesling registered here?” - -“Yep.” - -“Is he in now?” - -“Nope.” - -“Then if you’ll give me his key, I’ll wait for him.” - -“Can’t do that, brother. Wait down here if you wanna.” - -Babbitt had spoken with the deference which all the Clan of Good Fellows -give to hotel clerks. Now he said with snarling abruptness: - -“I may have to wait some time. I’m Riesling’s brother-in-law. I’ll go up -to his room. D’ I look like a sneak-thief?” - -His voice was low and not pleasant. With considerable haste the clerk -took down the key, protesting, “I never said you looked like a -sneak-thief. Just rules of the hotel. But if you want to--” - -On his way up in the elevator Babbitt wondered why he was here. Why -shouldn’t Paul be dining with a respectable married woman? Why had he -lied to the clerk about being Paul’s brother-in-law? He had acted like a -child. He must be careful not to say foolish dramatic things to Paul. As -he settled down he tried to look pompous and placid. Then the -thought-- Suicide. He’d been dreading that, without knowing it. Paul -would be just the person to do something like that. He must be out of -his head or he wouldn’t be confiding in that--that dried-up hag. - -Zilla (oh, damn Zilla! how gladly he’d throttle that nagging fiend of a -woman!)--she’d probably succeeded at last, and driven Paul crazy. - -Suicide. Out there in the lake, way out, beyond the piled ice along the -shore. It would be ghastly cold to drop into the water to-night. - -Or--throat cut--in the bathroom-- - -Babbitt flung into Paul’s bathroom. It was empty. He smiled, feebly. - -He pulled at his choking collar, looked at his watch, opened the window -to stare down at the street, looked at his watch, tried to read the -evening paper lying on the glass-topped bureau, looked again at his -watch. Three minutes had gone by since he had first looked at it. - -And he waited for three hours. - -He was sitting fixed, chilled, when the doorknob turned. Paul came in -glowering. - -“Hello,” Paul said. “Been waiting?” - -“Yuh, little while.” - -“Well?” - -“Well what? Just thought I’d drop in to see how you made out in Akron.” - -“I did all right. What difference does it make?” - -“Why, gosh, Paul, what are you sore about?” - -“What are you butting into my affairs for?” - -“Why, Paul, that’s no way to talk! I’m not butting into nothing. I was -so glad to see your ugly old phiz that I just dropped in to say howdy.” - -“Well, I’m not going to have anybody following me around and trying to -boss me. I’ve had all of that I’m going to stand!” - -“Well, gosh, I’m not--” - -“I didn’t like the way you looked at May Arnold, or the snooty way you -talked.” - -“Well, all right then! If you think I’m a buttinsky, then I’ll just butt -in! I don’t know who your May Arnold is, but I know doggone good and -well that you and her weren’t talking about tar-roofing, no, nor about -playing the violin, neither! If you haven’t got any moral consideration -for yourself, you ought to have some for your position in the community. -The idea of your going around places gawping into a female’s eyes like a -love-sick pup! I can understand a fellow slipping once, but I don’t -propose to see a fellow that’s been as chummy with me as you have -getting started on the downward path and sneaking off from his wife, -even as cranky a one as Zilla, to go woman-chasing--” - -“Oh, you’re a perfectly moral little husband!” - -“I am, by God! I’ve never looked at any woman except Myra since I’ve -been married--practically--and I never will! I tell you there’s nothing -to immorality. It don’t pay. Can’t you see, old man, it just makes Zilla -still crankier?” - -Slight of resolution as he was of body, Paul threw his snow-beaded -overcoat on the floor and crouched on a flimsy cane chair. “Oh, you’re -an old blowhard, and you know less about morality than Tinka, but you’re -all right, Georgie. But you can’t understand that-- I’m through. I can’t -go Zilla’s hammering any longer. She’s made up her mind that I’m a -devil, and-- Reg’lar Inquisition. Torture. She enjoys it. It’s a game to -see how sore she can make me. And me, either it’s find a little -comfort, any comfort, anywhere, or else do something a lot worse. Now -this Mrs. Arnold, she’s not so young, but she’s a fine woman and she -understands a fellow, and she’s had her own troubles.” - -“Yea! I suppose she’s one of these hens whose husband ‘doesn’t -understand her’!” - -“I don’t know. Maybe. He was killed in the war.” - -Babbitt lumbered up, stood beside Paul patting his shoulder, making soft -apologetic noises. - -“Honest, George, she’s a fine woman, and she’s had one hell of a time. -We manage to jolly each other up a lot. We tell each other we’re the -dandiest pair on earth. Maybe we don’t believe it, but it helps a lot to -have somebody with whom you can be perfectly simple, and not all this -discussing--explaining--” - -“And that’s as far as you go?” - -“It is not! Go on! Say it!” - -“Well, I don’t-- I can’t say I like it, but--” With a burst which left -him feeling large and shining with generosity, “it’s none of my darn -business! I’ll do anything I can for you, if there’s anything I can do.” - -“There might be. I judge from Zilla’s letters that’ve been forwarded -from Akron that she’s getting suspicious about my staying away so long. -She’d be perfectly capable of having me shadowed, and of coming to -Chicago and busting into a hotel dining-room and bawling me out before -everybody.” - -“I’ll take care of Zilla. I’ll hand her a good fairy-story when I get -back to Zenith.” - -“I don’t know-- I don’t think you better try it. You’re a good fellow, -but I don’t know that diplomacy is your strong point.” Babbitt looked -hurt, then irritated. “I mean with women! With women, I mean. Course -they got to go some to beat you in business diplomacy, but I just mean -with women. Zilla may do a lot of rough talking, but she’s pretty -shrewd. She’d have the story out of you in no time.” - -“Well, all right, but--” Babbitt was still pathetic at not being allowed -to play Secret Agent. Paul soothed: - -“Course maybe you might tell her you’d been in Akron and seen me there.” - -“Why, sure, you bet! Don’t I have to go look at that candy-store -property in Akron? Don’t I? Ain’t it a shame I have to stop off there -when I’m so anxious to get home? Ain’t it a regular shame? I’ll say it -is! I’ll say it’s a doggone shame!” - -“Fine. But for glory hallelujah’s sake don’t go putting any fancy -fixings on the story. When men lie they always try to make it too -artistic, and that’s why women get suspicious. And-- Let’s have a drink, -Georgie. I’ve got some gin and a little vermouth.” - -The Paul who normally refused a second cocktail took a second now, and a -third. He became red-eyed and thick-tongued. He was embarrassingly -jocular and salacious. - -In the taxicab Babbitt incredulously found tears crowding into his eyes. - - -II - -He had not told Paul of his plan but he did stop at Akron, between -trains, for the one purpose of sending to Zilla a post-card with “Had to -come here for the day, ran into Paul.” In Zenith he called on her. If -for public appearances Zilla was over-coiffed, over-painted, and -resolutely corseted, for private misery she wore a filthy blue -dressing-gown and torn stockings thrust into streaky pink satin mules. -Her face was sunken. She seemed to have but half as much hair as Babbitt -remembered, and that half was stringy. She sat in a rocker amid a debris -of candy-boxes and cheap magazines, and she sounded dolorous when she -did not sound derisive. But Babbitt was exceedingly breezy: - -“Well, well, Zil, old dear, having a good loaf while hubby’s away? -That’s the idea! I’ll bet a hat Myra never got up till ten, while I was -in Chicago. Say, could I borrow your thermos--just dropped in to see if -I could borrow your thermos bottle. We’re going to have a toboggan -party--want to take some coffee _mit_. Oh, did you get my card from -Akron, saying I’d run into Paul?” - -“Yes. What was he doing?” - -“How do you mean?” He unbuttoned his overcoat, sat tentatively on the -arm of a chair. - -“You know how I mean!” She slapped the pages of a magazine with an -irritable clatter. “I suppose he was trying to make love to some hotel -waitress or manicure girl or somebody.” - -“Hang it, you’re always letting on that Paul goes round chasing skirts. -He doesn’t, in the first place, and if he did, it would prob’ly be -because you keep hinting at him and dinging at him so much. I hadn’t -meant to, Zilla, but since Paul is away, in Akron--” - -“He really is in Akron? I know he has some horrible woman that he writes -to in Chicago.” - -“Didn’t I tell you I saw him in Akron? What ’re you trying to do? Make -me out a liar?” - -“No, but I just-- I get so worried.” - -“Now, there you are! That’s what gets me! Here you love Paul, and yet -you plague him and cuss him out as if you hated him. I simply can’t -understand why it is that the more some folks love people, the harder -they try to make ’em miserable.” - -“You love Ted and Rone-- I suppose--and yet you nag them.” - -“Oh. Well. That. That’s different. Besides, I don’t nag ’em. Not what -you’d call nagging. But zize saying: Now, here’s Paul, the nicest, most -sensitive critter on God’s green earth. You ought to be ashamed of -yourself the way you pan him. Why, you talk to him like a washerwoman. -I’m surprised you can act so doggone common, Zilla!” - -She brooded over her linked fingers. “Oh, I know. I do go and get mean -sometimes, and I’m sorry afterwards. But, oh, Georgie, Paul is so -aggravating! Honestly, I’ve tried awfully hard, these last few years, to -be nice to him, but just because I used to be spiteful--or I seemed so; -I wasn’t, really, but I used to speak up and say anything that came into -my head--and so he made up his mind that everything was my fault. -Everything can’t always be my fault, can it? And now if I get to -fussing, he just turns silent, oh, so dreadfully silent, and he won’t -look at me--he just ignores me. He simply isn’t human! And he -deliberately keeps it up till I bust out and say a lot of things I don’t -mean. So silent-- Oh, you righteous men! How wicked you are! How rotten -wicked!” - -They thrashed things over and over for half an hour. At the end, weeping -drably, Zilla promised to restrain herself. - -Paul returned four days later, and the Babbitts and Rieslings went -festively to the movies and had chop suey at a Chinese restaurant. As -they walked to the restaurant through a street of tailor shops and -barber shops, the two wives in front, chattering about cooks, Babbitt -murmured to Paul, “Zil seems a lot nicer now.” - -“Yes, she has been, except once or twice. But it’s too late now. I -just-- I’m not going to discuss it, but I’m afraid of her. There’s -nothing left. I don’t ever want to see her. Some day I’m going to break -away from her. Somehow.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - - -The International Organization of Boosters’ Clubs has become a -world-force for optimism, manly pleasantry, and good business. Chapters -are to be found now in thirty countries. Nine hundred and twenty of the -thousand chapters, however, are in the United States. - -None of these is more ardent than the Zenith Boosters’ Club. - -The second March lunch of the Zenith Boosters was the most important of -the year, as it was to be followed by the annual election of officers. -There was agitation abroad. The lunch was held in the ballroom of the -O’Hearn House. As each of the four hundred Boosters entered he took from -a wallboard a huge celluloid button announcing his name, his nickname, -and his business. There was a fine of ten cents for calling a Fellow -Booster by anything but his nickname at a lunch, and as Babbitt jovially -checked his hat the air was radiant with shouts of “Hello, Chet!” and -“How’re you, Shorty!” and “Top o’ the mornin’, Mac!” - -They sat at friendly tables for eight, choosing places by lot. Babbitt -was with Albert Boos the merchant tailor, Hector Seybolt of the Little -Sweetheart Condensed Milk Company, Emil Wengert the jeweler, Professor -Pumphrey of the Riteway Business College, Dr. Walter Gorbutt, Roy -Teegarten the photographer, and Ben Berkey the photo-engraver. One of -the merits of the Boosters’ Club was that only two persons from each -department of business were permitted to join, so that you at once -encountered the Ideals of other occupations, and realized the -metaphysical oneness of all occupations--plumbing and portrait-painting, -medicine and the manufacture of chewing-gum. - -Babbitt’s table was particularly happy to-day, because Professor -Pumphrey had just had a birthday, and was therefore open to teasing. - -“Let’s pump Pump about how old he is!” said Emil Wengert. - -“No, let’s paddle him with a dancing-pump!” said Ben Berkey. - -But it was Babbitt who had the applause, with “Don’t talk about pumps to -that guy! The only pump he knows is a bottle! Honest, they tell me he’s -starting a class in home-brewing at the ole college!” - -At each place was the Boosters’ Club booklet, listing the members. -Though the object of the club was good-fellowship, yet they never lost -sight of the importance of doing a little more business. After each name -was the member’s occupation. There were scores of advertisements in the -booklet, and on one page the admonition: “There’s no rule that you have -to trade with your Fellow Boosters, but get wise, boy--what’s the use of -letting all this good money get outside of our happy fambly?” And at -each place, to-day, there was a present; a card printed in artistic red -and black: - - SERVICE AND BOOSTERISM - - Service finds its finest opportunity and development only in its - broadest and deepest application and the consideration of its - perpetual action upon reaction. I believe the highest type of - Service, like the most progressive tenets of ethics, senses - unceasingly and is motived by active adherence and loyalty to that - which is the essential principle of Boosterism--Good Citizenship in - all its factors and aspects. - - DAD PETERSEN. - - Compliments of Dadbury Petersen Advertising Corp. - - “Ads, not Fads, at Dad’s” - - - -The Boosters all read Mr. Peterson’s aphorism and said they understood -it perfectly. - -The meeting opened with the regular weekly “stunts.” Retiring President -Vergil Gunch was in the chair, his stiff hair like a hedge, his voice -like a brazen gong of festival. Members who had brought guests -introduced them publicly. “This tall red-headed piece of misinformation -is the sporting editor of the _Press_,” said Willis Ijams; and H. H. -Hazen, the druggist, chanted, “Boys, when you’re on a long motor tour -and finally get to a romantic spot or scene and draw up and remark to -the wife, ‘This is certainly a romantic place,’ it sends a glow right up -and down your vertebræ. Well, my guest to-day is from such a place, -Harper’s Ferry, Virginia, in the beautiful Southland, with memories of -good old General Robert E. Lee and of that brave soul, John Brown who, -like every good Booster, goes marching on--” - -There were two especially distinguished guests: the leading man of the -“Bird of Paradise” company, playing this week at the Dodsworth Theater, -and the mayor of Zenith, the Hon. Lucas Prout. - -Vergil Gunch thundered, “When we manage to grab this celebrated Thespian -off his lovely aggregation of beautiful actresses--and I got to admit I -butted right into his dressing-room and told him how the Boosters -appreciated the high-class artistic performance he’s giving us--and -don’t forget that the treasurer of the Dodsworth is a Booster and will -appreciate our patronage--and when on top of that we yank Hizzonor out -of his multifarious duties at City Hall, then I feel we’ve done -ourselves proud, and Mr. Prout will now say a few words about the -problems and duties--” - -By rising vote the Boosters decided which was the handsomest and which -the ugliest guest, and to each of them was given a bunch of carnations, -donated, President Gunch noted, by Brother Booster H. G. Yeager, the -Jennifer Avenue florist. - -Each week, in rotation, four Boosters were privileged to obtain the -pleasures of generosity and of publicity by donating goods or services -to four fellow-members, chosen by lot. There was laughter, this week, -when it was announced that one of the contributors was Barnabas Joy, the -undertaker. Everybody whispered, “I can think of a coupla good guys to -be buried if his donation is a free funeral!” - -Through all these diversions the Boosters were lunching on chicken -croquettes, peas, fried potatoes, coffee, apple pie, and American -cheese. Gunch did not lump the speeches. Presently he called on the -visiting secretary of the Zenith Rotary Club, a rival organization. The -secretary had the distinction of possessing State Motor Car License -Number 5. - -The Rotary secretary laughingly admitted that wherever he drove in the -state so low a number created a sensation, and “though it was pretty -nice to have the honor, yet traffic cops remembered it only too darn -well, and sometimes he didn’t know but what he’d almost as soon have -just plain B56,876 or something like that. Only let any doggone Booster -try to get Number 5 away from a live Rotarian next year, and watch the -fur fly! And if they’d permit him, he’d wind up by calling for a cheer -for the Boosters and Rotarians and the Kiwanis all together!” - -Babbitt sighed to Professor Pumphrey, “Be pretty nice to have as low a -number as that! Everybody’d say, ‘He must be an important guy!’ Wonder -how he got it? I’ll bet he wined and dined the superintendent of the -Motor License Bureau to a fare-you-well!” - -Then Chum Frink addressed them: - -“Some of you may feel that it’s out of place here to talk on a strictly -highbrow and artistic subject, but I want to come out flatfooted and ask -you boys to O.K. the proposition of a Symphony Orchestra for Zenith. -Now, where a lot of you make your mistake is in assuming that if you -don’t like classical music and all that junk, you ought to oppose it. -Now, I want to confess that, though I’m a literary guy by profession, I -don’t care a rap for all this long-haired music. I’d rather listen to a -good jazz band any time than to some piece by Beethoven that hasn’t any -more tune to it than a bunch of fighting cats, and you couldn’t whistle -it to save your life! But that isn’t the point. Culture has become as -necessary an adornment and advertisement for a city to-day as pavements -or bank-clearances. It’s Culture, in theaters and art-galleries and so -on, that brings thousands of visitors to New York every year and, to be -frank, for all our splendid attainments we haven’t yet got the Culture -of a New York or Chicago or Boston--or at least we don’t get the credit -for it. The thing to do then, as a live bunch of go-getters, is to -_capitalize Culture_; to go right out and grab it. - -“Pictures and books are fine for those that have the time to study ’em, -but they don’t shoot out on the road and holler ‘This is what little old -Zenith can put up in the way of Culture.’ That’s precisely what a -Symphony Orchestra does do. Look at the credit Minneapolis and -Cincinnati get. An orchestra with first-class musickers and a swell -conductor--and I believe we ought to do the thing up brown and get one -of the highest-paid conductors on the market, providing he ain’t a -Hun--it goes right into Beantown and New York and Washington; it plays -at the best theaters to the most cultured and moneyed people; it gives -such class-advertising as a town can get in no other way; and the guy -who is so short-sighted as to crab this orchestra proposition is passing -up the chance to impress the glorious name of Zenith on some big New -York millionaire that might--that might establish a branch factory here! - -“I could also go into the fact that for our daughters who show an -interest in highbrow music and may want to teach it, having an A1 local -organization is of great benefit, but let’s keep this on a practical -basis, and I call on you good brothers to whoop it up for Culture and a -World-beating Symphony Orchestra!” - -They applauded. - -To a rustle of excitement President Gunch proclaimed, “Gentlemen, we -will now proceed to the annual election of officers.” For each of the -six offices, three candidates had been chosen by a committee. The second -name among the candidates for vice-president was Babbitt’s. - -He was surprised. He looked self-conscious. His heart pounded. He was -still more agitated when the ballots were counted and Gunch said, “It’s -a pleasure to announce that Georgie Babbitt will be the next assistant -gavel-wielder. I know of no man who stands more stanchly for common -sense and enterprise than good old George. Come on, let’s give him our -best long yell!” - -As they adjourned, a hundred men crushed in to slap his back. He had -never known a higher moment. He drove away in a blur of wonder. He -lunged into his office, chuckling to Miss McGoun, “Well, I guess you -better congratulate your boss! Been elected vice-president of the -Boosters!” - -He was disappointed. She answered only, “Yes-- Oh, Mrs. Babbitt’s been -trying to get you on the ’phone.” But the new salesman, Fritz Weilinger, -said, “By golly, chief, say, that’s great, that’s perfectly great! I’m -tickled to death! Congratulations!” - -Babbitt called the house, and crowed to his wife, “Heard you were trying -to get me, Myra. Say, you got to hand it to little Georgie, this time! -Better talk careful! You are now addressing the vice-president of the -Boosters’ Club!” - -“Oh, Georgie--” - -“Pretty nice, huh? Willis Ijams is the new president, but when he’s -away, little ole Georgie takes the gavel and whoops ’em up and -introduces the speakers--no matter if they’re the governor -himself--and--” - -“George! Listen!” - -“--it puts him in solid with big men like Doc Dilling and--” - -“George! Paul Riesling--” - -“Yes, sure, I’ll ’phone Paul and let him know about it right away.” - -“Georgie! _Listen!_ Paul’s in jail. He shot his wife, he shot Zilla, -this noon. She may not live.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - - -I - -He drove to the City Prison, not blindly, but with unusual fussy care at -corners, the fussiness of an old woman potting plants. It kept him from -facing the obscenity of fate. - -The attendant said, “Naw, you can’t see any of the prisoners till -three-thirty--visiting-hour.” - -It was three. For half an hour Babbitt sat looking at a calendar and a -clock on a whitewashed wall. The chair was hard and mean and creaky. -People went through the office and, he thought, stared at him. He felt a -belligerent defiance which broke into a wincing fear of this machine -which was grinding Paul--Paul-- - -Exactly at half-past three he sent in his name. - -The attendant returned with “Riesling says he don’t want to see you.” - -“You’re crazy! You didn’t give him my name! Tell him it’s George wants -to see him, George Babbitt.” - -“Yuh, I told him, all right, all right! He said he didn’t want to see -you.” - -“Then take me in anyway.” - -“Nothing doing. If you ain’t his lawyer, if he don’t want to see you, -that’s all there is to it.” - -“But, my _God_-- Say, let me see the warden.” - -“He’s busy. Come on, now, you--” Babbitt reared over him. The attendant -hastily changed to a coaxing “You can come back and try to-morrow. -Probably the poor guy is off his nut.” - -Babbitt drove, not at all carefully or fussily, sliding viciously past -trucks, ignoring the truckmen’s curses, to the City Hall; he stopped -with a grind of wheels against the curb, and ran up the marble steps to -the office of the Hon. Mr. Lucas Prout, the mayor. He bribed the mayor’s -doorman with a dollar; he was instantly inside, demanding, “You remember -me, Mr. Prout? Babbitt--vice-president of the Boosters--campaigned for -you? Say, have you heard about poor Riesling? Well, I want an order on -the warden or whatever you call um of the City Prison to take me back -and see him. Good. Thanks.” - -In fifteen minutes he was pounding down the prison corridor to a cage -where Paul Riesling sat on a cot, twisted like an old beggar, legs -crossed, arms in a knot, biting at his clenched fist. - -Paul looked up blankly as the keeper unlocked the cell, admitted -Babbitt, and left them together. He spoke slowly: “Go on! Be moral!” - -Babbitt plumped on the couch beside him. “I’m not going to be moral! I -don’t care what happened! I just want to do anything I can. I’m glad -Zilla got what was coming to her.” - -Paul said argumentatively, “Now, don’t go jumping on Zilla. I’ve been -thinking; maybe she hasn’t had any too easy a time. Just after I shot -her-- I didn’t hardly mean to, but she got to deviling me so I went -crazy, just for a second, and pulled out that old revolver you and I -used to shoot rabbits with, and took a crack at her. Didn’t hardly mean -to-- After that, when I was trying to stop the blood-- It was terrible -what it did to her shoulder, and she had beautiful skin-- Maybe she won’t -die. I hope it won’t leave her skin all scarred. But just afterward, -when I was hunting through the bathroom for some cotton to stop the -blood, I ran onto a little fuzzy yellow duck we hung on the tree one -Christmas, and I remembered she and I’d been awfully happy then-- Hell. I -can’t hardly believe it’s me here.” As Babbitt’s arm tightened about his -shoulder, Paul sighed, “I’m glad you came. But I thought maybe you’d -lecture me, and when you’ve committed a murder, and been brought here -and everything--there was a big crowd outside the apartment house, all -staring, and the cops took me through it-- Oh, I’m not going to talk -about it any more.” - -But he went on, in a monotonous, terrified insane mumble. To divert him -Babbitt said, “Why, you got a scar on your cheek.” - -“Yes. That’s where the cop hit me. I suppose cops get a lot of fun out -of lecturing murderers, too. He was a big fellow. And they wouldn’t let -me help carry Zilla down to the ambulance.” - -“Paul! Quit it! Listen: she won’t die, and when it’s all over you and -I’ll go off to Maine again. And maybe we can get that May Arnold to go -along. I’ll go up to Chicago and ask her. Good woman, by golly. And -afterwards I’ll see that you get started in business out West somewhere, -maybe Seattle--they say that’s a lovely city.” - -Paul was half smiling. It was Babbitt who rambled now. He could not tell -whether Paul was heeding, but he droned on till the coming of Paul’s -lawyer, P. J. Maxwell, a thin, busy, unfriendly man who nodded at -Babbitt and hinted, “If Riesling and I could be alone for a moment--” - -Babbitt wrung Paul’s hands, and waited in the office till Maxwell came -pattering out. “Look, old man, what can I do?” he begged. - -“Nothing. Not a thing. Not just now,” said Maxwell. “Sorry. Got to -hurry. And don’t try to see him. I’ve had the doctor give him a shot of -morphine, so he’ll sleep.” - -It seemed somehow wicked to return to the office. Babbitt felt as though -he had just come from a funeral. He drifted out to the City Hospital to -inquire about Zilla. She was not likely to die, he learned. The bullet -from Paul’s huge old .44 army revolver had smashed her shoulder and torn -upward and out. - -He wandered home and found his wife radiant with the horrified interest -we have in the tragedies of our friends. “Of course Paul isn’t -altogether to blame, but this is what comes of his chasing after other -women instead of bearing his cross in a Christian way,” she exulted. - -He was too languid to respond as he desired. He said what was to be said -about the Christian bearing of crosses, and went out to clean the car. -Dully, patiently, he scraped linty grease from the drip-pan, gouged at -the mud caked on the wheels. He used up many minutes in washing his -hands; scoured them with gritty kitchen soap; rejoiced in hurting his -plump knuckles. “Damn soft hands--like a woman’s. Aah!” - -At dinner, when his wife began the inevitable, he bellowed, “I forbid -any of you to say a word about Paul! I’ll ’tend to all the talking about -this that’s necessary, hear me? There’s going to be one house in this -scandal-mongering town to-night that isn’t going to spring the -holier-than-thou. And throw those filthy evening papers out of the -house!” - -But he himself read the papers, after dinner. - -Before nine he set out for the house of Lawyer Maxwell. He was received -without cordiality. “Well?” said Maxwell. - -“I want to offer my services in the trial. I’ve got an idea. Why -couldn’t I go on the stand and swear I was there, and she pulled the gun -first and he wrestled with her and the gun went off accidentally?” - -“And perjure yourself?” - -“Huh? Yes, I suppose it would be perjury. Oh-- Would it help?” - -“But, my dear fellow! Perjury!” - -“Oh, don’t be a fool! Excuse me, Maxwell; I didn’t mean to get your -goat. I just mean: I’ve known and you’ve known many and many a case of -perjury, just to annex some rotten little piece of real estate, and here -where it’s a case of saving Paul from going to prison, I’d perjure -myself black in the face.” - -“No. Aside from the ethics of the matter, I’m afraid it isn’t -practicable. The prosecutor would tear your testimony to pieces. It’s -known that only Riesling and his wife were there at the time.” - -“Then, look here! Let me go on the stand and swear--and this would be -the God’s truth--that she pestered him till he kind of went crazy.” - -“No. Sorry. Riesling absolutely refuses to have any testimony reflecting -on his wife. He insists on pleading guilty.” - -“Then let me get up and testify something--whatever you say. Let me do -_something_!” - -“I’m sorry, Babbitt, but the best thing you can do-- I hate to say it, -but you could help us most by keeping strictly out of it.” - -Babbitt, revolving his hat like a defaulting poor tenant, winced so -visibly that Maxwell condescended: - -“I don’t like to hurt your feelings, but you see we both want to do our -best for Riesling, and we mustn’t consider any other factor. The trouble -with you, Babbitt, is that you’re one of these fellows who talk too -readily. You like to hear your own voice. If there were anything for -which I could put you in the witness-box, you’d get going and give the -whole show away. Sorry. Now I must look over some papers-- So sorry.” - - -II - -He spent most of the next morning nerving himself to face the garrulous -world of the Athletic Club. They would talk about Paul; they would be -lip-licking and rotten. But at the Roughnecks’ Table they did not -mention Paul. They spoke with zeal of the coming baseball season. He -loved them as he never had before. - - -III - -He had, doubtless from some story-book, pictured Paul’s trial as a long -struggle, with bitter arguments, a taut crowd, and sudden and -overwhelming new testimony. Actually, the trial occupied less than -fifteen minutes, largely filled with the evidence of doctors that Zilla -would recover and that Paul must have been temporarily insane. Next day -Paul was sentenced to three years in the State Penitentiary and taken -off--quite undramatically, not handcuffed, merely plodding in a tired -way beside a cheerful deputy sheriff--and after saying good-by to him at -the station Babbitt returned to his office to realize that he faced a -world which, without Paul, was meaningless. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - - -I - -He was busy, from March to June. He kept himself from the bewilderment -of thinking. His wife and the neighbors were generous. Every evening he -played bridge or attended the movies, and the days were blank of face -and silent. - -In June, Mrs. Babbitt and Tinka went East, to stay with relatives, and -Babbitt was free to do--he was not quite sure what. - -All day long after their departure he thought of the emancipated house -in which he could, if he desired, go mad and curse the gods without -having to keep up a husbandly front. He considered, “I could have a -reg’lar party to-night; stay out till two and not do any explaining -afterwards. Cheers!” He telephoned to Vergil Gunch, to Eddie Swanson. -Both of them were engaged for the evening, and suddenly he was bored by -having to take so much trouble to be riotous. - -He was silent at dinner, unusually kindly to Ted and Verona, hesitating -but not disapproving when Verona stated her opinion of Kenneth Escott’s -opinion of Dr. John Jennison Drew’s opinion of the opinions of the -evolutionists. Ted was working in a garage through the summer vacation, -and he related his daily triumphs: how he had found a cracked ball-race, -what he had said to the Old Grouch, what he had said to the foreman -about the future of wireless telephony. - -Ted and Verona went to a dance after dinner. Even the maid was out. -Rarely had Babbitt been alone in the house for an entire evening. He was -restless. He vaguely wanted something more diverting than the newspaper -comic strips to read. He ambled up to Verona’s room, sat on her -maidenly blue and white bed, humming and grunting in a solid-citizen -manner as he examined her books: Conrad’s “Rescue,” a volume strangely -named “Figures of Earth,” poetry (quite irregular poetry, Babbitt -thought) by Vachel Lindsay, and essays by H. L. Mencken--highly improper -essays, making fun of the church and all the decencies. He liked none of -the books. In them he felt a spirit of rebellion against niceness and -solid-citizenship. These authors--and he supposed they were famous ones, -too--did not seem to care about telling a good story which would enable -a fellow to forget his troubles. He sighed. He noted a book, “The Three -Black Pennies,” by Joseph Hergesheimer. Ah, that was something like it! -It would be an adventure story, maybe about counterfeiting--detectives -sneaking up on the old house at night. He tucked the book under his arm, -he clumped down-stairs and solemnly began to read, under the piano-lamp: - -“A twilight like blue dust sifted into the shallow fold of the thickly -wooded hills. It was early October, but a crisping frost had already -stamped the maple trees with gold, the Spanish oaks were hung with -patches of wine red, the sumach was brilliant in the darkening -underbrush. A pattern of wild geese, flying low and unconcerned above -the hills, wavered against the serene ashen evening. Howat Penny, -standing in the comparative clearing of a road, decided that the -shifting regular flight would not come close enough for a shot.... He -had no intention of hunting the geese. With the drooping of day his -keenness had evaporated; an habitual indifference strengthened, -permeating him....” - -There it was again: discontent with the good common ways. Babbitt laid -down the book and listened to the stillness. The inner doors of the -house were open. He heard from the kitchen the steady drip of the -refrigerator, a rhythm demanding and disquieting. He roamed to the -window. The summer evening was foggy and, seen through the wire screen, -the street lamps were crosses of pale fire. The whole world was -abnormal. While he brooded, Verona and Ted came in and went up to bed. -Silence thickened in the sleeping house. He put on his hat, his -respectable derby, lighted a cigar, and walked up and down before the -house, a portly, worthy, unimaginative figure, humming “Silver Threads -among the Gold.” He casually considered, “Might call up Paul.” Then he -remembered. He saw Paul in a jailbird’s uniform, but while he agonized -he didn’t believe the tale. It was part of the unreality of this -fog-enchanted evening. - -If she were here Myra would be hinting, “Isn’t it late, Georgie?” He -tramped in forlorn and unwanted freedom. Fog hid the house now. The -world was uncreated, a chaos without turmoil or desire. - -Through the mist came a man at so feverish a pace that he seemed to -dance with fury as he entered the orb of glow from a street-lamp. At -each step he brandished his stick and brought it down with a crash. His -glasses on their broad pretentious ribbon banged against his stomach. -Babbitt incredulously saw that it was Chum Frink. - -Frink stopped, focused his vision, and spoke with gravity: - -“There’s another fool. George Babbitt. Lives for renting -howshes--houses. Know who I am? I’m traitor to poetry. I’m drunk. I’m -talking too much. I don’t care. Know what I could’ve been? I could’ve -been a Gene Field or a James Whitcomb Riley. Maybe a Stevenson. I -could’ve. Whimsies. ’Magination. Lissen. Lissen to this. Just made it -up: - - Glittering summery meadowy noise - Of beetles and bums and respectable boys. - -Hear that? Whimzh--whimsy. I made that up. _I_ don’t know what it means! -Beginning good verse. Chile’s Garden Verses. And whadi write? Tripe! -Cheer-up poems. All tripe! Could have written-- Too late!” - -He darted on with an alarming plunge, seeming always to pitch forward -yet never quite falling. Babbitt would have been no more astonished and -no less had a ghost skipped out of the fog carrying his head. He -accepted Frink with vast apathy; he grunted, “Poor boob!” and -straightway forgot him. - -He plodded into the house, deliberately went to the refrigerator and -rifled it. When Mrs. Babbitt was at home, this was one of the major -household crimes. He stood before the covered laundry tubs, eating a -chicken leg and half a saucer of raspberry jelly, and grumbling over a -clammy cold boiled potato. He was thinking. It was coming to him that -perhaps all life as he knew it and vigorously practised it was futile; -that heaven as portrayed by the Reverend Dr. John Jennison Drew was -neither probable nor very interesting; that he hadn’t much pleasure out -of making money; that it was of doubtful worth to rear children merely -that they might rear children who would rear children. What was it all -about? What did he want? - -He blundered into the living-room, lay on the davenport, hands behind -his head. - -What did he want? Wealth? Social position? Travel? Servants? Yes, but -only incidentally. - -“I give it up,” he sighed. - -But he did know that he wanted the presence of Paul Riesling; and from -that he stumbled into the admission that he wanted the fairy girl--in -the flesh. If there had been a woman whom he loved, he would have fled -to her, humbled his forehead on her knees. - -He thought of his stenographer, Miss McGoun. He thought of the prettiest -of the manicure girls at the Hotel Thornleigh barber shop. As he fell -asleep on the davenport he felt that he had found something in life, and -that he had made a terrifying, thrilling break with everything that was -decent and normal. - - -II - -He had forgotten, next morning, that he was a conscious rebel, but he -was irritable in the office and at the eleven o’clock drive of telephone -calls and visitors he did something he had often desired and never -dared: he left the office without excuses to those slave-drivers his -employees, and went to the movies. He enjoyed the right to be alone. He -came out with a vicious determination to do what he pleased. - -As he approached the Roughnecks’ Table at the club, everybody laughed. - -“Well, here’s the millionaire!” said Sidney Finkelstein. - -“Yes, I saw him in his Locomobile!” said Professor Pumphrey. - -“Gosh, it must be great to be a smart guy like Georgie!” moaned Vergil -Gunch. “He’s probably stolen all of Dorchester. I’d hate to leave a poor -little defenseless piece of property lying around where he could get his -hooks on it!” - -They had, Babbitt perceived, “something on him.” Also, they “had their -kidding clothes on.” Ordinarily he would have been delighted at the -honor implied in being chaffed, but he was suddenly touchy. He grunted, -“Yuh, sure; maybe I’ll take you guys on as office boys!” He was -impatient as the jest elaborately rolled on to its dénouement. - -“Of course he may have been meeting a girl,” they said, and “No, I think -he was waiting for his old roommate, Sir Jerusalem Doak.” - -He exploded, “Oh, spring it, spring it, you boneheads! What’s the great -joke?” - -“Hurray! George is peeved!” snickered Sidney Finkelstein, while a grin -went round the table. Gunch revealed the shocking truth: He had seen -Babbitt coming out of a motion-picture theater--at noon! - -They kept it up. With a hundred variations, a hundred guffaws, they -said that he had gone to the movies during business-hours. He didn’t so -much mind Gunch, but he was annoyed by Sidney Finkelstein, that brisk, -lean, red-headed explainer of jokes. He was bothered, too, by the lump -of ice in his glass of water. It was too large; it spun round and burned -his nose when he tried to drink. He raged that Finkelstein was like that -lump of ice. But he won through; he kept up his banter till they grew -tired of the superlative jest and turned to the great problems of the -day. - -He reflected, “What’s the matter with me to-day? Seems like I’ve got an -awful grouch. Only they talk so darn much. But I better steer careful -and keep my mouth shut.” - -As they lighted their cigars he mumbled, “Got to get back,” and on a -chorus of “If you _will_ go spending your mornings with lady ushers at -the movies!” he escaped. He heard them giggling. He was embarrassed. -While he was most bombastically agreeing with the coat-man that the -weather was warm, he was conscious that he was longing to run childishly -with his troubles to the comfort of the fairy child. - - -III - -He kept Miss McGoun after he had finished dictating. He searched for a -topic which would warm her office impersonality into friendliness. - -“Where you going on your vacation?” he purred. - -“I think I’ll go up-state to a farm do you want me to have the Siddons -lease copied this afternoon?” - -“Oh, no hurry about it.... I suppose you have a great time when you get -away from us cranks in the office.” - -She rose and gathered her pencils. “Oh, nobody’s cranky here I think I -can get it copied after I do the letters.” - -She was gone. Babbitt utterly repudiated the view that he had been -trying to discover how approachable was Miss McGoun. “Course! knew there -was nothing doing!” he said. - - -IV - -Eddie Swanson, the motor-car agent who lived across the street from -Babbitt, was giving a Sunday supper. His wife Louetta, young Louetta who -loved jazz in music and in clothes and laughter, was at her wildest. She -cried, “We’ll have a real party!” as she received the guests. Babbitt -had uneasily felt that to many men she might be alluring; now he -admitted that to himself she was overwhelmingly alluring. Mrs. Babbitt -had never quite approved of Louetta; Babbitt was glad that she was not -here this evening. - -He insisted on helping Louetta in the kitchen: taking the chicken -croquettes from the warming-oven, the lettuce sandwiches from the -ice-box. He held her hand, once, and she depressingly didn’t notice it. -She caroled, “You’re a good little mother’s-helper, Georgie. Now trot in -with the tray and leave it on the side-table.” - -He wished that Eddie Swanson would give them cocktails; that Louetta -would have one. He wanted-- Oh, he wanted to be one of these Bohemians -you read about. Studio parties. Wild lovely girls who were independent. -Not necessarily bad. Certainly not! But not tame, like Floral Heights. -How he’d ever stood it all these years-- - -Eddie did not give them cocktails. True, they supped with mirth, and -with several repetitions by Orville Jones of “Any time Louetta wants to -come sit on my lap I’ll tell this sandwich to beat it!” but they were -respectable, as befitted Sunday evening. Babbitt had discreetly -preëmpted a place beside Louetta on the piano bench. While he talked -about motors, while he listened with a fixed smile to her account of the -film she had seen last Wednesday, while he hoped that she would hurry up -and finish her description of the plot, the beauty of the leading man, -and the luxury of the setting, he studied her. Slim waist girdled with -raw silk, strong brows, ardent eyes, hair parted above a broad -forehead--she meant youth to him and a charm which saddened. He thought -of how valiant a companion she would be on a long motor tour, exploring -mountains, picnicking in a pine grove high above a valley. Her frailness -touched him; he was angry at Eddie Swanson for the incessant family -bickering. All at once he identified Louetta with the fairy girl. He was -startled by the conviction that they had always had a romantic -attraction for each other. - -“I suppose you’re leading a simply terrible life, now you’re a widower,” -she said. - -“You bet! I’m a bad little fellow and proud of it. Some evening you slip -Eddie some dope in his coffee and sneak across the road and I’ll show -you how to mix a cocktail,” he roared. - -“Well, now, I might do it! You never can tell!” - -“Well, whenever you’re ready, you just hang a towel out of the attic -window and I’ll jump for the gin!” - -Every one giggled at this naughtiness. In a pleased way Eddie Swanson -stated that he would have a physician analyze his coffee daily. The -others were diverted to a discussion of the more agreeable recent -murders, but Babbitt drew Louetta back to personal things: - -“That’s the prettiest dress I ever saw in my life.” - -“Do you honestly like it?” - -“Like it? Why, say, I’m going to have Kenneth Escott put a piece in the -paper saying that the swellest dressed woman in the U. S. is MrS.E. -Louetta Swanson.” - -“Now, you stop teasing me!” But she beamed. “Let’s dance a little. -George, you’ve got to dance with me.” - -Even as he protested, “Oh, you know what a rotten dancer I am!” he was -lumbering to his feet. - -“I’ll teach you. I can teach anybody.” - -Her eyes were moist, her voice was jagged with excitement. He was -convinced that he had won her. He clasped her, conscious of her smooth -warmth, and solemnly he circled in a heavy version of the one-step. He -bumped into only one or two people. “Gosh, I’m not doing so bad; -hittin’ ’em up like a regular stage dancer!” he gloated; and she -answered busily, “Yes--yes-- I told you I could teach anybody--_don’t -take such long steps_!” - -For a moment he was robbed of confidence; with fearful concentration he -sought to keep time to the music. But he was enveloped again by her -enchantment. “She’s got to like me; I’ll make her!” he vowed. He tried -to kiss the lock beside her ear. She mechanically moved her head to -avoid it, and mechanically she murmured, “Don’t!” - -For a moment he hated her, but after the moment he was as urgent as -ever. He danced with Mrs. Orville Jones, but he watched Louetta swooping -down the length of the room with her husband. “Careful! You’re getting -foolish!” he cautioned himself, the while he hopped and bent his solid -knees in dalliance with Mrs. Jones, and to that worthy lady rumbled, -“Gee, it’s hot!” Without reason, he thought of Paul in that shadowy -place where men never dance. “I’m crazy to-night; better go home,” he -worried, but he left Mrs. Jones and dashed to Louetta’s lovely side, -demanding, “The next is mine.” - -“Oh, I’m so hot; I’m not going to dance this one.” - -“Then,” boldly, “come out and sit on the porch and get all nice and -cool.” - -“Well--” - -In the tender darkness, with the clamor in the house behind them, he -resolutely took her hand. She squeezed his once, then relaxed. - -“Louetta! I think you’re the nicest thing I know!” - -“Well, I think you’re very nice.” - -“Do you? You got to like me! I’m so lonely!” - -“Oh, you’ll be all right when your wife comes home.” - -“No, I’m always lonely.” - -She clasped her hands under her chin, so that he dared not touch her. He -sighed: - -“When I feel punk and--” He was about to bring in the tragedy of Paul, -but that was too sacred even for the diplomacy of love. “--when I get -tired out at the office and everything, I like to look across the street -and think of you. Do you know I dreamed of you, one time!” - -“Was it a nice dream?” - -“Lovely!” - -“Oh, well, they say dreams go by opposites! Now I must run in.” - -She was on her feet. - -“Oh, don’t go in yet! Please, Louetta!” - -“Yes, I must. Have to look out for my guests.” - -“Let ’em look out for ’emselves!” - -“I couldn’t do that.” She carelessly tapped his shoulder and slipped -away. - -But after two minutes of shamed and childish longing to sneak home he -was snorting, “Certainly I wasn’t trying to get chummy with her! Knew -there was nothing doing, all the time!” and he ambled in to dance with -Mrs. Orville Jones, and to avoid Louetta, virtuously and conspicuously. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - - -I - -His visit to Paul was as unreal as his night of fog and questioning. -Unseeing he went through prison corridors stinking of carbolic acid to a -room lined with pale yellow settees pierced in rosettes, like the -shoe-store benches he had known as a boy. The guard led in Paul. Above -his uniform of linty gray, Paul’s face was pale and without expression. -He moved timorously in response to the guard’s commands; he meekly -pushed Babbitt’s gifts of tobacco and magazines across the table to the -guard for examination. He had nothing to say but “Oh, I’m getting used -to it” and “I’m working in the tailor shop; the stuff hurts my fingers.” - -Babbitt knew that in this place of death Paul was already dead. And as -he pondered on the train home something in his own self seemed to have -died: a loyal and vigorous faith in the goodness of the world, a fear of -public disfavor, a pride in success. He was glad that his wife was away. -He admitted it without justifying it. He did not care. - - -II - -Her card read “Mrs. Daniel Judique.” Babbitt knew of her as the widow of -a wholesale paper-dealer. She must have been forty or forty-two but he -thought her younger when he saw her in the office, that afternoon. She -had come to inquire about renting an apartment, and he took her away -from the unskilled girl accountant. He was nervously attracted by her -smartness. She was a slender woman, in a black Swiss frock dotted with -white, a cool-looking graceful frock. A broad black hat shaded her -face. Her eyes were lustrous, her soft chin of an agreeable plumpness, -and her cheeks an even rose. Babbitt wondered afterward if she was made -up, but no man living knew less of such arts. - -She sat revolving her violet parasol. Her voice was appealing without -being coy. “I wonder if you can help me?” - -“Be delighted.” - -“I’ve looked everywhere and-- I want a little flat, just a bedroom, or -perhaps two, and sitting-room and kitchenette and bath, but I want one -that really has some charm to it, not these dingy places or these new -ones with terrible gaudy chandeliers. And I can’t pay so dreadfully -much. My name’s Tanis Judique.” - -“I think maybe I’ve got just the thing for you. Would you like to chase -around and look at it now?” - -“Yes. I have a couple of hours.” - -In the new Cavendish Apartments, Babbitt had a flat which he had been -holding for Sidney Finkelstein, but at the thought of driving beside -this agreeable woman he threw over his friend Finkelstein, and with a -note of gallantry he proclaimed, “I’ll let you see what I can do!” - -He dusted the seat of the car for her, and twice he risked death in -showing off his driving. - -“You do know how to handle a car!” she said. - -He liked her voice. There was, he thought, music in it and a hint of -culture, not a bouncing giggle like Louetta Swanson’s. - -He boasted, “You know, there’s a lot of these fellows that are so scared -and drive so slow that they get in everybody’s way. The safest driver is -a fellow that knows how to handle his machine and yet isn’t scared to -speed up when it’s necessary, don’t you think so?” - -“Oh, yes!” - -“I bet you drive like a wiz.” - -“Oh, no-- I mean--not really. Of course, we had a car-- I mean, before my -husband passed on--and I used to make believe drive it, but I don’t -think any woman ever learns to drive like a man.” - -“Well, now, there’s some mighty good woman drivers.” - -“Oh, of course, these women that try to imitate men, and play golf and -everything, and ruin their complexions and spoil their hands!” - -“That’s so. I never did like these mannish females.” - -“I mean--of course, I admire them, dreadfully, and I feel so weak and -useless beside them.” - -“Oh, rats now! I bet you play the piano like a wiz.” - -“Oh, no-- I mean--not really.” - -“Well, I’ll bet you do!” He glanced at her smooth hands, her diamond and -ruby rings. She caught the glance, snuggled her hands together with a -kittenish curving of slim white fingers which delighted him, and -yearned: - -“I do love to play-- I mean-- I like to drum on the piano, but I haven’t -had any real training. Mr. Judique used to say I would’ve been a good -pianist if I’d had any training, but then, I guess he was just -flattering me.” - -“I’ll bet he wasn’t! I’ll bet you’ve got temperament.” - -“Oh-- Do you like music, Mr. Babbitt?” - -“You bet I do! Only I don’t know ’s I care so much for all this -classical stuff.” - -“Oh, I do! I just love Chopin and all those.” - -“Do you, honest? Well, of course, I go to lots of these highbrow -concerts, but I do like a good jazz orchestra, right up on its toes, -with the fellow that plays the bass fiddle spinning it around and -beating it up with the bow.” - -“Oh, I know. I do love good dance music. I love to dance, don’t you, Mr. -Babbitt?” - -“Sure, you bet. Not that I’m very darn good at it, though.” - -“Oh, I’m sure you are. You ought to let me teach you. I can teach -anybody to dance.” - -“Would you give me a lesson some time?” - -“Indeed I would.” - -“Better be careful, or I’ll be taking you up on that proposition. I’ll -be coming up to your flat and making you give me that lesson.” - -“Ye-es.” She was not offended, but she was non-committal. He warned -himself, “Have some sense now, you chump! Don’t go making a fool of -yourself again!” and with loftiness he discoursed: - -“I wish I could dance like some of these young fellows, but I’ll tell -you: I feel it’s a man’s place to take a full, you might say, a creative -share in the world’s work and mold conditions and have something to show -for his life, don’t you think so?” - -“Oh, I do!” - -“And so I have to sacrifice some of the things I might like to tackle, -though I do, by golly, play about as good a game of golf as the next -fellow!” - -“Oh, I’m sure you do.... Are you married?” - -“Uh--yes.... And, uh, of course official duties-- I’m the vice-president -of the Boosters’ Club, and I’m running one of the committees of the -State Association of Real Estate Boards, and that means a lot of work -and responsibility--and practically no gratitude for it.” - -“Oh, I know! Public men never do get proper credit.” - -They looked at each other with a high degree of mutual respect, and at -the Cavendish Apartments he helped her out in a courtly manner, waved -his hand at the house as though he were presenting it to her, and -ponderously ordered the elevator boy to “hustle and get the keys.” She -stood close to him in the elevator, and he was stirred but cautious. - -It was a pretty flat, of white woodwork and soft blue walls. Mrs. -Judique gushed with pleasure as she agreed to take it, and as they -walked down the hall to the elevator she touched his sleeve, caroling, -“Oh, I’m so glad I went to you! It’s such a privilege to meet a man who -really Understands. Oh! The flats _some_ people have showed me!” - -He had a sharp instinctive belief that he could put his arm around her, -but he rebuked himself and with excessive politeness he saw her to the -car, drove her home. All the way back to his office he raged: - -“Glad I had some sense for once.... Curse it, I wish I’d tried. She’s a -darling! A corker! A reg’lar charmer! Lovely eyes and darling lips and -that trim waist--never get sloppy, like some women.... No, no, no! She’s -a real cultured lady. One of the brightest little women I’ve met these -many moons. Understands about Public Topics and-- But, darn it, why -didn’t I try?... Tanis!” - - -III - -He was harassed and puzzled by it, but he found that he was turning -toward youth, as youth. The girl who especially disturbed him--though he -had never spoken to her--was the last manicure girl on the right in the -Pompeian Barber Shop. She was small, swift, black-haired, smiling. She -was nineteen, perhaps, or twenty. She wore thin salmon-colored blouses -which exhibited her shoulders and her black-ribboned camisoles. - -He went to the Pompeian for his fortnightly hair-trim. As always, he -felt disloyal at deserting his neighbor, the Reeves Building Barber -Shop. Then, for the first time, he overthrew his sense of guilt. -“Doggone it, I don’t have to go here if I don’t want to! I don’t own the -Reeves Building! These barbers got nothing on me! I’ll doggone well get -my hair cut where I doggone well want to! Don’t want to hear anything -more about it! I’m through standing by people--unless I want to. It -doesn’t get you anywhere. I’m through!” - -The Pompeian Barber Shop was in the basement of the Hotel Thornleigh, -largest and most dynamically modern hotel in Zenith. Curving marble -steps with a rail of polished brass led from the hotel-lobby down to the -barber shop. The interior was of black and white and crimson tiles, -with a sensational ceiling of burnished gold, and a fountain in which a -massive nymph forever emptied a scarlet cornucopia. Forty barbers and -nine manicure girls worked desperately, and at the door six colored -porters lurked to greet the customers, to care reverently for their hats -and collars, to lead them to a place of waiting where, on a carpet like -a tropic isle in the stretch of white stone floor, were a dozen leather -chairs and a table heaped with magazines. - -Babbitt’s porter was an obsequious gray-haired negro who did him an -honor highly esteemed in the land of Zenith--greeted him by name. Yet -Babbitt was unhappy. His bright particular manicure girl was engaged. -She was doing the nails of an overdressed man and giggling with him. -Babbitt hated him. He thought of waiting, but to stop the powerful -system of the Pompeian was inconceivable, and he was instantly wafted -into a chair. - -About him was luxury, rich and delicate. One votary was having a -violet-ray facial treatment, the next an oil shampoo. Boys wheeled about -miraculous electrical massage-machines. The barbers snatched steaming -towels from a machine like a howitzer of polished nickel and -disdainfully flung them away after a second’s use. On the vast marble -shelf facing the chairs were hundreds of tonics, amber and ruby and -emerald. It was flattering to Babbitt to have two personal slaves at -once--the barber and the bootblack. He would have been completely happy -if he could also have had the manicure girl. The barber snipped at his -hair and asked his opinion of the Havre de Grace races, the baseball -season, and Mayor Prout. The young negro bootblack hummed “The Camp -Meeting Blues” and polished in rhythm to his tune, drawing the shiny -shoe-rag so taut at each stroke that it snapped like a banjo string. The -barber was an excellent salesman. He made Babbitt feel rich and -important by his manner of inquiring, “What is your favorite tonic, sir? -Have you time to-day, sir, for a facial massage? Your scalp is a little -tight; shall I give you a scalp massage?” - -Babbitt’s best thrill was in the shampoo. The barber made his hair -creamy with thick soap, then (as Babbitt bent over the bowl, muffled in -towels) drenched it with hot water which prickled along his scalp, and -at last ran the water ice-cold. At the shock, the sudden burning cold on -his skull, Babbitt’s heart thumped, his chest heaved, and his spine was -an electric wire. It was a sensation which broke the monotony of life. -He looked grandly about the shop as he sat up. The barber obsequiously -rubbed his wet hair and bound it in a towel as in a turban, so that -Babbitt resembled a plump pink calif on an ingenious and adjustable -throne. The barber begged (in the manner of one who was a good fellow -yet was overwhelmed by the splendors of the calif), “How about a little -Eldorado Oil Rub, sir? Very beneficial to the scalp, sir. Didn’t I give -you one the last time?” - -He hadn’t, but Babbitt agreed, “Well, all right.” - -With quaking eagerness he saw that his manicure girl was free. - -“I don’t know, I guess I’ll have a manicure after all,” he droned, and -excitedly watched her coming, dark-haired, smiling, tender, little. The -manicuring would have to be finished at her table, and he would be able -to talk to her without the barber listening. He waited contentedly, not -trying to peep at her, while she filed his nails and the barber shaved -him and smeared on his burning cheeks all the interesting mixtures which -the pleasant minds of barbers have devised through the revolving ages. -When the barber was done and he sat opposite the girl at her table, he -admired the marble slab of it, admired the sunken set bowl with its tiny -silver taps, and admired himself for being able to frequent so costly a -place. When she withdrew his wet hand from the bowl, it was so sensitive -from the warm soapy water that he was abnormally aware of the clasp of -her firm little paw. He delighted in the pinkness and glossiness of her -nails. Her hands seemed to him more adorable than Mrs. Judique’s thin -fingers, and more elegant. He had a certain ecstasy in the pain when she -gnawed at the cuticle of his nails with a sharp knife. He struggled not -to look at the outline of her young bosom and her shoulders, the more -apparent under a film of pink chiffon. He was conscious of her as an -exquisite thing, and when he tried to impress his personality on her he -spoke as awkwardly as a country boy at his first party: - -“Well, kinda hot to be working to-day.” - -“Oh, yes, it is hot. You cut your own nails, last time, didn’t you!” - -“Ye-es, guess I must’ve.” - -“You always ought to go to a manicure.” - -“Yes, maybe that’s so. I--” - -“There’s nothing looks so nice as nails that are looked after good. I -always think that’s the best way to spot a real gent. There was an auto -salesman in here yesterday that claimed you could always tell a fellow’s -class by the car he drove, but I says to him, ‘Don’t be silly,’ I says; -‘the wisenheimers grab a look at a fellow’s nails when they want to tell -if he’s a tinhorn or a real gent!’” - -“Yes, maybe there’s something to that. Course, that is--with a pretty -kiddy like you, a man can’t help coming to get his mitts done.” - -“Yeh, I may be a kid, but I’m a wise bird, and I know nice folks when I -see um-- I can read character at a glance--and I’d never talk so frank -with a fellow if I couldn’t see he was a nice fellow.” - -She smiled. Her eyes seemed to him as gentle as April pools. With great -seriousness he informed himself that “there were some roughnecks who -would think that just because a girl was a manicure girl and maybe not -awful well educated, she was no good, but as for him, he was a democrat, -and understood people,” and he stood by the assertion that this was a -fine girl, a good girl--but not too uncomfortably good. He inquired in a -voice quick with sympathy: - -“I suppose you have a lot of fellows who try to get fresh with you.” - -“Say, gee, do I! Say, listen, there’s some of these cigar-store sports -that think because a girl’s working in a barber shop, they can get away -with anything. The things they saaaaaay! But, believe me, I know how to -hop those birds! I just give um the north and south and ask um, ‘Say, -who do you think you’re talking to?’ and they fade away like love’s -young nightmare and oh, don’t you want a box of nail-paste? It will keep -the nails as shiny as when first manicured, harmless to apply and lasts -for days.” - -“Sure, I’ll try some. Say-- Say, it’s funny; I’ve been coming here ever -since the shop opened and--” With arch surprise. “-- I don’t believe I -know your name!” - -“Don’t you? My, that’s funny! I don’t know yours!” - -“Now you quit kidding me! What’s the nice little name?” - -“Oh, it ain’t so darn nice. I guess it’s kind of kike. But my folks -ain’t kikes. My papa’s papa was a nobleman in Poland, and there was a -gentleman in here one day, he was kind of a count or something--” - -“Kind of a no-account, I guess you mean!” - -“Who’s telling this, smarty? And he said he knew my papa’s papa’s folks -in Poland and they had a dandy big house. Right on a lake!” Doubtfully, -“Maybe you don’t believe it?” - -“Sure. No. Really. Sure I do. Why not? Don’t think I’m kidding you, -honey, but every time I’ve noticed you I’ve said to myself, ‘That kid -has Blue Blood in her veins!’” - -“Did you, honest?” - -“Honest I did. Well, well, come on--now we’re friends--what’s the -darling little name?” - -“Ida Putiak. It ain’t so much-a-much of a name. I always say to Ma, I -say, ‘Ma, why didn’t you name me Dolores, or something with some class -to it?’” - -“Well, now, I think it’s a scrumptious name. Ida!” - -“I bet I know _your_ name!” - -“Well, now, not necessarily. Of course-- Oh, it isn’t so specially well -known.” - -“Aren’t you Mr. Sondheim that travels for the Krackajack Kitchen Kutlery -Ko.?” - -“I am not! I’m Mr. Babbitt, the real-estate broker!” - -“Oh, excuse me! Oh, of course. You mean here in Zenith.” - -“Yep.” With the briskness of one whose feelings have been hurt. - -“Oh, sure. I’ve read your ads. They’re swell.” - -“Um, well-- You might have read about my speeches.” - -“Course I have! I don’t get much time to read but-- I guess you think I’m -an awfully silly little nit!” - -“I think you’re a little darling!” - -“Well-- There’s one nice thing about this job. It gives a girl a chance -to meet some awfully nice gentlemen and improve her mind with -conversation, and you get so you can read a guy’s character at the first -glance.” - -“Look here, Ida; please don’t think I’m getting fresh--” He was hotly -reflecting that it would be humiliating to be rejected by this child, -and dangerous to be accepted. If he took her to dinner, if he were seen -by censorious friends-- But he went on ardently: “Don’t think I’m getting -fresh if I suggest it would be nice for us to go out and have a little -dinner together some evening.” - -“I don’t know as I ought to but-- My gentleman-friend’s always wanting to -take me out. But maybe I could to-night.” - - -IV - -There was no reason, he assured himself, why he shouldn’t have a quiet -dinner with a poor girl who would benefit by association with an -educated and mature person like himself. But, lest some one see them -and not understand, he would take her to Biddlemeier’s Inn, on the -outskirts of the city. They would have a pleasant drive, this hot lonely -evening, and he might hold her hand--no, he wouldn’t even do that. Ida -was complaisant; her bare shoulders showed it only too clearly; but he’d -be hanged if he’d make love to her merely because she expected it. - -Then his car broke down; something had happened to the ignition. And he -_had_ to have the car this evening! Furiously he tested the spark-plugs, -stared at the commutator. His angriest glower did not seem to stir the -sulky car, and in disgrace it was hauled off to a garage. With a renewed -thrill he thought of a taxicab. There was something at once wealthy and -interestingly wicked about a taxicab. - -But when he met her, on a corner two blocks from the Hotel Thornleigh, -she said, “A taxi? Why, I thought you owned a car!” - -“I do. Of course I do! But it’s out of commission to-night.” - -“Oh,” she remarked, as one who had heard that tale before. - -All the way out to Biddlemeier’s Inn he tried to talk as an old friend, -but he could not pierce the wall of her words. With interminable -indignation she narrated her retorts to “that fresh head-barber” and the -drastic things she would do to him if he persisted in saying that she -was “better at gassing than at hoof-paring.” - -At Biddlemeier’s Inn they were unable to get anything to drink. The -head-waiter refused to understand who George F. Babbitt was. They sat -steaming before a vast mixed grill, and made conversation about -baseball. When he tried to hold Ida’s hand she said with bright -friendliness, “Careful! That fresh waiter is rubbering.” But they came -out into a treacherous summer night, the air lazy and a little moon -above transfigured maples. - -“Let’s drive some other place, where we can get a drink and dance!” he -demanded. - -“Sure, some other night. But I promised Ma I’d be home early to-night.” - -“Rats! It’s too nice to go home.” - -“I’d just love to, but Ma would give me fits.” - -He was trembling. She was everything that was young and exquisite. He -put his arm about her. She snuggled against his shoulder, unafraid, and -he was triumphant. Then she ran down the steps of the Inn, singing, -“Come on, Georgie, we’ll have a nice drive and get cool.” - -It was a night of lovers. All along the highway into Zenith, under the -low and gentle moon, motors were parked and dim figures were clasped in -revery. He held out hungry hands to Ida, and when she patted them he was -grateful. There was no sense of struggle and transition; he kissed her -and simply she responded to his kiss, they two behind the stolid back of -the chauffeur. - -Her hat fell off, and she broke from his embrace to reach for it. - -“Oh, let it be!” he implored. - -“Huh? My hat? Not a chance!” - -He waited till she had pinned it on, then his arm sank about her. She -drew away from it, and said with maternal soothing, “Now, don’t be a -silly boy! Mustn’t make Ittle Mama scold! Just sit back, dearie, and see -what a swell night it is. If you’re a good boy, maybe I’ll kiss you when -we say nighty-night. Now give me a cigarette.” - -He was solicitous about lighting her cigarette and inquiring as to her -comfort. Then he sat as far from her as possible. He was cold with -failure. No one could have told Babbitt that he was a fool with more -vigor, precision, and intelligence than he himself displayed. He -reflected that from the standpoint of the Rev. Dr. John Jennison Drew he -was a wicked man, and from the standpoint of Miss Ida Putiak, an old -bore who had to be endured as the penalty attached to eating a large -dinner. - -“Dearie, you aren’t going to go and get peevish, are you?” - -She spoke pertly. He wanted to spank her. He brooded, “I don’t have to -take anything off this gutter-pup! Darn immigrant! Well, let’s get it -over as quick as we can, and sneak home and kick ourselves for the rest -of the night.” - -He snorted, “Huh? Me peevish? Why, you baby, why should I be peevish? -Now, listen, Ida; listen to Uncle George. I want to put you wise about -this scrapping with your head-barber all the time. I’ve had a lot of -experience with employees, and let me tell you it doesn’t pay to -antagonize--” - -At the drab wooden house in which she lived he said good-night briefly -and amiably, but as the taxicab drove off he was praying “Oh, my God!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - - -I - -He awoke to stretch cheerfully as he listened to the sparrows, then to -remember that everything was wrong; that he was determined to go astray, -and not in the least enjoying the process. Why, he wondered, should he -be in rebellion? What was it all about? “Why not be sensible; stop all -this idiotic running around, and enjoy himself with his family, his -business, the fellows at the club?” What was he getting out of -rebellion? Misery and shame--the shame of being treated as an offensive -small boy by a ragamuffin like Ida Putiak! And yet-- Always he came back -to “And yet.” Whatever the misery, he could not regain contentment with -a world which, once doubted, became absurd. - -Only, he assured himself, he was “through with this chasing after -girls.” - -By noontime he was not so sure even of that. If in Miss McGoun, Louetta -Swanson, and Ida he had failed to find the lady kind and lovely, it did -not prove that she did not exist. He was hunted by the ancient thought -that somewhere must exist the not impossible she who would understand -him, value him, and make him happy. - - -II - -Mrs. Babbitt returned in August. - -On her previous absences he had missed her reassuring buzz and of her -arrival he had made a fête. Now, though he dared not hurt her by letting -a hint of it appear in his letters, he was sorry that she was coming -before he had found himself, and he was embarrassed by the need of -meeting her and looking joyful. - -He loitered down to the station; he studied the summer-resort posters, -lest he have to speak to acquaintances and expose his uneasiness. But he -was well trained. When the train clanked in he was out on the cement -platform, peering into the chair-cars, and as he saw her in the line of -passengers moving toward the vestibule he waved his hat. At the door he -embraced her, and announced, “Well, well, well, well, by golly, you look -fine, you look fine.” Then he was aware of Tinka. Here was something, -this child with her absurd little nose and lively eyes, that loved him, -believed him great, and as he clasped her, lifted and held her till she -squealed, he was for the moment come back to his old steady self. - -Tinka sat beside him in the car, with one hand on the steering-wheel, -pretending to help him drive, and he shouted back to his wife, “I’ll bet -the kid will be the best chuffer in the family! She holds the wheel like -an old professional!” - -All the while he was dreading the moment when he would be alone with his -wife and she would patiently expect him to be ardent. - - -III - -There was about the house an unofficial theory that he was to take his -vacation alone, to spend a week or ten days in Catawba, but he was -nagged by the memory that a year ago he had been with Paul in Maine. He -saw himself returning; finding peace there, and the presence of Paul, in -a life primitive and heroic. Like a shock came the thought that he -actually could go. Only, he couldn’t, really; he couldn’t leave his -business, and “Myra would think it sort of funny, his going way off -there alone. Course he’d decided to do whatever he darned pleased, from -now on, but still--to go way off to Maine!” - -He went, after lengthy meditations. - -With his wife, since it was inconceivable to explain that he was going -to seek Paul’s spirit in the wilderness, he frugally employed the lie -prepared over a year ago and scarcely used at all. He said that he had -to see a man in New York on business. He could not have explained even -to himself why he drew from the bank several hundred dollars more than -he needed, nor why he kissed Tinka so tenderly, and cried, “God bless -you, baby!” From the train he waved to her till she was but a scarlet -spot beside the brown bulkier presence of Mrs. Babbitt, at the end of a -steel and cement aisle ending in vast barred gates. With melancholy he -looked back at the last suburb of Zenith. - -All the way north he pictured the Maine guides: simple and strong and -daring, jolly as they played stud-poker in their unceiled shack, wise in -woodcraft as they tramped the forest and shot the rapids. He -particularly remembered Joe Paradise, half Yankee, half Indian. If he -could but take up a backwoods claim with a man like Joe, work hard with -his hands, be free and noisy in a flannel shirt, and never come back to -this dull decency! - -Or, like a trapper in a Northern Canada movie, plunge through the -forest, make camp in the Rockies, a grim and wordless caveman! Why not? -He _could_ do it! There’d be enough money at home for the family to live -on till Verona was married and Ted self-supporting. Old Henry T. would -look out for them. Honestly! Why _not_? Really _live_-- - -He longed for it, admitted that he longed for it, then almost believed -that he was going to do it. Whenever common sense snorted, “Nonsense! -Folks don’t run away from decent families and partners; just simply -don’t do it, that’s all!” then Babbitt answered pleadingly, “Well, it -wouldn’t take any more nerve than for Paul to go to jail and-- Lord, how -I’d like to do it! Moccasins--six-gun--frontier town--gamblers--sleep -under the stars--be a regular man, with he-men like Joe -Paradise--gosh!” - -So he came to Maine, again stood on the wharf before the camp-hotel, -again spat heroically into the delicate and shivering water, while the -pines rustled, the mountains glowed, and a trout leaped and fell in a -sliding circle. He hurried to the guides’ shack as to his real home, his -real friends, long missed. They would be glad to see him. They would -stand up and shout, “Why, here’s Mr. Babbitt! He ain’t one of these -ordinary sports! He’s a real guy!” - -In their boarded and rather littered cabin the guides sat about the -greasy table playing stud-poker with greasy cards: half a dozen wrinkled -men in old trousers and easy old felt hats. They glanced up and nodded. -Joe Paradise, the swart aging man with the big mustache, grunted, “How -do. Back again?” - -Silence, except for the clatter of chips. - -Babbitt stood beside them, very lonely. He hinted, after a period of -highly concentrated playing, “Guess I might take a hand, Joe.” - -“Sure. Sit in. How many chips you want? Let’s see; you were here with -your wife, last year, wa’n’t you?” said Joe Paradise. - -That was all of Babbitt’s welcome to the old home. - -He played for half an hour before he spoke again. His head was reeking -with the smoke of pipes and cheap cigars, and he was weary of pairs and -four-flushes, resentful of the way in which they ignored him. He flung -at Joe: - -“Working now?” - -“Nope.” - -“Like to guide me for a few days?” - -“Well, jus’ soon. I ain’t engaged till next week.” - -Only thus did Joe recognize the friendship Babbitt was offering him. -Babbitt paid up his losses and left the shack rather childishly. Joe -raised his head from the coils of smoke like a seal rising from surf, -grunted, “I’ll come ’round t’morrow,” and dived down to his three aces. - -Neither in his voiceless cabin, fragrant with planks of new-cut pine, -nor along the lake, nor in the sunset clouds which presently eddied -behind the lavender-misted mountains, could Babbitt find the spirit of -Paul as a reassuring presence. He was so lonely that after supper he -stopped to talk with an ancient old lady, a gasping and steadily -discoursing old lady, by the stove in the hotel-office. He told her of -Ted’s presumable future triumphs in the State University and of Tinka’s -remarkable vocabulary till he was homesick for the home he had left -forever. - -Through the darkness, through that Northern pine-walled silence, he -blundered down to the lake-front and found a canoe. There were no -paddles in it but with a board, sitting awkwardly amidships and poking -at the water rather than paddling, he made his way far out on the lake. -The lights of the hotel and the cottages became yellow dots, a cluster -of glow-worms at the base of Sachem Mountain. Larger and ever more -imperturbable was the mountain in the star-filtered darkness, and the -lake a limitless pavement of black marble. He was dwarfed and dumb and a -little awed, but that insignificance freed him from the pomposities of -being Mr. George F. Babbitt of Zenith; saddened and freed his heart. Now -he was conscious of the presence of Paul, fancied him (rescued from -prison, from Zilla and the brisk exactitudes of the tar-roofing -business) playing his violin at the end of the canoe. He vowed, “I will -go on! I’ll never go back! Now that Paul’s out of it, I don’t want to -see any of those damn people again! I was a fool to get sore because Joe -Paradise didn’t jump up and hug me. He’s one of these woodsmen; too wise -to go yelping and talking your arm off like a cityman. But get him back -in the mountains, out on the trail--! That’s real living!” - - -IV - -Joe reported at Babbitt’s cabin at nine the next morning. Babbitt -greeted him as a fellow caveman: - -“Well, Joe, how d’you feel about hitting the trail, and getting away -from these darn soft summerites and these women and all?” - -“All right, Mr. Babbitt.” - -“What do you say we go over to Box Car Pond--they tell me the shack -there isn’t being used--and camp out?” - -“Well, all right, Mr. Babbitt, but it’s nearer to Skowtuit Pond, and you -can get just about as good fishing there.” - -“No, I want to get into the real wilds.” - -“Well, all right.” - -“We’ll put the old packs on our backs and get into the woods and really -hike.” - -“I think maybe it would be easier to go by water, through Lake Chogue. -We can go all the way by motor boat--flat-bottom boat with an Evinrude.” - -“No, sir! Bust up the quiet with a chugging motor? Not on your life! You -just throw a pair of socks in the old pack, and tell ’em what you want -for eats. I’ll be ready soon’s you are.” - -“Most of the sports go by boat, Mr. Babbitt. It’s a long walk.” - -“Look here, Joe: are you objecting to walking?” - -“Oh, no, I guess I can do it. But I haven’t tramped that far for sixteen -years. Most of the sports go by boat. But I can do it if you say so-- I -guess.” Joe walked away in sadness. - -Babbitt had recovered from his touchy wrath before Joe returned. He -pictured him as warming up and telling the most entertaining stories. -But Joe had not yet warmed up when they took the trail. He persistently -kept behind Babbitt, and however much his shoulders ached from the -pack, however sorely he panted, Babbitt could hear his guide panting -equally. But the trail was satisfying: a path brown with pine-needles -and rough with roots, among the balsams, the ferns, the sudden groves of -white birch. He became credulous again, and rejoiced in sweating. When -he stopped to rest he chuckled, “Guess we’re hitting it up pretty good -for a couple o’ old birds, eh?” - -“Uh-huh,” admitted Joe. - -“This is a mighty pretty place. Look, you can see the lake down through -the trees. I tell you, Joe, you don’t appreciate how lucky you are to -live in woods like this, instead of a city with trolleys grinding and -typewriters clacking and people bothering the life out of you all the -time! I wish I knew the woods like you do. Say, what’s the name of that -little red flower?” - -Rubbing his back, Joe regarded the flower resentfully. “Well, some folks -call it one thing and some calls it another I always just call it Pink -Flower.” - -Babbitt blessedly ceased thinking as tramping turned into blind -plodding. He was submerged in weariness. His plump legs seemed to go on -by themselves, without guidance, and he mechanically wiped away the -sweat which stung his eyes. He was too tired to be consciously glad as, -after a sun-scourged mile of corduroy tote-road through a swamp where -flies hovered over a hot waste of brush, they reached the cool shore of -Box Car Pond. When he lifted the pack from his back he staggered from -the change in balance, and for a moment could not stand erect. He lay -beneath an ample-bosomed maple tree near the guest-shack, and joyously -felt sleep running through his veins. - -He awoke toward dusk, to find Joe efficiently cooking bacon and eggs and -flapjacks for supper, and his admiration of the woodsman returned. He -sat on a stump and felt virile. - -“Joe, what would you do if you had a lot of money? Would you stick to -guiding, or would you take a claim ’way back in the woods and be -independent of people?” - -For the first time Joe brightened. He chewed his cud a second, and -bubbled, “I’ve often thought of that! If I had the money, I’d go down to -Tinker’s Falls and open a swell shoe store.” - -After supper Joe proposed a game of stud-poker but Babbitt refused with -brevity, and Joe contentedly went to bed at eight. Babbitt sat on the -stump, facing the dark pond, slapping mosquitos. Save the snoring guide, -there was no other human being within ten miles. He was lonelier than he -had ever been in his life. Then he was in Zenith. - -He was worrying as to whether Miss McGoun wasn’t paying too much for -carbon paper. He was at once resenting and missing the persistent -teasing at the Roughnecks’ Table. He was wondering what Zilla Riesling -was doing now. He was wondering whether, after the summer’s maturity of -being a garageman, Ted would “get busy” in the university. He was -thinking of his wife. “If she would only--if she wouldn’t be so darn -satisfied with just settling down-- No! I won’t! I won’t go back! I’ll be -fifty in three years. Sixty in thirteen years. I’m going to have some -fun before it’s too late. I don’t care! I will!” - -He thought of Ida Putiak, of Louetta Swanson, of that nice widow--what -was her name?--Tanis Judique?--the one for whom he’d found the flat. He -was enmeshed in imaginary conversations. Then: - -“Gee, I can’t seem to get away from thinking about folks!” - -Thus it came to him merely to run away was folly, because he could never -run away from himself. - -That moment he started for Zenith. In his journey there was no -appearance of flight, but he was fleeing, and four days afterward he was -on the Zenith train. He knew that he was slinking back not because it -was what he longed to do but because it was all he could do. He scanned -again his discovery that he could never run away from Zenith and family -and office, because in his own brain he bore the office and the family -and every street and disquiet and illusion of Zenith. - -“But I’m going to--oh, I’m going to start something!” he vowed, and he -tried to make it valiant. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - - -I - -As he walked through the train, looking for familiar faces, he saw only -one person whom he knew, and that was Seneca Doane, the lawyer who, -after the blessings of being in Babbitt’s own class at college and of -becoming a corporation-counsel, had turned crank, had headed -farmer-labor tickets and fraternized with admitted socialists. Though he -was in rebellion, naturally Babbitt did not care to be seen talking with -such a fanatic, but in all the Pullmans he could find no other -acquaintance, and reluctantly he halted. Seneca Doane was a slight, -thin-haired man, rather like Chum Frink except that he hadn’t Frink’s -grin. He was reading a book called “The Way of All Flesh.” It looked -religious to Babbitt, and he wondered if Doane could possibly have been -converted and turned decent and patriotic. - -“Why, hello, Doane,” he said. - -Doane looked up. His voice was curiously kind. “Oh! How do, Babbitt.” - -“Been away, eh?” - -“Yes, I’ve been in Washington.” - -“Washington, eh? How’s the old Government making out?” - -“It’s-- Won’t you sit down?” - -“Thanks. Don’t care if I do. Well, well! Been quite a while since I’ve -had a good chance to talk to you, Doane. I was, uh-- Sorry you didn’t -turn up at the last class-dinner.” - -“Oh--thanks.” - -“How’s the unions coming? Going to run for mayor again?” - -Doane seemed restless. He was fingering the pages of his book. He said -“I might” as though it didn’t mean anything in particular, and he -smiled. - -Babbitt liked that smile, and hunted for conversation: “Saw a bang-up -cabaret in New York: the ‘Good-Morning Cutie’ bunch at the Hotel -Minton.” - -“Yes, they’re pretty girls. I danced there one evening.” - -“Oh. Like dancing?” - -“Naturally. I like dancing and pretty women and good food better than -anything else in the world. Most men do.” - -“But gosh, Doane, I thought you fellows wanted to take all the good eats -and everything away from us.” - -“No. Not at all. What I’d like to see is the meetings of the Garment -Workers held at the Ritz, with a dance afterward. Isn’t that -reasonable?” - -“Yuh, might be good idea, all right. Well-- Shame I haven’t seen more of -you, recent years. Oh, say, hope you haven’t held it against me, my -bucking you as mayor, going on the stump for Prout. You see, I’m an -organization Republican, and I kind of felt--” - -“There’s no reason why you shouldn’t fight me. I have no doubt you’re -good for the Organization. I remember--in college you were an unusually -liberal, sensitive chap. I can still recall your saying to me that you -were going to be a lawyer, and take the cases of the poor for nothing, -and fight the rich. And I remember I said I was going to be one of the -rich myself, and buy paintings and live at Newport. I’m sure you -inspired us all.” - -“Well.... Well.... I’ve always aimed to be liberal.” Babbitt was -enormously shy and proud and self-conscious; he tried to look like the -boy he had been a quarter-century ago, and he shone upon his old friend -Seneca Doane as he rumbled, “Trouble with a lot of these fellows, even -the live wires and some of ’em that think they’re forward-looking, is -they aren’t broad-minded and liberal. Now, I always believe in giving -the other fellow a chance, and listening to his ideas.” - -“That’s fine.” - -“Tell you how I figure it: A little opposition is good for all of us, so -a fellow, especially if he’s a business man and engaged in doing the -work of the world, ought to be liberal.” - -“Yes--” - -“I always say a fellow ought to have Vision and Ideals. I guess some of -the fellows in my business think I’m pretty visionary, but I just let -’em think what they want to and go right on--same as you do.... By -golly, this is nice to have a chance to sit and visit and kind of, you -might say, brush up on our ideals.” - -“But of course we visionaries do rather get beaten. Doesn’t it bother -you?” - -“Not a bit! Nobody can dictate to me what I think!” - -“You’re the man I want to help me. I want you to talk to some of the -business men and try to make them a little more liberal in their -attitude toward poor Beecher Ingram.” - -“Ingram? But, why, he’s this nut preacher that got kicked out of the -Congregationalist Church, isn’t he, and preaches free love and -sedition?” - -This, Doane explained, was indeed the general conception of Beecher -Ingram, but he himself saw Beecher Ingram as a priest of the brotherhood -of man, of which Babbitt was notoriously an upholder. So would Babbitt -keep his acquaintances from hounding Ingram and his forlorn little -church? - -“You bet! I’ll call down any of the boys I hear getting funny about -Ingram,” Babbitt said affectionately to his dear friend Doane. - -Doane warmed up and became reminiscent. He spoke of student days in -Germany, of lobbying for single tax in Washington, of international -labor conferences. He mentioned his friends, Lord Wycombe, Colonel -Wedgwood, Professor Piccoli. Babbitt had always supposed that Doane -associated only with the I. W. W., but now he nodded gravely, as one who -knew Lord Wycombes by the score, and he got in two references to Sir -Gerald Doak. He felt daring and idealistic and cosmopolitan. - -Suddenly, in his new spiritual grandeur, he was sorry for Zilla -Riesling, and understood her as these ordinary fellows at the Boosters’ -Club never could. - - -II - -Five hours after he had arrived in Zenith and told his wife how hot it -was in New York, he went to call on Zilla. He was buzzing with ideas and -forgiveness. He’d get Paul released; he’d do things, vague but highly -benevolent things, for Zilla; he’d be as generous as his friend Seneca -Doane. - -He had not seen Zilla since Paul had shot her, and he still pictured her -as buxom, high-colored, lively, and a little blowsy. As he drove up to -her boarding-house, in a depressing back street below the wholesale -district, he stopped in discomfort. At an upper window, leaning on her -elbow, was a woman with the features of Zilla, but she was bloodless and -aged, like a yellowed wad of old paper crumpled into wrinkles. Where -Zilla had bounced and jiggled, this woman was dreadfully still. - -He waited half an hour before she came into the boarding-house parlor. -Fifty times he opened the book of photographs of the Chicago World’s -Fair of 1893, fifty times he looked at the picture of the Court of -Honor. - -He was startled to find Zilla in the room. She wore a black streaky gown -which she had tried to brighten with a girdle of crimson ribbon. The -ribbon had been torn and patiently mended. He noted this carefully, -because he did not wish to look at her shoulders. One shoulder was lower -than the other; one arm she carried in contorted fashion, as though it -were paralyzed; and behind a high collar of cheap lace there was a gouge -in the anemic neck which had once been shining and softly plump. - -“Yes?” she said. - -“Well, well, old Zilla! By golly, it’s good to see you again!” - -“He can send his messages through a lawyer.” - -“Why, rats, Zilla, I didn’t come just because of him. Came as an old -friend.” - -“You waited long enough!” - -“Well, you know how it is. Figured you wouldn’t want to see a friend of -his for quite some time and-- Sit down, honey! Let’s be sensible. We’ve -all of us done a bunch of things that we hadn’t ought to, but maybe we -can sort of start over again. Honest, Zilla, I’d like to do something to -make you both happy. Know what I thought to-day? Mind you, Paul doesn’t -know a thing about this--doesn’t know I was going to come see you. I got -to thinking: Zilla’s a fine, big-hearted woman, and she’ll understand -that, uh, Paul’s had his lesson now. Why wouldn’t it be a fine idea if -you asked the governor to pardon him? Believe he would, if it came from -you. No! Wait! Just think how good you’d feel if you were generous.” - -“Yes, I wish to be generous.” She was sitting primly, speaking icily. -“For that reason I wish to keep him in prison, as an example to -evil-doers. I’ve gotten religion, George, since the terrible thing that -man did to me. Sometimes I used to be unkind, and I wished for worldly -pleasures, for dancing and the theater. But when I was in the hospital -the pastor of the Pentecostal Communion Faith used to come to see me, -and he showed me, right from the prophecies written in the Word of God, -that the Day of Judgment is coming and all the members of the older -churches are going straight to eternal damnation, because they only do -lip-service and swallow the world, the flesh, and the devil--” - -For fifteen wild minutes she talked, pouring out admonitions to flee the -wrath to come, and her face flushed, her dead voice recaptured something -of the shrill energy of the old Zilla. She wound up with a furious: - -“It’s the blessing of God himself that Paul should be in prison now, and -torn and humbled by punishment, so that he may yet save his soul, and so -other wicked men, these horrible chasers after women and lust, may have -an example.” - -Babbitt had itched and twisted. As in church he dared not move during -the sermon so now he felt that he must seem attentive, though her -screeching denunciations flew past him like carrion birds. - -He sought to be calm and brotherly: - -“Yes, I know, Zilla. But gosh, it certainly is the essence of religion -to be charitable, isn’t it? Let me tell you how I figure it: What we -need in the world is liberalism, liberality, if we’re going to get -anywhere. I’ve always believed in being broad-minded and liberal--” - -“You? Liberal?” It was very much the old Zilla. “Why, George Babbitt, -you’re about as broad-minded and liberal as a razor-blade!” - -“Oh, I am, am I! Well, just let me tell you, just--let--me--tell--you, -I’m as by golly liberal as you are religious, anyway! _You religious!_” - -“I am so! Our pastor says I sustain him in the faith!” - -“I’ll bet you do! With Paul’s money! But just to show you how liberal I -am, I’m going to send a check for ten bucks to this Beecher Ingram, -because a lot of fellows are saying the poor cuss preaches sedition and -free love, and they’re trying to run him out of town.” - -“And they’re right! They ought to run him out of town! Why, he -preaches--if you can call it preaching--in a theater, in the House of -Satan! You don’t know what it is to find God, to find peace, to behold -the snares that the devil spreads out for our feet. Oh, I’m so glad to -see the mysterious purposes of God in having Paul harm me and stop my -wickedness--and Paul’s getting his, good and plenty, for the cruel -things he did to me, and I hope he _dies_ in prison!” - -Babbitt was up, hat in hand, growling, “Well, if that’s what you call -being at peace, for heaven’s sake just warn me before you go to war, -will you?” - - -III - -Vast is the power of cities to reclaim the wanderer. More than mountains -or the shore-devouring sea, a city retains its character, imperturbable, -cynical, holding behind apparent changes its essential purpose. Though -Babbitt had deserted his family and dwelt with Joe Paradise in the -wilderness, though he had become a liberal, though he had been quite -sure, on the night before he reached Zenith, that neither he nor the -city would be the same again, ten days after his return he could not -believe that he had ever been away. Nor was it at all evident to his -acquaintances that there was a new George F. Babbitt, save that he was -more irritable under the incessant chaffing at the Athletic Club, and -once, when Vergil Gunch observed that Seneca Doane ought to be hanged, -Babbitt snorted, “Oh, rats, he’s not so bad.” - -At home he grunted “Eh?” across the newspaper to his commentatory wife, -and was delighted by Tinka’s new red tam o’shanter, and announced, “No -class to that corrugated iron garage. Have to build me a nice frame -one.” - -Verona and Kenneth Escott appeared really to be engaged. In his -newspaper Escott had conducted a pure-food crusade against -commission-houses. As a result he had been given an excellent job in a -commission-house, and he was making a salary on which he could marry, -and denouncing irresponsible reporters who wrote stories criticizing -commission-houses without knowing what they were talking about. - -This September Ted had entered the State University as a freshman in the -College of Arts and Sciences. The university was at Mohalis, only -fifteen miles from Zenith, and Ted often came down for the week-end. -Babbitt was worried. Ted was “going in for” everything but books. He had -tried to “make” the football team as a light half-back, he was looking -forward to the basket-ball season, he was on the committee for the -Freshman Hop, and (as a Zenithite, an aristocrat among the yokels) he -was being “rushed” by two fraternities. But of his studies Babbitt could -learn nothing save a mumbled, “Oh, gosh, these old stiffs of teachers -just give you a lot of junk about literature and economics.” - -One week-end Ted proposed, “Say, Dad, why can’t I transfer over from the -College to the School of Engineering and take mechanical engineering? -You always holler that I never study, but honest, I would study there.” - -“No, the Engineering School hasn’t got the standing the College has,” -fretted Babbitt. - -“I’d like to know how it hasn’t! The Engineers can play on any of the -teams!” - -There was much explanation of the “dollars-and-cents value of being -known as a college man when you go into the law,” and a truly oratorical -account of the lawyer’s life. Before he was through with it, Babbitt had -Ted a United States Senator. - -Among the great lawyers whom he mentioned was Seneca Doane. - -“But, gee whiz,” Ted marveled, “I thought you always said this Doane was -a reg’lar nut!” - -“That’s no way to speak of a great man! Doane’s always been a good -friend of mine--fact I helped him in college-- I started him out and you -might say inspired him. Just because he’s sympathetic with the aims of -Labor, a lot of chumps that lack liberality and broad-mindedness think -he’s a crank, but let me tell you there’s mighty few of ’em that rake in -the fees he does, and he’s a friend of some of the strongest, most -conservative men in the world--like Lord Wycombe, this, uh, this big -English nobleman that’s so well known. And you now, which would you -rather do: be in with a lot of greasy mechanics and laboring-men, or -chum up to a real fellow like Lord Wycombe, and get invited to his house -for parties?” - -“Well--gosh,” sighed Ted. - -The next week-end he came in joyously with, “Say, Dad, why couldn’t I -take mining engineering instead of the academic course? You talk about -standing--maybe there isn’t much in mechanical engineering, but the -Miners, gee, they got seven out of eleven in the new elections to Nu Tau -Tau!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - - -I - -The strike which turned Zenith into two belligerent camps, white and -red, began late in September with a walk-out of telephone girls and -linemen, in protest against a reduction of wages. The newly formed union -of dairy-products workers went out, partly in sympathy and partly in -demand for a forty-four hour week. They were followed by the -truck-drivers’ union. Industry was tied up, and the whole city was -nervous with talk of a trolley strike, a printers’ strike, a general -strike. Furious citizens, trying to get telephone calls through -strike-breaking girls, danced helplessly. Every truck that made its way -from the factories to the freight-stations was guarded by a policeman, -trying to look stoical beside the scab driver. A line of fifty trucks -from the Zenith Steel and Machinery Company was attacked by -strikers--rushing out from the sidewalk, pulling drivers from the seats, -smashing carburetors and commutators, while telephone girls cheered from -the walk, and small boys heaved bricks. - -The National Guard was ordered out. Colonel Nixon, who in private life -was Mr. Caleb Nixon, secretary of the Pullmore Tractor Company, put on a -long khaki coat and stalked through crowds, a .44 automatic in hand. -Even Babbitt’s friend, Clarence Drum the shoe merchant--a round and -merry man who told stories at the Athletic Club, and who strangely -resembled a Victorian pug-dog--was to be seen as a waddling but -ferocious captain, with his belt tight about his comfortable little -belly, and his round little mouth petulant as he piped to chattering -groups on corners. “Move on there now! I can’t have any of this -loitering!” - -Every newspaper in the city, save one, was against the strikers. When -mobs raided the news-stands, at each was stationed a militiaman, a -young, embarrassed citizen-soldier with eye-glasses, bookkeeper or -grocery-clerk in private life, trying to look dangerous while small boys -yelped, “Get onto de tin soldier!” and striking truck-drivers inquired -tenderly, “Say, Joe, when I was fighting in France, was you in camp in -the States or was you doing Swede exercises in the Y. M. C. A.? Be -careful of that bayonet, now, or you’ll cut yourself!” - -There was no one in Zenith who talked of anything but the strike, and no -one who did not take sides. You were either a courageous friend of -Labor, or you were a fearless supporter of the Rights of Property; and -in either case you were belligerent, and ready to disown any friend who -did not hate the enemy. - -A condensed-milk plant was set afire--each side charged it to the -other--and the city was hysterical. - -And Babbitt chose this time to be publicly liberal. - -He belonged to the sound, sane, right-thinking wing, and at first he -agreed that the Crooked Agitators ought to be shot. He was sorry when -his friend, Seneca Doane, defended arrested strikers, and he thought of -going to Doane and explaining about these agitators, but when he read a -broadside alleging that even on their former wages the telephone girls -had been hungry, he was troubled. “All lies and fake figures,” he said, -but in a doubtful croak. - -For the Sunday after, the Chatham Road Presbyterian Church announced a -sermon by Dr. John Jennison Drew on “How the Saviour Would End Strikes.” -Babbitt had been negligent about church-going lately, but he went to the -service, hopeful that Dr. Drew really did have the information as to -what the divine powers thought about strikes. Beside Babbitt in the -large, curving, glossy, velvet-upholstered pew was Chum Frink. - -Frink whispered, “Hope the doc gives the strikers hell! Ordinarily, I -don’t believe in a preacher butting into political matters--let him -stick to straight religion and save souls, and not stir up a lot of -discussion--but at a time like this, I do think he ought to stand right -up and bawl out those plug-uglies to a fare-you-well!” - -“Yes--well--” said Babbitt. - -The Rev. Dr. Drew, his rustic bang flopping with the intensity of his -poetic and sociologic ardor, trumpeted: - -“During the untoward series of industrial dislocations which have--let -us be courageous and admit it boldly--throttled the business life of our -fair city these past days, there has been a great deal of loose talk -about scientific prevention of scientific--_scientific!_ Now, let me -tell you that the most unscientific thing in the world is science! Take -the attacks on the established fundamentals of the Christian creed which -were so popular with the ‘scientists’ a generation ago. Oh, yes, they -were mighty fellows, and great poo-bahs of criticism! They were going to -destroy the church; they were going to prove the world was created and -has been brought to its extraordinary level of morality and civilization -by blind chance. Yet the church stands just as firmly to-day as ever, -and the only answer a Christian pastor needs make to the long-haired -opponents of his simple faith is just a pitying smile! - -“And now these same ‘scientists’ want to replace the natural condition -of free competition by crazy systems which, no matter by what -high-sounding names they are called, are nothing but a despotic -paternalism. Naturally, I’m not criticizing labor courts, injunctions -against men proven to be striking unjustly, or those excellent unions in -which the men and the boss get together. But I certainly am criticizing -the systems in which the free and fluid motivation of independent labor -is to be replaced by cooked-up wage-scales and minimum salaries and -government commissions and labor federations and all that poppycock. - -“What is not generally understood is that this whole industrial matter -isn’t a question of economics. It’s essentially and only a matter of -Love, and of the practical application of the Christian religion! -Imagine a factory--instead of committees of workmen alienating the boss, -the boss goes among them smiling, and they smile back, the elder brother -and the younger. Brothers, that’s what they must be, loving brothers, -and then strikes would be as inconceivable as hatred in the home!” - -It was at this point that Babbitt muttered, “Oh, rot!” - -“Huh?” said Chum Frink. - -“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. It’s just as clear as mud. It -doesn’t mean a darn thing.” - -“Maybe, but--” - -Frink looked at him doubtfully, through all the service kept glancing at -him doubtfully, till Babbitt was nervous. - - -II - -The strikers had announced a parade for Tuesday morning, but Colonel -Nixon had forbidden it, the newspapers said. When Babbitt drove west -from his office at ten that morning, he saw a drove of shabby men -heading toward the tangled, dirty district beyond Court House Square. He -hated them, because they were poor, because they made him feel insecure. -“Damn loafers! Wouldn’t be common workmen if they had any pep,” he -complained. He wondered if there was going to be a riot. He drove toward -the starting-point of the parade, a triangle of limp and faded grass -known as Moore Street Park, and halted his car. - -The park and streets were buzzing with strikers, young men in blue denim -shirts, old men with caps. Through them, keeping them stirred like a -boiling pot, moved the militiamen. Babbitt could hear the soldiers’ -monotonous orders: “Keep moving--move on, ’bo--keep your feet warm!” -Babbitt admired their stolid good temper. The crowd shouted, “Tin -soldiers,” and “Dirty dogs--servants of the capitalists!” but the -militiamen grinned and answered only, “Sure, that’s right. Keep moving, -Billy!” - -Babbitt thrilled over the citizen-soldiers, hated the scoundrels who -were obstructing the pleasant ways of prosperity, admired Colonel -Nixon’s striding contempt for the crowd; and as Captain Clarence Drum, -that rather puffing shoe-dealer, came raging by, Babbitt respectfully -clamored, “Great work, Captain! Don’t let ’em march!” He watched the -strikers filing from the park. Many of them bore posters with “They -can’t stop our peacefully walking.” The militiamen tore away the -posters, but the strikers fell in behind their leaders and straggled -off, a thin unimpressive trickle between steel-glinting lines of -soldiers. Babbitt saw with disappointment that there wasn’t going to be -any violence, nothing interesting at all. Then he gasped. - -Among the marchers, beside a bulky young workman, was Seneca Doane, -smiling, content. In front of him was Professor Brockbank, head of the -history department in the State University, an old man and -white-bearded, known to come from a distinguished Massachusetts family. - -“Why, gosh,” Babbitt marveled, “a swell like him in with the strikers? -And good ole Senny Doane! They’re fools to get mixed up with this bunch. -They’re parlor socialists! But they have got nerve. And nothing in it -for them, not a cent! And-- I don’t know ’s _all_ the strikers look like -such tough nuts. Look just about like anybody else to me!” - -The militiamen were turning the parade down a side street. - -“They got just as much right to march as anybody else! They own the -streets as much as Clarence Drum or the American Legion does!” Babbitt -grumbled. “Of course, they’re--they’re a bad element, but-- Oh, rats!” - -At the Athletic Club, Babbitt was silent during lunch, while the others -fretted, “I don’t know what the world’s coming to,” or solaced their -spirits with “kidding.” - -Captain Clarence Drum came swinging by, splendid in khaki. - -“How’s it going, Captain?” inquired Vergil Gunch. - -“Oh, we got ’em stopped. We worked ’em off on side streets and separated -’em and they got discouraged and went home.” - -“Fine work. No violence.” - -“Fine work nothing!” groaned Mr. Drum. “If I had my way, there’d be a -whole lot of violence, and I’d start it, and then the whole thing would -be over. I don’t believe in standing back and wet-nursing these fellows -and letting the disturbances drag on. I tell you these strikers are -nothing in God’s world but a lot of bomb-throwing socialists and thugs, -and the only way to handle ’em is with a club! That’s what I’d do; beat -up the whole lot of ’em!” - -Babbitt heard himself saying, “Oh, rats, Clarence, they look just about -like you and me, and I certainly didn’t notice any bombs.” - -Drum complained, “Oh, you didn’t, eh? Well, maybe you’d like to take -charge of the strike! Just tell Colonel Nixon what innocents the -strikers are! He’d be glad to hear about it!” Drum strode on, while all -the table stared at Babbitt. - -“What’s the idea? Do you want us to give those hell-hounds love and -kisses, or what?” said Orville Jones. - -“Do you defend a lot of hoodlums that are trying to take the bread and -butter away from our families?” raged Professor Pumphrey. - -Vergil Gunch intimidatingly said nothing. He put on sternness like a -mask; his jaw was hard, his bristly short hair seemed cruel, his silence -was a ferocious thunder. While the others assured Babbitt that they must -have misunderstood him, Gunch looked as though he had understood only -too well. Like a robed judge he listened to Babbitt’s stammering: - -“No, sure; course they’re a bunch of toughs. But I just mean-- Strikes me -it’s bad policy to talk about clubbing ’em. Cabe Nixon doesn’t. He’s got -the fine Italian hand. And that’s why he’s colonel. Clarence Drum is -jealous of him.” - -“Well,” said Professor Pumphrey, “you hurt Clarence’s feelings, George. -He’s been out there all morning getting hot and dusty, and no wonder he -wants to beat the tar out of those sons of guns!” - -Gunch said nothing, and watched; and Babbitt knew that he was being -watched. - - -III - -As he was leaving the club Babbitt heard Chum Frink protesting to Gunch, -“--don’t know what’s got into him. Last Sunday Doc Drew preached a -corking sermon about decency in business and Babbitt kicked about that, -too. Near’s I can figure out--” - -Babbitt was vaguely frightened. - - -IV - -He saw a crowd listening to a man who was talking from the rostrum of a -kitchen-chair. He stopped his car. From newspaper pictures he knew that -the speaker must be the notorious freelance preacher, Beecher Ingram, of -whom Seneca Doane had spoken. Ingram was a gaunt man with flamboyant -hair, weather-beaten cheeks, and worried eyes. He was pleading: - -“--if those telephone girls can hold out, living on one meal a day, -doing their own washing, starving and smiling, you big hulking men ought -to be able--” - -Babbitt saw that from the sidewalk Vergil Gunch was watching him. In -vague disquiet he started the car and mechanically drove on, while -Gunch’s hostile eyes seemed to follow him all the way. - - -V - -“There’s a lot of these fellows,” Babbitt was complaining to his wife, -“that think if workmen go on strike they’re a regular bunch of fiends. -Now, of course, it’s a fight between sound business and the destructive -element, and we got to lick the stuffin’s out of ’em when they challenge -us, but doggoned if I see why we can’t fight like gentlemen and not go -calling ’em dirty dogs and saying they ought to be shot down.” - -“Why, George,” she said placidly, “I thought you always insisted that -all strikers ought to be put in jail.” - -“I never did! Well, I mean-- Some of ’em, of course. Irresponsible -leaders. But I mean a fellow ought to be broad-minded and liberal about -things like--” - -“But dearie, I thought you always said these so-called ‘liberal’ people -were the worst of--” - -“Rats! Woman never can understand the different definitions of a word. -Depends on how you mean it. And it don’t pay to be too cocksure about -anything. Now, these strikers: Honest, they’re not such bad people. Just -foolish. They don’t understand the complications of merchandizing and -profit, the way we business men do, but sometimes I think they’re about -like the rest of us, and no more hogs for wages than we are for -profits.” - -“George! If people were to hear you talk like that--of course I _know_ -you; I remember what a wild crazy boy you were; I know you don’t mean a -word you say--but if people that didn’t understand you were to hear you -talking, they’d think you were a regular socialist!” - -“What do I care what anybody thinks? And let me tell you right now-- I -want you to distinctly understand I never was a wild crazy kid, and when -I say a thing, I mean it, and I stand by it and-- Honest, do you think -people would think I was too liberal if I just said the strikers were -decent?” - -“Of course they would. But don’t worry, dear; I know you don’t mean a -word of it. Time to trot up to bed now. Have you enough covers for -to-night?” - -On the sleeping-porch he puzzled, “She doesn’t understand me. Hardly -understand myself. Why can’t I take things easy, way I used to? - -“Wish I could go out to Senny Doane’s house and talk things over with -him. No! Suppose Verg Gunch saw me going in there! - -“Wish I knew some really smart woman, and nice, that would see what I’m -trying to get at, and let me talk to her and-- I wonder if Myra’s right? -Could the fellows think I’ve gone nutty just because I’m broad-minded -and liberal? Way Verg looked at me--” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - - -Miss McGoun came into his private office at three in the afternoon with -“Lissen, Mr. Babbitt; there’s a Mrs. Judique on the ’phone--wants to see -about some repairs, and the salesmen are all out. Want to talk to her?” - -“All right.” - -The voice of Tanis Judique was clear and pleasant. The black cylinder of -the telephone-receiver seemed to hold a tiny animated image of her: -lustrous eyes, delicate nose, gentle chin. - -“This is Mrs. Judique. Do you remember me? You drove me up here to the -Cavendish Apartments and helped me find such a nice flat.” - -“Sure! Bet I remember! What can I do for you?” - -“Why, it’s just a little-- I don’t know that I ought to bother you, but -the janitor doesn’t seem to be able to fix it. You know my flat is on -the top floor, and with these autumn rains the roof is beginning to -leak, and I’d be awfully glad if--” - -“Sure! I’ll come up and take a look at it.” Nervously, “When do you -expect to be in?” - -“Why, I’m in every morning.” - -“Be in this afternoon, in an hour or so?” - -“Ye-es. Perhaps I could give you a cup of tea. I think I ought to, after -all your trouble.” - -“Fine! I’ll run up there soon as I can get away.” - -He meditated, “Now there’s a woman that’s got refinement, savvy, -_class_! ‘After all your trouble--give you a cup of tea.’ She’d -appreciate a fellow. I’m a fool, but I’m not such a bad cuss, get to -know me. And not so much a fool as they think!” - -The great strike was over, the strikers beaten. Except that Vergil Gunch -seemed less cordial, there were no visible effects of Babbitt’s -treachery to the clan. The oppressive fear of criticism was gone, but a -diffident loneliness remained. Now he was so exhilarated that, to prove -he wasn’t, he droned about the office for fifteen minutes, looking at -blue-prints, explaining to Miss McGoun that this Mrs. Scott wanted more -money for her house--had raised the asking-price--raised it from seven -thousand to eighty-five hundred--would Miss McGoun be sure and put it -down on the card--Mrs. Scott’s house--raise. When he had thus -established himself as a person unemotional and interested only in -business, he sauntered out. He took a particularly long time to start -his car; he kicked the tires, dusted the glass of the speedometer, and -tightened the screws holding the wind-shield spot-light. - -He drove happily off toward the Bellevue district, conscious of the -presence of Mrs. Judique as of a brilliant light on the horizon. The -maple leaves had fallen and they lined the gutters of the asphalted -streets. It was a day of pale gold and faded green, tranquil and -lingering. Babbitt was aware of the meditative day, and of the -barrenness of Bellevue--blocks of wooden houses, garages, little shops, -weedy lots. “Needs pepping up; needs the touch that people like Mrs. -Judique could give a place,” he ruminated, as he rattled through the -long, crude, airy streets. The wind rose, enlivening, keen, and in a -blaze of well-being he came to the flat of Tanis Judique. - -She was wearing, when she flutteringly admitted him, a frock of black -chiffon cut modestly round at the base of her pretty throat. She seemed -to him immensely sophisticated. He glanced at the cretonnes and colored -prints in her living-room, and gurgled, “Gosh, you’ve fixed the place -nice! Takes a clever woman to know how to make a home, all right!” - -“You really like it? I’m so glad! But you’ve neglected me, scandalously. -You promised to come some time and learn to dance.” - -Rather unsteadily, “Oh, but you didn’t mean it seriously!” - -“Perhaps not. But you might have tried!” - -“Well, here I’ve come for my lesson, and you might just as well prepare -to have me stay for supper!” - -They both laughed in a manner which indicated that of course he didn’t -mean it. - -“But first I guess I better look at that leak.” - -She climbed with him to the flat roof of the apartment-house--a detached -world of slatted wooden walks, clotheslines, water-tank in a penthouse. -He poked at things with his toe, and sought to impress her by being -learned about copper gutters, the desirability of passing plumbing pipes -through a lead collar and sleeve and flashing them with copper, and the -advantages of cedar over boiler-iron for roof-tanks. - -“You have to know so much, in real estate!” she admired. - -He promised that the roof should be repaired within two days. “Do you -mind my ’phoning from your apartment?” he asked. - -“Heavens, no!” - -He stood a moment at the coping, looking over a land of hard little -bungalows with abnormally large porches, and new apartment-houses, -small, but brave with variegated brick walls and terra-cotta trimmings. -Beyond them was a hill with a gouge of yellow clay like a vast wound. -Behind every apartment-house, beside each dwelling, were small garages. -It was a world of good little people, comfortable, industrious, -credulous. - -In the autumnal light the flat newness was mellowed, and the air was a -sun-tinted pool. - -“Golly, it’s one fine afternoon. You get a great view here, right up -Tanner’s Hill,” said Babbitt. - -“Yes, isn’t it nice and open.” - -“So darn few people appreciate a View.” - -“Don’t you go raising my rent on that account! Oh, that was naughty of -me! I was just teasing. Seriously though, there are so few who -respond--who react to Views. I mean--they haven’t any feeling of poetry -and beauty.” - -“That’s a fact, they haven’t,” he breathed, admiring her slenderness and -the absorbed, airy way in which she looked toward the hill, chin lifted, -lips smiling. “Well, guess I’d better telephone the plumbers, so they’ll -get on the job first thing in the morning.” - -When he had telephoned, making it conspicuously authoritative and gruff -and masculine, he looked doubtful, and sighed, “S’pose I’d better be--” - -“Oh, you must have that cup of tea first!” - -“Well, it would go pretty good, at that.” - -It was luxurious to loll in a deep green rep chair, his legs thrust out -before him, to glance at the black Chinese telephone stand and the -colored photograph of Mount Vernon which he had always liked so much, -while in the tiny kitchen--so near--Mrs. Judique sang “My Creole Queen.” -In an intolerable sweetness, a contentment so deep that he was wistfully -discontented, he saw magnolias by moonlight and heard plantation darkies -crooning to the banjo. He wanted to be near her, on pretense of helping -her, yet he wanted to remain in this still ecstasy. Languidly he -remained. - -When she bustled in with the tea he smiled up at her. “This is awfully -nice!” For the first time, he was not fencing; he was quietly and -securely friendly; and friendly and quiet was her answer: “It’s nice to -have you here. You were so kind, helping me to find this little home.” - -They agreed that the weather would soon turn cold. They agreed that -prohibition was prohibitive. They agreed that art in the home was -cultural. They agreed about everything. They even became bold. They -hinted that these modern young girls, well, honestly, their short skirts -were short. They were proud to find that they were not shocked by such -frank speaking. Tanis ventured, “I know you’ll understand-- I mean-- I -don’t quite know how to say it, but I do think that girls who pretend -they’re bad by the way they dress really never go any farther. They give -away the fact that they haven’t the instincts of a womanly woman.” - -Remembering Ida Putiak, the manicure girl, and how ill she had used him, -Babbitt agreed with enthusiasm; remembering how ill all the world had -used him, he told of Paul Riesling, of Zilla, of Seneca Doane, of the -strike: - -“See how it was? Course I was as anxious to have those beggars licked to -a standstill as anybody else, but gosh, no reason for not seeing their -side. For a fellow’s own sake, he’s got to be broad-minded and liberal, -don’t you think so?” - -“Oh, I do!” Sitting on the hard little couch, she clasped her hands -beside her, leaned toward him, absorbed him; and in a glorious state of -being appreciated he proclaimed: - -“So I up and said to the fellows at the club, ‘Look here,’ I--” - -“Do you belong to the Union Club? I think it’s--” - -“No; the Athletic. Tell you: Course they’re always asking me to join the -Union, but I always say, ‘No, sir! Nothing doing!’ I don’t mind the -expense but I can’t stand all the old fogies.” - -“Oh, yes, that’s so. But tell me: what did you say to them?” - -“Oh, you don’t want to hear it. I’m probably boring you to death with my -troubles! You wouldn’t hardly think I was an old duffer; I sound like a -kid!” - -“Oh, you’re a boy yet. I mean--you can’t be a day over forty-five.” - -“Well, I’m not--much. But by golly I begin to feel middle-aged -sometimes; all these responsibilities and all.” - -“Oh, I know!” Her voice caressed him; it cloaked him like warm silk. -“And I feel lonely, so lonely, some days, Mr. Babbitt.” - -“We’re a sad pair of birds! But I think we’re pretty darn nice!” - -“Yes, I think we’re lots nicer than most people I know!” They smiled. -“But please tell me what you said at the Club.” - -“Well, it was like this: Course Seneca Doane is a friend of mine--they -can say what they want to, they can call him anything they please, but -what most folks here don’t know is that Senny is the bosom pal of some -of the biggest statesmen in the world--Lord Wycombe, frinstance--you -know, this big British nobleman. My friend Sir Gerald Doak told me that -Lord Wycombe is one of the biggest guns in England--well, Doak or -somebody told me.” - -“Oh! Do you know Sir Gerald? The one that was here, at the McKelveys’?” - -“Know him? Well, say, I know him just well enough so we call each other -George and Jerry, and we got so pickled together in Chicago--” - -“That must have been fun. But--” She shook a finger at him. “--I can’t -have you getting pickled! I’ll have to take you in hand!” - -“Wish you would!... Well, zize saying: You see I happen to know what a -big noise Senny Doane is outside of Zenith, but of course a prophet -hasn’t got any honor in his own country, and Senny, darn his old hide, -he’s so blame modest that he never lets folks know the kind of an outfit -he travels with when he goes abroad. Well, during the strike Clarence -Drum comes pee-rading up to our table, all dolled up fit to kill in his -nice lil cap’n’s uniform, and somebody says to him, ‘Busting the strike, -Clarence?’ - -“Well, he swells up like a pouter-pigeon and he hollers, so’s you could -hear him way up in the reading-room, ‘Yes, sure; I told the -strike-leaders where they got off, and so they went home.’ - -“‘Well,’ I says to him, ‘glad there wasn’t any violence.’ - -“‘Yes,’ he says, ‘but if I hadn’t kept my eye skinned there would’ve -been. All those fellows had bombs in their pockets. They’re reg’lar -anarchists.’ - -“‘Oh, rats, Clarence,’ I says, ‘I looked ’em all over carefully, and -they didn’t have any more bombs ’n a rabbit,’ I says. ‘Course,’ I says, -‘they’re foolish, but they’re a good deal like you and me, after all.’ - -“And then Vergil Gunch or somebody--no, it was Chum Frink--you know, -this famous poet--great pal of mine--he says to me, ‘Look here,’ he -says, ‘do you mean to say you advocate these strikes?’ Well, I was so -disgusted with a fellow whose mind worked that way that I swear, I had a -good mind to not explain at all--just ignore him--” - -“Oh, that’s so wise!” said Mrs. Judique. - -“--but finally I explains to him: ‘If you’d done as much as I have on -Chamber of Commerce committees and all,’ I says, ‘then you’d have the -right to talk! But same time,’ I says, ‘I believe in treating your -opponent like a gentleman!’ Well, sir, that held ’em! Frink--Chum I -always call him--he didn’t have another word to say. But at that, I -guess some of ’em kind o’ thought I was too liberal. What do you think?” - -“Oh, you were so wise. And courageous! I love a man to have the courage -of his convictions!” - -“But do you think it was a good stunt? After all, some of these fellows -are so darn cautious and narrow-minded that they’re prejudiced against a -fellow that talks right out in meeting.” - -“What do you care? In the long run they’re bound to respect a man who -makes them think, and with your reputation for oratory you--” - -“What do you know about my reputation for oratory?” - -“Oh, I’m not going to tell you everything I know! But seriously, you -don’t realize what a famous man you are.” - -“Well-- Though I haven’t done much orating this fall. Too kind of -bothered by this Paul Riesling business, I guess. But-- Do you know, -you’re the first person that’s really understood what I was getting at, -Tanis-- Listen to me, will you! Fat nerve I’ve got, calling you Tanis!” - -“Oh, do! And shall I call you George? Don’t you think it’s awfully nice -when two people have so much--what shall I call it?--so much analysis -that they can discard all these stupid conventions and understand each -other and become acquainted right away, like ships that pass in the -night?” - -“I certainly do! I certainly do!” - -He was no longer quiescent in his chair; he wandered about the room, he -dropped on the couch beside her. But as he awkwardly stretched his hand -toward her fragile, immaculate fingers, she said brightly, “Do give me a -cigarette. Would you think poor Tanis was dreadfully naughty if she -smoked?” - -“Lord, no! I like it!” - -He had often and weightily pondered flappers smoking in Zenith -restaurants, but he knew only one woman who smoked--Mrs. Sam Doppelbrau, -his flighty neighbor. He ceremoniously lighted Tanis’s cigarette, looked -for a place to deposit the burnt match, and dropped it into his pocket. - -“I’m sure you want a cigar, you poor man!” she crooned. - -“Do you mind one?” - -“Oh, no! I love the smell of a good cigar; so nice and--so nice and like -a man. You’ll find an ash-tray in my bedroom, on the table beside the -bed, if you don’t mind getting it.” - -He was embarrassed by her bedroom: the broad couch with a cover of -violet silk, mauve curtains striped with gold, Chinese Chippendale -bureau, and an amazing row of slippers, with ribbon-wound shoe-trees, -and primrose stockings lying across them. His manner of bringing the -ash-tray had just the right note of easy friendliness, he felt. “A boob -like Verg Gunch would try to get funny about seeing her bedroom, but I -take it casually.” He was not casual afterward. The contentment of -companionship was gone, and he was restless with desire to touch her -hand. But whenever he turned toward her, the cigarette was in his way. -It was a shield between them. He waited till she should have finished, -but as he rejoiced at her quick crushing of its light on the ash-tray -she said, “Don’t you want to give me another cigarette?” and hopelessly -he saw the screen of pale smoke and her graceful tilted hand again -between them. He was not merely curious now to find out whether she -would let him hold her hand (all in the purest friendship, naturally), -but agonized with need of it. - -On the surface appeared none of all this fretful drama. They were -talking cheerfully of motors, of trips to California, of Chum Frink. -Once he said delicately, “I do hate these guys-- I hate these people that -invite themselves to meals, but I seem to have a feeling I’m going to -have supper with the lovely Mrs. Tanis Judique to-night. But I suppose -you probably have seven dates already.” - -“Well, I was thinking some of going to the movies. Yes, I really think I -ought to get out and get some fresh air.” - -She did not encourage him to stay, but never did she discourage him. He -considered, “I better take a sneak! She _will_ let me stay--there _is_ -something doing--and I mustn’t get mixed up with-- I mustn’t-- I’ve got to -beat it.” Then, “No, it’s too late now.” - -Suddenly, at seven, brushing her cigarette away, brusquely taking her -hand: - -“Tanis! Stop teasing me! You know we-- Here we are, a couple of lonely -birds, and we’re awful happy together. Anyway I am! Never been so happy! -Do let me stay! I’ll gallop down to the delicatessen and buy some -stuff--cold chicken maybe--or cold turkey--and we can have a nice little -supper, and afterwards, if you want to chase me out, I’ll be good and go -like a lamb.” - -“Well--yes--it would be nice,” she said. - -Nor did she withdraw her hand. He squeezed it, trembling, and blundered -toward his coat. At the delicatessen he bought preposterous stores of -food, chosen on the principle of expensiveness. From the drug store -across the street he telephoned to his wife, “Got to get a fellow to -sign a lease before he leaves town on the midnight. Won’t be home till -late. Don’t wait up for me. Kiss Tinka good-night.” He expectantly -lumbered back to the flat. - -“Oh, you bad thing, to buy so much food!” was her greeting, and her -voice was gay, her smile acceptant. - -He helped her in the tiny white kitchen; he washed the lettuce, he -opened the olive bottle. She ordered him to set the table, and as he -trotted into the living-room, as he hunted through the buffet for knives -and forks, he felt utterly at home. - -“Now the only other thing,” he announced, “is what you’re going to wear. -I can’t decide whether you’re to put on your swellest evening gown, or -let your hair down and put on short skirts and make-believe you’re a -little girl.” - -“I’m going to dine just as I am, in this old chiffon rag, and if you -can’t stand poor Tanis that way, you can go to the club for dinner!” - -“Stand you!” He patted her shoulder. “Child, you’re the brainiest and -the loveliest and finest woman I’ve ever met! Come now, Lady Wycombe, if -you’ll take the Duke of Zenith’s arm, we will proambulate in to the -magnolious feed!” - -“Oh, you do say the funniest, nicest things!” - -When they had finished the picnic supper he thrust his head out of the -window and reported, “It’s turned awful chilly, and I think it’s going -to rain. You don’t want to go to the movies.” - -“Well--” - -“I wish we had a fireplace! I wish it was raining like all get-out -to-night, and we were in a funny little old-fashioned cottage, and the -trees thrashing like everything outside, and a great big log fire -and-- I’ll tell you! Let’s draw this couch up to the radiator, and -stretch our feet out, and pretend it’s a wood-fire.” - -“Oh, I think that’s pathetic! You big child!” - -But they did draw up to the radiator, and propped their feet against -it--his clumsy black shoes, her patent-leather slippers. In the dimness -they talked of themselves; of how lonely she was, how bewildered he, and -how wonderful that they had found each other. As they fell silent the -room was stiller than a country lane. There was no sound from the street -save the whir of motor-tires, the rumble of a distant freight-train. -Self-contained was the room, warm, secure, insulated from the harassing -world. - -He was absorbed by a rapture in which all fear and doubting were -smoothed away; and when he reached home, at dawn, the rapture had -mellowed to contentment serene and full of memories. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - - -I - -The assurance of Tanis Judique’s friendship fortified Babbitt’s -self-approval. At the Athletic Club he became experimental. Though -Vergil Gunch was silent, the others at the Roughnecks’ Table came to -accept Babbitt as having, for no visible reason, “turned crank.” They -argued windily with him, and he was cocky, and enjoyed the spectacle of -his interesting martyrdom. He even praised Seneca Doane. Professor -Pumphrey said that was carrying a joke too far; but Babbitt argued, “No! -Fact! I tell you he’s got one of the keenest intellects in the country. -Why, Lord Wycombe said that--” - -“Oh, who the hell is Lord Wycombe? What you always lugging him in for? -You been touting him for the last six weeks!” protested Orville Jones. - -“George ordered him from Sears-Roebuck. You can get those English -high-muckamucks by mail for two bucks apiece,” suggested Sidney -Finkelstein. - -“That’s all right now! Lord Wycombe, he’s one of the biggest intellects -in English political life. As I was saying: Of course I’m conservative -myself, but I appreciate a guy like Senny Doane because--” - -Vergil Gunch interrupted harshly, “I wonder if you are so conservative? -I find I can manage to run my own business without any skunks and reds -like Doane in it!” - -The grimness of Gunch’s voice, the hardness of his jaw, disconcerted -Babbitt, but he recovered and went on till they looked bored, then -irritated, then as doubtful as Gunch. - - -II - -He thought of Tanis always. With a stir he remembered her every aspect. -His arms yearned for her. “I’ve found her! I’ve dreamed of her all these -years and now I’ve found her!” he exulted. He met her at the movies in -the morning; he drove out to her flat in the late afternoon or on -evenings when he was believed to be at the Elks. He knew her financial -affairs and advised her about them, while she lamented her feminine -ignorance, and praised his masterfulness, and proved to know much more -about bonds than he did. They had remembrances, and laughter over old -times. Once they quarreled, and he raged that she was as “bossy” as his -wife and far more whining when he was inattentive. But that passed -safely. - -Their high hour was a tramp on a ringing December afternoon, through -snow-drifted meadows down to the icy Chaloosa River. She was exotic in -an astrachan cap and a short beaver coat; she slid on the ice and -shouted, and he panted after her, rotund with laughter.... Myra Babbitt -never slid on the ice. - -He was afraid that they would be seen together. In Zenith it is -impossible to lunch with a neighbor’s wife without the fact being known, -before nightfall, in every house in your circle. But Tanis was -beautifully discreet. However appealingly she might turn to him when -they were alone, she was gravely detached when they were abroad, and he -hoped that she would be taken for a client. Orville Jones once saw them -emerging from a movie theater, and Babbitt bumbled, “Let me make you -’quainted with Mrs. Judique. Now here’s a lady who knows the right -broker to come to, Orvy!” Mr. Jones, though he was a man censorious of -morals and of laundry machinery, seemed satisfied. - -His predominant fear--not from any especial fondness for her but from -the habit of propriety--was that his wife would learn of the affair. He -was certain that she knew nothing specific about Tanis, but he was also -certain that she suspected something indefinite. For years she had been -bored by anything more affectionate than a farewell kiss, yet she was -hurt by any slackening in his irritable periodic interest, and now he -had no interest; rather, a revulsion. He was completely faithful--to -Tanis. He was distressed by the sight of his wife’s slack plumpness, by -her puffs and billows of flesh, by the tattered petticoat which she was -always meaning and always forgetting to throw away. But he was aware -that she, so long attuned to him, caught all his repulsions. He -elaborately, heavily, jocularly tried to check them. He couldn’t. - -They had a tolerable Christmas. Kenneth Escott was there, admittedly -engaged to Verona. Mrs. Babbitt was tearful and called Kenneth her new -son. Babbitt was worried about Ted, because he had ceased complaining of -the State University and become suspiciously acquiescent. He wondered -what the boy was planning, and was too shy to ask. Himself, Babbitt -slipped away on Christmas afternoon to take his present, a silver -cigarette-box, to Tanis. When he returned Mrs. Babbitt asked, much too -innocently, “Did you go out for a little fresh air?” - -“Yes, just lil drive,” he mumbled. - -After New Year’s his wife proposed, “I heard from my sister to-day, -George. She isn’t well. I think perhaps I ought to go stay with her for -a few weeks.” - -Now, Mrs. Babbitt was not accustomed to leave home during the winter -except on violently demanding occasions, and only the summer before, she -had been gone for weeks. Nor was Babbitt one of the detachable husbands -who take separations casually. He liked to have her there; she looked -after his clothes; she knew how his steak ought to be cooked; and her -clucking made him feel secure. But he could not drum up even a dutiful -“Oh, she doesn’t really need you, does she?” While he tried to look -regretful, while he felt that his wife was watching him, he was filled -with exultant visions of Tanis. - -“Do you think I’d better go?” she said sharply. - -“You’ve got to decide, honey; I can’t.” - -She turned away, sighing, and his forehead was damp. - -Till she went, four days later, she was curiously still, he cumbrously -affectionate. Her train left at noon. As he saw it grow small beyond the -train-shed he longed to hurry to Tanis. - -“No, by golly, I won’t do that!” he vowed. “I won’t go near her for a -week!” - -But he was at her flat at four. - - -III - -He who had once controlled or seemed to control his life in a progress -unimpassioned but diligent and sane was for that fortnight borne on a -current of desire and very bad whisky and all the complications of new -acquaintances, those furious new intimates who demand so much more -attention than old friends. Each morning he gloomily recognized his -idiocies of the evening before. With his head throbbing, his tongue and -lips stinging from cigarettes, he incredulously counted the number of -drinks he had taken, and groaned, “I got to quit!” He had ceased saying, -“I _will_ quit!” for however resolute he might be at dawn, he could not, -for a single evening, check his drift. - -He had met Tanis’s friends; he had, with the ardent haste of the -Midnight People, who drink and dance and rattle and are ever afraid to -be silent, been adopted as a member of her group, which they called “The -Bunch.” He first met them after a day when he had worked particularly -hard and when he hoped to be quiet with Tanis and slowly sip her -admiration. - -From down the hall he could hear shrieks and the grind of a phonograph. -As Tanis opened the door he saw fantastic figures dancing in a haze of -cigarette smoke. The tables and chairs were against the wall. - -“Oh, isn’t this dandy!” she gabbled at him. “Carrie Nork had the -loveliest idea. She decided it was time for a party, and she ’phoned the -Bunch and told ’em to gather round.... George, this is Carrie.” - -“Carrie” was, in the less desirable aspects of both, at once matronly -and spinsterish. She was perhaps forty; her hair was an unconvincing -ash-blond; and if her chest was flat, her hips were ponderous. She -greeted Babbitt with a giggling “Welcome to our little midst! Tanis says -you’re a real sport.” - -He was apparently expected to dance, to be boyish and gay with Carrie, -and he did his unforgiving best. He towed her about the room, bumping -into other couples, into the radiator, into chair-legs cunningly -ambushed. As he danced he surveyed the rest of the Bunch: A thin young -woman who looked capable, conceited, and sarcastic. Another woman whom -he could never quite remember. Three overdressed and slightly effeminate -young men--soda-fountain clerks, or at least born for that profession. A -man of his own age, immovable, self-satisfied, resentful of Babbitt’s -presence. - -When he had finished his dutiful dance Tanis took him aside and begged, -“Dear, wouldn’t you like to do something for me? I’m all out of booze, -and the Bunch want to celebrate. Couldn’t you just skip down to Healey -Hanson’s and get some?” - -“Sure,” he said, trying not to sound sullen. - -“I’ll tell you: I’ll get Minnie Sonntag to drive down with you.” Tanis -was pointing to the thin, sarcastic young woman. - -Miss Sonntag greeted him with an astringent “How d’you do, Mr. Babbitt. -Tanis tells me you’re a very prominent man, and I’m honored by being -allowed to drive with you. Of course I’m not accustomed to associating -with society people like you, so I don’t know how to act in such exalted -circles!” - -Thus Miss Sonntag talked all the way down to Healey Hanson’s. To her -jibes he wanted to reply “Oh, go to the devil!” but he never quite -nerved himself to that reasonable comment. He was resenting the -existence of the whole Bunch. He had heard Tanis speak of “darling -Carrie” and “Min Sonntag--she’s so clever--you’ll adore her,” but they -had never been real to him. He had pictured Tanis as living in a -rose-tinted vacuum, waiting for him, free of all the complications of a -Floral Heights. - -When they returned he had to endure the patronage of the young -soda-clerks. They were as damply friendly as Miss Sonntag was dryly -hostile. They called him “Old Georgie” and shouted, “Come on now, sport; -shake a leg” ... boys in belted coats, pimply boys, as young as Ted and -as flabby as chorus-men, but powerful to dance and to mind the -phonograph and smoke cigarettes and patronize Tanis. He tried to be one -of them; he cried “Good work, Pete!” but his voice creaked. - -Tanis apparently enjoyed the companionship of the dancing darlings; she -bridled to their bland flirtation and casually kissed them at the end of -each dance. Babbitt hated her, for the moment. He saw her as -middle-aged. He studied the wrinkles in the softness of her throat, the -slack flesh beneath her chin. The taut muscles of her youth were loose -and drooping. Between dances she sat in the largest chair, waving her -cigarette, summoning her callow admirers to come and talk to her. (“She -thinks she’s a blooming queen!” growled Babbitt.) She chanted to Miss -Sonntag, “Isn’t my little studio sweet?” (“Studio, rats! It’s a plain -old-maid-and-chow-dog flat! Oh, God, I wish I was home! I wonder if I -can’t make a getaway now?”) - -His vision grew blurred, however, as he applied himself to Healey -Hanson’s raw but vigorous whisky. He blended with the Bunch. He began to -rejoice that Carrie Nork and Pete, the most nearly intelligent of the -nimble youths, seemed to like him; and it was enormously important to -win over the surly older man, who proved to be a railway clerk named -Fulton Bemis. - -The conversation of the Bunch was exclamatory, high-colored, full of -references to people whom Babbitt did not know. Apparently they thought -very comfortably of themselves. They were the Bunch, wise and beautiful -and amusing; they were Bohemians and urbanites, accustomed to all the -luxuries of Zenith: dance-halls, movie-theaters, and roadhouses; and in -a cynical superiority to people who were “slow” or “tightwad” they -cackled: - -“Oh, Pete, did I tell you what that dub of a cashier said when I came in -late yesterday? Oh, it was per-fect-ly priceless!” - -“Oh, but wasn’t T. D. stewed! Say, he was simply ossified! What did -Gladys say to him?” - -“Think of the nerve of Bob Bickerstaff trying to get us to come to his -house! Say, the nerve of him! Can you beat it for nerve? Some nerve I -call it!” - -“Did you notice how Dotty was dancing? Gee, wasn’t she the limit!” - -Babbitt was to be heard sonorously agreeing with the once-hated Miss -Minnie Sonntag that persons who let a night go by without dancing to -jazz music were crabs, pikers, and poor fish; and he roared “You bet!” -when Mrs. Carrie Nork gurgled, “Don’t you love to sit on the floor? It’s -so Bohemian!” He began to think extremely well of the Bunch. When he -mentioned his friends Sir Gerald Doak, Lord Wycombe, William Washington -Eathorne, and Chum Frink, he was proud of their condescending interest. -He got so thoroughly into the jocund spirit that he didn’t much mind -seeing Tanis drooping against the shoulder of the youngest and milkiest -of the young men, and he himself desired to hold Carrie Nork’s pulpy -hand, and dropped it only because Tanis looked angry. - -When he went home, at two, he was fully a member of the Bunch, and all -the week thereafter he was bound by the exceedingly straitened -conventions, the exceedingly wearing demands, of their life of pleasure -and freedom. He had to go to their parties; he was involved in the -agitation when everybody telephoned to everybody else that she hadn’t -meant what she’d said when she’d said that, and anyway, why was Pete -going around saying she’d said it? - -Never was a Family more insistent on learning one another’s movements -than were the Bunch. All of them volubly knew, or indignantly desired to -know, where all the others had been every minute of the week. Babbitt -found himself explaining to Carrie or Fulton Bemis just what he had been -doing that he should not have joined them till ten o’clock, and -apologizing for having gone to dinner with a business acquaintance. - -Every member of the Bunch was expected to telephone to every other -member at least once a week. “Why haven’t you called me up?” Babbitt was -asked accusingly, not only by Tanis and Carrie but presently by new -ancient friends, Jennie and Capitolina and Toots. - -If for a moment he had seen Tanis as withering and sentimental, he lost -that impression at Carrie Nork’s dance. Mrs. Nork had a large house and -a small husband. To her party came all of the Bunch, perhaps thirty-five -of them when they were completely mobilized. Babbitt, under the name of -“Old Georgie,” was now a pioneer of the Bunch, since each month it -changed half its membership and he who could recall the prehistoric days -of a fortnight ago, before Mrs. Absolom, the food-demonstrator, had gone -to Indianapolis, and Mac had “got sore at” Minnie, was a venerable -leader and able to condescend to new Petes and Minnies and Gladyses. - -At Carrie’s, Tanis did not have to work at being hostess. She was -dignified and sure, a clear fine figure in the black chiffon frock he -had always loved; and in the wider spaces of that ugly house Babbitt was -able to sit quietly with her. He repented of his first revulsion, mooned -at her feet, and happily drove her home. Next day he bought a violent -yellow tie, to make himself young for her. He knew, a little sadly, that -he could not make himself beautiful; he beheld himself as heavy, hinting -of fatness, but he danced, he dressed, he chattered, to be as young as -she was... as young as she seemed to be. - - -IV - -As all converts, whether to a religion, love, or gardening, find as by -magic that though hitherto these hobbies have not seemed to exist, now -the whole world is filled with their fury, so, once he was converted to -dissipation, Babbitt discovered agreeable opportunities for it -everywhere. - -He had a new view of his sporting neighbor, Sam Doppelbrau. The -Doppelbraus were respectable people, industrious people, prosperous -people, whose ideal of happiness was an eternal cabaret. Their life was -dominated by suburban bacchanalia of alcohol, nicotine, gasoline, and -kisses. They and their set worked capably all the week, and all week -looked forward to Saturday night, when they would, as they expressed it, -“throw a party;” and the thrown party grew noisier and noisier up to -Sunday dawn, and usually included an extremely rapid motor expedition to -nowhere in particular. - -One evening when Tanis was at the theater, Babbitt found himself being -lively with the Doppelbraus, pledging friendship with men whom he had -for years privily denounced to Mrs. Babbitt as a “rotten bunch of -tin-horns that I wouldn’t go out with, not if they were the last people -on earth.” That evening he had sulkily come home and poked about in -front of the house, chipping off the walk the ice-clots, like fossil -footprints, made by the steps of passers-by during the recent snow. -Howard Littlefield came up snuffling. - -“Still a widower, George?” - -“Yump. Cold again to-night.” - -“What do you hear from the wife?” - -“She’s feeling fine, but her sister is still pretty sick.” - -“Say, better come in and have dinner with us to-night, George.” - -“Oh--oh, thanks. Have to go out.” - -Suddenly he could not endure Littlefield’s recitals of the more -interesting statistics about totally uninteresting problems. He scraped -at the walk and grunted. - -Sam Doppelbrau appeared. - -“Evenin’, Babbitt. Working hard?” - -“Yuh, lil exercise.” - -“Cold enough for you to-night?” - -“Well, just about.” - -“Still a widower?” - -“Uh-huh.” - -“Say, Babbitt, while she’s away-- I know you don’t care much for -booze-fights, but the Missus and I’d be awfully glad if you could come -in some night. Think you could stand a good cocktail for once?” - -“Stand it? Young fella, I bet old Uncle George can mix the best cocktail -in these United States!” - -“Hurray! That’s the way to talk! Look here: There’s some folks coming to -the house to-night, Louetta Swanson and some other live ones, and I’m -going to open up a bottle of pre-war gin, and maybe we’ll dance a while. -Why don’t you drop in and jazz it up a little, just for a change?” - -“Well-- What time they coming?” - -He was at Sam Doppelbrau’s at nine. It was the third time he had entered -the house. By ten he was calling Mr. Doppelbrau “Sam, old hoss.” - -At eleven they all drove out to the Old Farm Inn. Babbitt sat in the -back of Doppelbrau’s car with Louetta Swanson. Once he had timorously -tried to make love to her. Now he did not try; he merely made love; and -Louetta dropped her head on his shoulder, told him what a nagger Eddie -was, and accepted Babbitt as a decent and well-trained libertine. - -With the assistance of Tanis’s Bunch, the Doppelbraus, and other -companions in forgetfulness, there was not an evening for two weeks when -he did not return home late and shaky. With his other faculties blurred -he yet had the motorist’s gift of being able to drive when he could -scarce walk; of slowing down at corners and allowing for approaching -cars. He came wambling into the house. If Verona and Kenneth Escott were -about, he got past them with a hasty greeting, horribly aware of their -level young glances, and hid himself up-stairs. He found when he came -into the warm house that he was hazier than he had believed. His head -whirled. He dared not lie down. He tried to soak out the alcohol in a -hot bath. For the moment his head was clearer but when he moved about -the bathroom his calculations of distance were wrong, so that he dragged -down the towels, and knocked over the soap-dish with a clatter which, he -feared, would betray him to the children. Chilly in his dressing-gown he -tried to read the evening paper. He could follow every word; he seemed -to take in the sense of things; but a minute afterward he could not have -told what he had been reading. When he went to bed his brain flew in -circles, and he hastily sat up, struggling for self-control. At last he -was able to lie still, feeling only a little sick and dizzy--and -enormously ashamed. To hide his “condition” from his own children! To -have danced and shouted with people whom he despised! To have said -foolish things, sung idiotic songs, tried to kiss silly girls! -Incredulously he remembered that he had by his roaring familiarity with -them laid himself open to the patronizing of youths whom he would have -kicked out of his office; that by dancing too ardently he had exposed -himself to rebukes from the rattiest of withering women. As it came -relentlessly back to him he snarled, “I hate myself! God how I hate -myself!” But, he raged, “I’m through! No more! Had enough, plenty!” - -He was even surer about it the morning after, when he was trying to be -grave and paternal with his daughters at breakfast. At noontime he was -less sure. He did not deny that he had been a fool; he saw it almost as -clearly as at midnight; but anything, he struggled, was better than -going back to a life of barren heartiness. At four he wanted a drink. He -kept a whisky flask in his desk now, and after two minutes of battle he -had his drink. Three drinks later he began to see the Bunch as tender -and amusing friends, and by six he was with them... and the tale was to -be told all over. - -Each morning his head ached a little less. A bad head for drinks had -been his safeguard, but the safeguard was crumbling. Presently he could -be drunk at dawn, yet not feel particularly wretched in his -conscience--or in his stomach--when he awoke at eight. No regret, no -desire to escape the toil of keeping up with the arduous merriment of -the Bunch, was so great as his feeling of social inferiority when he -failed to keep up. To be the “livest” of them was as much his ambition -now as it had been to excel at making money, at playing golf, at -motor-driving, at oratory, at climbing to the McKelvey set. But -occasionally he failed. - -He found that Pete and the other young men considered the Bunch too -austerely polite and the Carrie who merely kissed behind doors too -embarrassingly monogamic. As Babbitt sneaked from Floral Heights down to -the Bunch, so the young gallants sneaked from the proprieties of the -Bunch off to “times” with bouncing young women whom they picked up in -department stores and at hotel coatrooms. Once Babbitt tried to -accompany them. There was a motor car, a bottle of whisky, and for him a -grubby shrieking cash-girl from Parcher and Stein’s. He sat beside her -and worried. He was apparently expected to “jolly her along,” but when -she sang out, “Hey, leggo, quit crushing me cootie-garage,” he did not -quite know how to go on. They sat in the back room of a saloon, and -Babbitt had a headache, was confused by their new slang, looked at them -benevolently, wanted to go home, and had a drink--a good many drinks. - -Two evenings after, Fulton Bemis, the surly older man of the Bunch, took -Babbitt aside and grunted, “Look here, it’s none of my business, and God -knows I always lap up my share of the hootch, but don’t you think you -better watch yourself? You’re one of these enthusiastic chumps that -always overdo things. D’you realize you’re throwing in the booze as fast -as you can, and you eat one cigarette right after another? Better cut it -out for a while.” - -Babbitt tearfully said that good old Fult was a prince, and yes, he -certainly would cut it out, and thereafter he lighted a cigarette and -took a drink and had a terrific quarrel with Tanis when she caught him -being affectionate with Carrie Nork. - -Next morning he hated himself that he should have sunk into a position -where a fifteenth-rater like Fulton Bemis could rebuke him. He perceived -that, since he was making love to every woman possible, Tanis was no -longer his one pure star, and he wondered whether she had ever been -anything more to him than A Woman. And if Bemis had spoken to him, were -other people talking about him? He suspiciously watched the men at the -Athletic Club that noon. It seemed to him that they were uneasy. They -had been talking about him then? He was angry. He became belligerent. He -not only defended Seneca Doane but even made fun of the Y. M. C. A. -Vergil Gunch was rather brief in his answers. - -Afterward Babbitt was not angry. He was afraid. He did not go to the -next lunch of the Boosters’ Club but hid in a cheap restaurant, and, -while he munched a ham-and-egg sandwich and sipped coffee from a cup on -the arm of his chair, he worried. - -Four days later, when the Bunch were having one of their best parties, -Babbitt drove them to the skating-rink which had been laid out on the -Chaloosa River. After a thaw the streets had frozen in smooth ice. Down -those wide endless streets the wind rattled between the rows of wooden -houses, and the whole Bellevue district seemed a frontier town. Even -with skid chains on all four wheels, Babbitt was afraid of sliding, and -when he came to the long slide of a hill he crawled down, both brakes -on. Slewing round a corner came a less cautious car. It skidded, it -almost raked them with its rear fenders. In relief at their escape the -Bunch--Tanis, Minnie Sonntag, Pete, Fulton Bemis--shouted “Oh, baby,” -and waved their hands to the agitated other driver. Then Babbitt saw -Professor Pumphrey laboriously crawling up hill, afoot, staring owlishly -at the revelers. He was sure that Pumphrey recognized him and saw Tanis -kiss him as she crowed, “You’re such a good driver!” - -At lunch next day he probed Pumphrey with “Out last night with my -brother and some friends of his. Gosh, what driving! Slippery’s glass. -Thought I saw you hiking up the Bellevue Avenue Hill.” - -“No, I wasn’t-- I didn’t see you,” said Pumphrey, hastily, rather -guiltily. - -Perhaps two days afterward Babbitt took Tanis to lunch at the Hotel -Thornleigh. She who had seemed well content to wait for him at her flat -had begun to hint with melancholy smiles that he must think but little -of her if he never introduced her to his friends, if he was unwilling to -be seen with her except at the movies. He thought of taking her to the -“ladies’ annex” of the Athletic Club, but that was too dangerous. He -would have to introduce her and, oh, people might misunderstand and-- He -compromised on the Thornleigh. - -She was unusually smart, all in black: small black tricorne hat, short -black caracul coat, loose and swinging, and austere high-necked black -velvet frock at a time when most street costumes were like evening -gowns. Perhaps she was too smart. Every one in the gold and oak -restaurant of the Thornleigh was staring at her as Babbitt followed her -to a table. He uneasily hoped that the head-waiter would give them a -discreet place behind a pillar, but they were stationed on the center -aisle. Tanis seemed not to notice her admirers; she smiled at Babbitt -with a lavish “Oh, isn’t this nice! What a peppy-looking orchestra!” -Babbitt had difficulty in being lavish in return, for two tables away he -saw Vergil Gunch. All through the meal Gunch watched them, while Babbitt -watched himself being watched and lugubriously tried to keep from -spoiling Tanis’s gaiety. “I felt like a spree to-day,” she rippled. “I -love the Thornleigh, don’t you? It’s so live and yet so--so refined.” - -He made talk about the Thornleigh, the service, the food, the people he -recognized in the restaurant, all but Vergil Gunch. There did not seem -to be anything else to talk of. He smiled conscientiously at her -fluttering jests; he agreed with her that Minnie Sonntag was “so hard to -get along with,” and young Pete “such a silly lazy kid, really just no -good at all.” But he himself had nothing to say. He considered telling -her his worries about Gunch, but--“oh, gosh, it was too much work to go -into the whole thing and explain about Verg and everything.” - -He was relieved when he put Tanis on a trolley; he was cheerful in the -familiar simplicities of his office. - -At four o’clock Vergil Gunch called on him. - -Babbitt was agitated, but Gunch began in a friendly way: - -“How’s the boy? Say, some of us are getting up a scheme we’d kind of -like to have you come in on.” - -“Fine, Verg. Shoot.” - -“You know during the war we had the Undesirable Element, the Reds and -walking delegates and just the plain common grouches, dead to rights, -and so did we for quite a while after the war, but folks forget about -the danger and that gives these cranks a chance to begin working -underground again, especially a lot of these parlor socialists. Well, -it’s up to the folks that do a little sound thinking to make a conscious -effort to keep bucking these fellows. Some guy back East has organized a -society called the Good Citizens’ League for just that purpose. Of -course the Chamber of Commerce and the American Legion and so on do a -fine work in keeping the decent people in the saddle, but they’re -devoted to so many other causes that they can’t attend to this one -problem properly. But the Good Citizens’ League, the G. C. L., they -stick right to it. Oh, the G. C. L. has to have some other ostensible -purposes--frinstance here in Zenith I think it ought to support the -park-extension project and the City Planning Committee--and then, too, -it should have a social aspect, being made up of the best people--have -dances and so on, especially as one of the best ways it can put the -kibosh on cranks is to apply this social boycott business to folks big -enough so you can’t reach ’em otherwise. Then if that don’t work, the G. -C. L. can finally send a little delegation around to inform folks that -get too flip that they got to conform to decent standards and quit -shooting off their mouths so free. Don’t it sound like the organization -could do a great work? We’ve already got some of the strongest men in -town, and of course we want you in. How about it?” - -Babbitt was uncomfortable. He felt a compulsion back to all the -standards he had so vaguely yet so desperately been fleeing. He fumbled: - -“I suppose you’d especially light on fellows like Seneca Doane and try -to make ’em--” - -“You bet your sweet life we would! Look here, old Georgie: I’ve never -for one moment believed you meant it when you’ve defended Doane, and the -strikers and so on, at the Club. I knew you were simply kidding those -poor galoots like Sid Finkelstein.... At least I certainly hope you were -kidding!” - -“Oh, well--sure-- Course you might say--” Babbitt was conscious of how -feeble he sounded, conscious of Gunch’s mature and relentless eye. -“Gosh, you know where I stand! I’m no labor agitator! I’m a business -man, first, last, and all the time! But--but honestly, I don’t think -Doane means so badly, and you got to remember he’s an old friend of -mine.” - -“George, when it comes right down to a struggle between decency and the -security of our homes on the one hand, and red ruin and those lazy dogs -plotting for free beer on the other, you got to give up even old -friendships. ‘He that is not with me is against me.’” - -“Ye-es, I suppose--” - -“How about it? Going to join us in the Good Citizens’ League?” - -“I’ll have to think it over, Verg.” - -“All right, just as you say.” Babbitt was relieved to be let off so -easily, but Gunch went on: “George, I don’t know what’s come over you; -none of us do; and we’ve talked a lot about you. For a while we figured -out you’d been upset by what happened to poor Riesling, and we forgave -you for any fool things you said, but that’s old stuff now, George, and -we can’t make out what’s got into you. Personally, I’ve always defended -you, but I must say it’s getting too much for me. All the boys at the -Athletic Club and the Boosters’ are sore, the way you go on deliberately -touting Doane and his bunch of hell-hounds, and talking about being -liberal--which means being wishy-washy--and even saying this preacher -guy Ingram isn’t a professional free-love artist. And then the way you -been carrying on personally! Joe Pumphrey says he saw you out the other -night with a gang of totties, all stewed to the gills, and here to-day -coming right into the Thornleigh with a--well, she may be all right and -a perfect lady, but she certainly did look like a pretty gay skirt for a -fellow with his wife out of town to be taking to lunch. Didn’t look -well. What the devil has come over you, George?” - -“Strikes me there’s a lot of fellows that know more about my personal -business than I do myself!” - -“Now don’t go getting sore at me because I come out flatfooted like a -friend and say what I think instead of tattling behind your back, the -way a whole lot of ’em do. I tell you, George, you got a position in the -community, and the community expects you to live up to it. And-- Better -think over joining the Good Citizens’ League. See you about it later.” - -He was gone. - -That evening Babbitt dined alone. He saw all the Clan of Good Fellows -peering through the restaurant window, spying on him. Fear sat beside -him, and he told himself that to-night he would not go to Tanis’s flat; -and he did not go... till late. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - - -I - -The summer before, Mrs. Babbitt’s letters had crackled with desire to -return to Zenith. Now they said nothing of returning, but a wistful “I -suppose everything is going on all right without me” among her dry -chronicles of weather and sicknesses hinted to Babbitt that he hadn’t -been very urgent about her coming. He worried it: - -“If she were here, and I went on raising cain like I been doing, she’d -have a fit. I got to get hold of myself. I got to learn to play around -and yet not make a fool of myself. I can do it, too, if folks like Verg -Gunch’ll let me alone, and Myra’ll stay away. But--poor kid, she sounds -lonely. Lord, I don’t want to hurt her!” - -Impulsively he wrote that they missed her, and her next letter said -happily that she was coming home. - -He persuaded himself that he was eager to see her. He bought roses for -the house, he ordered squab for dinner, he had the car cleaned and -polished. All the way home from the station with her he was adequate in -his accounts of Ted’s success in basket-ball at the university, but -before they reached Floral Heights there was nothing more to say, and -already he felt the force of her stolidity, wondered whether he could -remain a good husband and still sneak out of the house this evening for -half an hour with the Bunch. When he had housed the car he blundered -upstairs, into the familiar talcum-scented warmth of her presence, -blaring, “Help you unpack your bag?” - -“No, I can do it.” - -Slowly she turned, holding up a small box, and slowly she said, “I -brought you a present, just a new cigar-case. I don’t know if you’d care -to have it--” - -She was the lonely girl, the brown appealing Myra Thompson, whom he had -married, and he almost wept for pity as he kissed her and besought, “Oh, -honey, honey, _care_ to have it? Of course I do! I’m awful proud you -brought it to me. And I needed a new case badly.” - -He wondered how he would get rid of the case he had bought the week -before. - -“And you really are glad to see me back?” - -“Why, you poor kiddy, what you been worrying about?” - -“Well, you didn’t seem to miss me very much.” - -By the time he had finished his stint of lying they were firmly bound -again. By ten that evening it seemed improbable that she had ever been -away. There was but one difference: the problem of remaining a -respectable husband, a Floral Heights husband, yet seeing Tanis and the -Bunch with frequency. He had promised to telephone to Tanis that -evening, and now it was melodramatically impossible. He prowled about -the telephone, impulsively thrusting out a hand to lift the receiver, -but never quite daring to risk it. Nor could he find a reason for -slipping down to the drug store on Smith Street, with its -telephone-booth. He was laden with responsibility till he threw it off -with the speculation: “Why the deuce should I fret so about not being -able to ’phone Tanis? She can get along without me. I don’t owe her -anything. She’s a fine girl, but I’ve given her just as much as she has -me.... Oh, damn these women and the way they get you all tied up in -complications!” - - -II - -For a week he was attentive to his wife, took her to the theater, to -dinner at the Littlefields’; then the old weary dodging and shifting -began, and at least two evenings a week he spent with the Bunch. He -still made pretense of going to the Elks and to committee-meetings but -less and less did he trouble to have his excuses interesting, less and -less did she affect to believe them. He was certain that she knew he was -associating with what Floral Heights called “a sporty crowd,” yet -neither of them acknowledged it. In matrimonial geography the distance -between the first mute recognition of a break and the admission thereof -is as great as the distance between the first naïve faith and the first -doubting. - -As he began to drift away he also began to see her as a human being, to -like and dislike her instead of accepting her as a comparatively movable -part of the furniture, and he compassionated that husband-and-wife -relation which, in twenty-five years of married life, had become a -separate and real entity. He recalled their high lights: the summer -vacation in Virginia meadows under the blue wall of the mountains; their -motor tour through Ohio, and the exploration of Cleveland, Cincinnati, -and Columbus; the birth of Verona; their building of this new house, -planned to comfort them through a happy old age--chokingly they had said -that it might be the last home either of them would ever have. Yet his -most softening remembrance of these dear moments did not keep him from -barking at dinner, “Yep, going out f’ few hours. Don’t sit up for me.” - -He did not dare now to come home drunk, and though he rejoiced in his -return to high morality and spoke with gravity to Pete and Fulton Bemis -about their drinking, he prickled at Myra’s unexpressed criticisms and -sulkily meditated that a “fellow couldn’t ever learn to handle himself -if he was always bossed by a lot of women.” - -He no longer wondered if Tanis wasn’t a bit worn and sentimental. In -contrast to the complacent Myra he saw her as swift and air-borne and -radiant, a fire-spirit tenderly stooping to the hearth, and however -pitifully he brooded on his wife, he longed to be with Tanis. - -Then Mrs. Babbitt tore the decent cloak from her unhappiness and the -astounded male discovered that she was having a small determined -rebellion of her own. - - -III - -They were beside the fireless fire-place, in the evening. - -“Georgie,” she said, “you haven’t given me the list of your household -expenses while I was away.” - -“No, I-- Haven’t made it out yet.” Very affably: “Gosh, we must try to -keep down expenses this year.” - -“That’s so. I don’t know where all the money goes to. I try to -economize, but it just seems to evaporate.” - -“I suppose I oughtn’t to spend so much on cigars. Don’t know but what -I’ll cut down my smoking, maybe cut it out entirely. I was thinking of a -good way to do it, the other day: start on these cubeb cigarettes, and -they’d kind of disgust me with smoking.” - -“Oh, I do wish you would! It isn’t that I care, but honestly, George, it -is so bad for you to smoke so much. Don’t you think you could reduce the -amount? And George-- I notice now, when you come home from these lodges -and all, that sometimes you smell of whisky. Dearie, you know I don’t -worry so much about the moral side of it, but you have a weak stomach -and you can’t stand all this drinking.” - -“Weak stomach, hell! I guess I can carry my booze about as well as most -folks!” - -“Well, I do think you ought to be careful. Don’t you see, dear, I don’t -want you to get sick.” - -“Sick, rats! I’m not a baby! I guess I ain’t going to get sick just -because maybe once a week I shoot a highball! That’s the trouble with -women. They always exaggerate so.” - -“George, I don’t think you ought to talk that way when I’m just speaking -for your own good.” - -“I know, but gosh all fishhooks, that’s the trouble with women! They’re -always criticizing and commenting and bringing things up, and then they -say it’s ‘for your own good’!” - -“Why, George, that’s not a nice way to talk, to answer me so short.” - -“Well, I didn’t mean to answer short, but gosh, talking as if I was a -kindergarten brat, not able to tote one highball without calling for the -St. Mary’s ambulance! A fine idea you must have of me!” - -“Oh, it isn’t that; it’s just-- I don’t want to see you get sick and-- My, -I didn’t know it was so late! Don’t forget to give me those household -accounts for the time while I was away.” - -“Oh, thunder, what’s the use of taking the trouble to make ’em out now? -Let’s just skip ’em for that period.” - -“Why, George Babbitt, in all the years we’ve been married we’ve never -failed to keep a complete account of every penny we’ve spent!” - -“No. Maybe that’s the trouble with us.” - -“What in the world do you mean?” - -“Oh, I don’t mean anything, only-- Sometimes I get so darn sick and tired -of all this routine and the accounting at the office and expenses at -home and fussing and stewing and fretting and wearing myself out -worrying over a lot of junk that doesn’t really mean a doggone thing, -and being so careful and-- Good Lord, what do you think I’m made for? I -could have been a darn good orator, and here I fuss and fret and -worry--” - -“Don’t you suppose I ever get tired of fussing? I get so bored with -ordering three meals a day, three hundred and sixty-five days a year, -and ruining my eyes over that horrid sewing-machine, and looking after -your clothes and Rone’s and Ted’s and Tinka’s and everybody’s, and the -laundry, and darning socks, and going down to the Piggly Wiggly to -market, and bringing my basket home to save money on the cash-and-carry -and--_everything!_” - -“Well, gosh,” with a certain astonishment, “I suppose maybe you do! But -talk about-- Here I have to be in the office every single day, while you -can go out all afternoon and see folks and visit with the neighbors and -do any blinkin’ thing you want to!” - -“Yes, and a fine lot of good that does me! Just talking over the same -old things with the same old crowd, while you have all sorts of -interesting people coming in to see you at the office.” - -“Interesting! Cranky old dames that want to know why I haven’t rented -their dear precious homes for about seven times their value, and bunch -of old crabs panning the everlasting daylights out of me because they -don’t receive every cent of their rentals by three G.M. on the second of -the month! Sure! Interesting! Just as interesting as the small pox!” - -“Now, George, I will not have you shouting at me that way!” - -“Well, it gets my goat the way women figure out that a man doesn’t do a -darn thing but sit on his chair and have lovey-dovey conferences with a -lot of classy dames and give ’em the glad eye!” - -“I guess you manage to give them a glad enough eye when they do come -in.” - -“What do you mean? Mean I’m chasing flappers?” - -“I should hope not--at your age!” - -“Now you look here! You may not believe it-- Of course all you see is fat -little Georgie Babbitt. Sure! Handy man around the house! Fixes the -furnace when the furnace-man doesn’t show up, and pays the bills, but -dull, awful dull! Well, you may not believe it, but there’s some women -that think old George Babbitt isn’t such a bad scout! They think he’s -not so bad-looking, not so bad that it hurts anyway, and he’s got a -pretty good line of guff, and some even think he shakes a darn wicked -Walkover at dancing!” - -“Yes.” She spoke slowly. “I haven’t much doubt that when I’m away you -manage to find people who properly appreciate you.” - -“Well, I just mean--” he protested, with a sound of denial. Then he was -angered into semi-honesty. “You bet I do! I find plenty of folks, and -doggone nice ones, that don’t think I’m a weak-stomached baby!” - -“That’s exactly what I was saying! You can run around with anybody you -please, but I’m supposed to sit here and wait for you. You have the -chance to get all sorts of culture and everything, and I just stay -home--” - -“Well, gosh almighty, there’s nothing to prevent your reading books and -going to lectures and all that junk, is there?” - -“George, I _told_ you, I won’t have you shouting at me like that! I -don’t know what’s come over you. You never used to speak to me in this -cranky way.” - -“I didn’t mean to sound cranky, but gosh, it certainly makes me sore to -get the blame because you don’t keep up with things.” - -“I’m going to! Will you help me?” - -“Sure. Anything I can do to help you in the culture-grabbing line--yours -to oblige, G. F. Babbitt.” - -“Very well then, I want you to go to Mrs. Mudge’s New Thought meeting -with me, next Sunday afternoon.” - -“Mrs. Who’s which?” - -“Mrs. Opal Emerson Mudge. The field-lecturer for the American New -Thought League. She’s going to speak on ‘Cultivating the Sun Spirit’ -before the League of the Higher Illumination, at the Thornleigh.” - -“Oh, punk! New Thought! Hashed thought with a poached egg! ‘Cultivating -the--’ It sounds like ‘Why is a mouse when it spins?’ That’s a fine -spiel for a good Presbyterian to be going to, when you can hear Doc -Drew!” - -“Reverend Drew is a scholar and a pulpit orator and all that, but he -hasn’t got the Inner Ferment, as Mrs. Mudge calls it; he hasn’t any -inspiration for the New Era. Women need inspiration now. So I want you -to come, as you promised.” - - -IV - -The Zenith branch of the League of the Higher Illumination met in the -smaller ballroom at the Hotel Thornleigh, a refined apartment with pale -green walls and plaster wreaths of roses, refined parquet flooring, and -ultra-refined frail gilt chairs. Here were gathered sixty-five women and -ten men. Most of the men slouched in their chairs and wriggled, while -their wives sat rigidly at attention, but two of them--red-necked, meaty -men--were as respectably devout as their wives. They were newly rich -contractors who, having bought houses, motors, hand-painted pictures, -and gentlemanliness, were now buying a refined ready-made philosophy. It -had been a toss-up with them whether to buy New Thought, Christian -Science, or a good standard high-church model of Episcopalianism. - -In the flesh, Mrs. Opal Emerson Mudge fell somewhat short of a prophetic -aspect. She was pony-built and plump, with the face of a haughty -Pekingese, a button of a nose, and arms so short that, despite her most -indignant endeavors, she could not clasp her hands in front of her as -she sat on the platform waiting. Her frock of taffeta and green velvet, -with three strings of glass beads, and large folding eye-glasses -dangling from a black ribbon, was a triumph of refinement. - -Mrs. Mudge was introduced by the president of the League of the Higher -Illumination, an oldish young woman with a yearning voice, white spats, -and a mustache. She said that Mrs. Mudge would now make it plain to the -simplest intellect how the Sun Spirit could be cultivated, and they who -had been thinking about cultivating one would do well to treasure Mrs. -Mudge’s words, because even Zenith (and everybody knew that Zenith stood -in the van of spiritual and New Thought progress) didn’t often have the -opportunity to sit at the feet of such an inspiring Optimist and -Metaphysical Seer as Mrs. Opal Emerson Mudge, who had lived the Life of -Wider Usefulness through Concentration, and in the Silence found those -Secrets of Mental Control and the Inner Key which were immediately going -to transform and bring Peace, Power, and Prosperity to the unhappy -nations; and so, friends, would they for this precious gem-studded hour -forget the Illusions of the Seeming Real, and in the actualization of -the deep-lying Veritas pass, along with Mrs. Opal Emerson Mudge, to the -Realm Beautiful. - -If Mrs. Mudge was rather pudgier than one would like one’s swamis, -yogis, seers, and initiates, yet her voice had the real professional -note. It was refined and optimistic; it was overpoweringly calm; it -flowed on relentlessly, without one comma, till Babbitt was hypnotized. -Her favorite word was “always,” which she pronounced olllllle-ways. Her -principal gesture was a pontifical but thoroughly ladylike blessing with -two stubby fingers. - -She explained about this matter of Spiritual Saturation: - -“There are those--” - -Of “those” she made a linked sweetness long drawn out; a far-off -delicate call in a twilight minor. It chastely rebuked the restless -husbands, yet brought them a message of healing. - -“There are those who have seen the rim and outer seeming of the Logos -there are those who have glimpsed and in enthusiasm possessed themselves -of some segment and portion of the Logos there are those who thus -flicked but not penetrated and radioactivated by the Dynamis go always -to and fro assertative that they possess and are possessed of the Logos -and the Metaphysikos but this word I bring you this concept I enlarge -that those that are not utter are not even inceptive and that holiness -is in its definitive essence always always always whole-iness and--” - -It proved that the Essence of the Sun Spirit was Truth, but its Aura and -Effluxion were Cheerfulness: - -“Face always the day with the dawn-laugh with the enthusiasm of the -initiate who perceives that all works together in the revolutions of the -Wheel and who answers the strictures of the Soured Souls of the -Destructionists with a Glad Affirmation--” - -It went on for about an hour and seven minutes. - -At the end Mrs. Mudge spoke with more vigor and punctuation: - -“Now let me suggest to all of you the advantages of the Theosophical and -Pantheistic Oriental Reading Circle, which I represent. Our object is to -unite all the manifestations of the New Era into one cohesive whole--New -Thought, Christian Science, Theosophy, Vedanta, Bahaism, and the other -sparks from the one New Light. The subscription is but ten dollars a -year, and for this mere pittance the members receive not only the -monthly magazine, _Pearls of Healing_, but the privilege of sending -right to the president, our revered Mother Dobbs, any questions -regarding spiritual progress, matrimonial problems, health and -well-being questions, financial difficulties, and--” - -They listened to her with adoring attention. They looked genteel. They -looked ironed-out. They coughed politely, and crossed their legs with -quietness, and in expensive linen handkerchiefs they blew their noses -with a delicacy altogether optimistic and refined. - -As for Babbitt, he sat and suffered. - -When they were blessedly out in the air again, when they drove home -through a wind smelling of snow and honest sun, he dared not speak. They -had been too near to quarreling, these days. Mrs. Babbitt forced it: - -“Did you enjoy Mrs. Mudge’s talk?” - -“Well I-- What did you get out of it?” - -“Oh, it starts a person thinking. It gets you out of a routine of -ordinary thoughts.” - -“Well, I’ll hand it to Opal she isn’t ordinary, but gosh-- Honest, did -that stuff mean anything to you?” - -“Of course I’m not trained in metaphysics, and there was lots I couldn’t -quite grasp, but I did feel it was inspiring. And she speaks so readily. -I do think you ought to have got something out of it.” - -“Well, I didn’t! I swear, I was simply astonished, the way those women -lapped it up! Why the dickens they want to put in their time listening -to all that blaa when they--” - -“It’s certainly better for them than going to roadhouses and smoking and -drinking!” - -“I don’t know whether it is or not! Personally I don’t see a whole lot -of difference. In both cases they’re trying to get away from -themselves--most everybody is, these days, I guess. And I’d certainly -get a whole lot more out of hoofing it in a good lively dance, even in -some dive, than sitting looking as if my collar was too tight, and -feeling too scared to spit, and listening to Opal chewing her words.” - -“I’m sure you do! You’re very fond of dives. No doubt you saw a lot of -them while I was away!” - -“Look here! You been doing a hell of a lot of insinuating and hinting -around lately, as if I were leading a double life or something, and I’m -damn sick of it, and I don’t want to hear anything more about it!” - -“Why, George Babbitt! Do you realize what you’re saying? Why, George, in -all our years together you’ve never talked to me like that!” - -“It’s about time then!” - -“Lately you’ve been getting worse and worse, and now, finally, you’re -cursing and swearing at me and shouting at me, and your voice so ugly -and hateful-- I just shudder!” - -“Oh, rats, quit exaggerating! I wasn’t shouting, or swearing either.” - -“I wish you could hear your own voice! Maybe you don’t realize how it -sounds. But even so-- You never used to talk like that. You simply -_couldn’t_ talk this way if something dreadful hadn’t happened to you.” - -His mind was hard. With amazement he found that he wasn’t particularly -sorry. It was only with an effort that he made himself more agreeable: -“Well, gosh, I didn’t mean to get sore.” - -“George, do you realize that we can’t go on like this, getting farther -and farther apart, and you ruder and ruder to me? I just don’t know -what’s going to happen.” - -He had a moment’s pity for her bewilderment; he thought of how many deep -and tender things would be hurt if they really “couldn’t go on like -this.” But his pity was impersonal, and he was wondering, “Wouldn’t it -maybe be a good thing if-- Not a divorce and all that, o’ course, but -kind of a little more independence?” - -While she looked at him pleadingly he drove on in a dreadful silence. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - - -I - -When he was away from her, while he kicked about the garage and swept -the snow off the running-board and examined a cracked hose-connection, -he repented, he was alarmed and astonished that he could have flared out -at his wife, and thought fondly how much more lasting she was than the -flighty Bunch. He went in to mumble that he was “sorry, didn’t mean to -be grouchy,” and to inquire as to her interest in movies. But in the -darkness of the movie theater he brooded that he’d “gone and tied -himself up to Myra all over again.” He had some satisfaction in taking -it out on Tanis Judique. “Hang Tanis anyway! Why’d she gone and got him -into these mix-ups and made him all jumpy and nervous and cranky? Too -many complications! Cut ’em out!” - -He wanted peace. For ten days he did not see Tanis nor telephone to her, -and instantly she put upon him the compulsion which he hated. When he -had stayed away from her for five days, hourly taking pride in his -resoluteness and hourly picturing how greatly Tanis must miss him, Miss -McGoun reported, “Mrs. Judique on the ’phone. Like t’ speak t’ you ’bout -some repairs.” - -Tanis was quick and quiet: - -“Mr. Babbitt? Oh, George, this is Tanis. I haven’t seen you for -weeks--days, anyway. You aren’t sick, are you?” - -“No, just been terribly rushed. I, uh, I think there’ll be a big revival -of building this year. Got to, uh, got to work hard.” - -“Of course, my man! I want you to. You know I’m terribly ambitious for -you; much more than I am for myself. I just don’t want you to forget -poor Tanis. Will you call me up soon?” - -“Sure! Sure! You bet!” - -“Please do. I sha’n’t call you again.” - -He meditated, “Poor kid!... But gosh, she oughtn’t to ’phone me at the -office.... She’s a wonder--sympathy--‘ambitious for me.’... But gosh, I -won’t be made and compelled to call her up till I get ready. Darn these -women, the way they make demands! It’ll be one long old time before I -see her!... But gosh, I’d like to see her to-night--sweet little -thing.... Oh, cut that, son! Now you’ve broken away, be wise!” - -She did not telephone again, nor he, but after five more days she wrote -to him: - - Have I offended you? You must know, dear, I didn’t mean to. I’m so - lonely and I need somebody to cheer me up. Why didn’t you come to - the nice party we had at Carrie’s last evening I remember she - invited you. Can’t you come around here to-morrow Thur evening? I - shall be alone and hope to see you. - -His reflections were numerous: - -“Doggone it, why can’t she let me alone? Why can’t women ever learn a -fellow hates to be bulldozed? And they always take advantage of you by -yelling how lonely they are. - -“Now that isn’t nice of you, young fella. She’s a fine, square, straight -girl, and she does get lonely. She writes a swell hand. Nice-looking -stationery. Plain. Refined. I guess I’ll have to go see her. Well, thank -God, I got till to-morrow night free of her, anyway. - -“She’s nice but-- Hang it, I won’t be _made_ to do things! I’m not -married to her. No, nor by golly going to be! - -“Oh, rats, I suppose I better go see her.” - - -II - -Thursday, the to-morrow of Tanis’s note, was full of emotional crises. -At the Roughnecks’ Table at the club, Verg Gunch talked of the Good -Citizens’ League and (it seemed to Babbitt) deliberately left him out of -the invitations to join. Old Mat Penniman, the general utility man at -Babbitt’s office, had Troubles, and came in to groan about them: his -oldest boy was “no good,” his wife was sick, and he had quarreled with -his brother-in-law. Conrad Lyte also had Troubles, and since Lyte was -one of his best clients, Babbitt had to listen to them. Mr. Lyte, it -appeared, was suffering from a peculiarly interesting neuralgia, and the -garage had overcharged him. When Babbitt came home, everybody had -Troubles: his wife was simultaneously thinking about discharging the -impudent new maid, and worried lest the maid leave; and Tinka desired to -denounce her teacher. - -“Oh, quit fussing!” Babbitt fussed. “You never hear me whining about my -Troubles, and yet if you had to run a real-estate office-- Why, to-day I -found Miss Bannigan was two days behind with her accounts, and I pinched -my finger in my desk, and Lyte was in and just as unreasonable as ever.” - -He was so vexed that after dinner, when it was time for a tactful escape -to Tanis, he merely grumped to his wife, “Got to go out. Be back by -eleven, should think.” - -“Oh! You’re going out again?” - -“Again! What do you mean ‘again’! Haven’t hardly been out of the house -for a week!” - -“Are you--are you going to the Elks?” - -“Nope. Got to see some people.” - -Though this time he heard his own voice and knew that it was curt, -though she was looking at him with wide-eyed reproach, he stumped into -the hall, jerked on his ulster and fur-lined gloves, and went out to -start the car. - -He was relieved to find Tanis cheerful, unreproachful, and brilliant in -a frock of brown net over gold tissue. “You poor man, having to come out -on a night like this! It’s terribly cold. Don’t you think a small -highball would be nice?” - -“Now, by golly, there’s a woman with savvy! I think we could more or -less stand a highball if it wasn’t too long a one--not over a foot -tall!” - -He kissed her with careless heartiness, he forgot the compulsion of her -demands, he stretched in a large chair and felt that he had beautifully -come home. He was suddenly loquacious; he told her what a noble and -misunderstood man he was, and how superior to Pete, Fulton Bemis, and -the other men of their acquaintance; and she, bending forward, chin in -charming hand, brightly agreed. But when he forced himself to ask, -“Well, honey, how’s things with _you_,” she took his duty-question -seriously, and he discovered that she too had Troubles: - -“Oh, all right but-- I did get so angry with Carrie. She told Minnie that -I told her that Minnie was an awful tightwad, and Minnie told me Carrie -had told her, and of course I told her I hadn’t said anything of the -kind, and then Carrie found Minnie had told me, and she was simply -furious because Minnie had told me, and of course I was just boiling -because Carrie had told her I’d told her, and then we all met up at -Fulton’s--his wife is away--thank heavens!--oh, there’s the dandiest -floor in his house to dance on--and we were all of us simply furious at -each other and-- Oh, I do hate that kind of a mix-up, don’t you? I -mean--it’s so lacking in refinement, but-- And Mother wants to come and -stay with me for a whole month, and of course I do love her, I suppose I -do, but honestly, she’ll cramp my style something dreadful--she never -can learn not to comment, and she always wants to know where I’m going -when I go out evenings, and if I lie to her she always spies around and -ferrets around and finds out where I’ve been, and then she looks like -Patience on a Monument till I could just scream. And oh, I _must_ tell -you-- You know I _never_ talk about myself; I just hate people who do, -don’t you? But-- I feel so stupid to-night, and I know I must be boring -you with all this but-- What would you do about Mother?” - -He gave her facile masculine advice. She was to put off her mother’s -stay. She was to tell Carrie to go to the deuce. For these valuable -revelations she thanked him, and they ambled into the familiar gossip of -the Bunch. Of what a sentimental fool was Carrie. Of what a lazy brat -was Pete. Of how nice Fulton Bemis could be--“course lots of people -think he’s a regular old grouch when they meet him because he doesn’t -give ’em the glad hand the first crack out of the box, but when they get -to know him, he’s a corker.” - -But as they had gone conscientiously through each of these analyses -before, the conversation staggered. Babbitt tried to be intellectual and -deal with General Topics. He said some thoroughly sound things about -Disarmament, and broad-mindedness and liberalism; but it seemed to him -that General Topics interested Tanis only when she could apply them to -Pete, Carrie, or themselves. He was distressingly conscious of their -silence. He tried to stir her into chattering again, but silence rose -like a gray presence and hovered between them. - -“I, uh--” he labored. “It strikes me--it strikes me that unemployment is -lessening.” - -“Maybe Pete will get a decent job, then.” - -Silence. - -Desperately he essayed, “What’s the trouble, old honey? You seem kind of -quiet to-night.” - -“Am I? Oh, I’m not. But--do you really care whether I am or not?” - -“Care? Sure! Course I do!” - -“Do you really?” She swooped on him, sat on the arm of his chair. - -He hated the emotional drain of having to appear fond of her. He -stroked her hand, smiled up at her dutifully, and sank back. - -“George, I wonder if you really like me at all?” - -“Course I do, silly.” - -“Do you really, precious? Do you care a bit?” - -“Why certainly! You don’t suppose I’d be here if I didn’t!” - -“Now see here, young man, I won’t have you speaking to me in that huffy -way!” - -“I didn’t mean to sound huffy. I just--” In injured and rather childish -tones: “Gosh almighty, it makes me tired the way everybody says I sound -huffy when I just talk natural! Do they expect me to sing it or -something?” - -“Who do you mean by ‘everybody’? How many other ladies have you been -consoling?” - -“Look here now, I won’t have this hinting!” - -Humbly: “I know, dear. I was only teasing. I know it didn’t mean to talk -huffy--it was just tired. Forgive bad Tanis. But say you love me, say -it!” - -“I love you.... Course I do.” - -“Yes, you do!” cynically. “Oh, darling, I don’t mean to be rude but-- I -get so lonely. I feel so useless. Nobody needs me, nothing I can do for -anybody. And you know, dear, I’m so active-- I could be if there was -something to do. And I _am_ young, aren’t I! I’m not an old thing! I’m -not old and stupid, am I?” - -He had to assure her. She stroked his hair, and he had to look pleased -under that touch, the more demanding in its beguiling softness. He was -impatient. He wanted to flee out to a hard, sure, unemotional man-world. -Through her delicate and caressing fingers she may have caught something -of his shrugging distaste. She left him--he was for the moment buoyantly -relieved--she dragged a footstool to his feet and sat looking -beseechingly up at him. But as in many men the cringing of a dog, the -flinching of a frightened child, rouse not pity but a surprised and -jerky cruelty, so her humility only annoyed him. And he saw her now as -middle-aged, as beginning to be old. Even while he detested his own -thoughts, they rode him. She was old, he winced. Old! He noted how the -soft flesh was creasing into webby folds beneath her chin, below her -eyes, at the base of her wrists. A patch of her throat had a minute -roughness like the crumbs from a rubber eraser. Old! She was younger in -years than himself, yet it was sickening to have her yearning up at him -with rolling great eyes--as if, he shuddered, his own aunt were making -love to him. - -He fretted inwardly, “I’m through with this asinine fooling around. I’m -going to cut her out. She’s a darn decent nice woman, and I don’t want -to hurt her, but it’ll hurt a lot less to cut her right out, like a good -clean surgical operation.” - -He was on his feet. He was speaking urgently. By every rule of -self-esteem, he had to prove to her, and to himself, that it was her -fault. - -“I suppose maybe I’m kind of out of sorts to-night, but honest, honey, -when I stayed away for a while to catch up on work and everything and -figure out where I was at, you ought to have been cannier and waited -till I came back. Can’t you see, dear, when you _made_ me come, I--being -about an average bull-headed chump--my tendency was to resist? Listen, -dear, I’m going now--” - -“Not for a while, precious! No!” - -“Yep. Right now. And then sometime we’ll see about the future.” - -“What do you mean, dear, ‘about the future’? Have I done something I -oughtn’t to? Oh, I’m so dreadfully sorry!” - -He resolutely put his hands behind him. “Not a thing, God bless you, not -a thing. You’re as good as they make ’em. But it’s just-- Good Lord, do -you realize I’ve got things to do in the world? I’ve got a business to -attend to and, you might not believe it, but I’ve got a wife and kids -that I’m awful fond of!” Then only during the murder he was committing -was he able to feel nobly virtuous. “I want us to be friends but, gosh, -I can’t go on this way feeling I _got_ to come up here every so often--” - -“Oh, darling, darling, and I’ve always told you, so carefully, that you -were absolutely free. I just wanted you to come around when you were -tired and wanted to talk to me, or when you could enjoy our parties--” - -She was so reasonable, she was so gently right! It took him an hour to -make his escape, with nothing settled and everything horribly settled. -In a barren freedom of icy Northern wind he sighed, “Thank God that’s -over! Poor Tanis, poor darling decent Tanis! But it is over. Absolute! -I’m free!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII - - -I - -His wife was up when he came in. “Did you have a good time?” she -sniffed. - -“I did not. I had a rotten time! Anything else I got to explain?” - -“George, how can you speak like-- Oh, I don’t know what’s come over you!” - -“Good Lord, there’s nothing come over me! Why do you look for trouble -all the time?” He was warning himself, “Careful! Stop being so -disagreeable. Course she feels it, being left alone here all evening.” -But he forgot his warning as she went on: - -“Why do you go out and see all sorts of strange people? I suppose you’ll -say you’ve been to another committee-meeting this evening!” - -“Nope. I’ve been calling on a woman. We sat by the fire and kidded each -other and had a whale of a good time, if you want to know!” - -“Well-- From the way you say it, I suppose it’s my fault you went there! -I probably sent you!” - -“You did!” - -“Well, upon my word--” - -“You hate ‘strange people’ as you call ’em. If you had your way, I’d be -as much of an old stick-in-the-mud as Howard Littlefield. You never want -to have anybody with any git to ’em at the house; you want a bunch of -old stiffs that sit around and gas about the weather. You’re doing your -level best to make me old. Well, let me tell you, I’m not going to -have--” - -Overwhelmed she bent to his unprecedented tirade, and in answer she -mourned: - -“Oh, dearest, I don’t think that’s true. I don’t mean to make you old, I -know. Perhaps you’re partly right. Perhaps I am slow about getting -acquainted with new people. But when you think of all the dear good -times we have, and the supper-parties and the movies and all--” - -With true masculine wiles he not only convinced himself that she had -injured him but, by the loudness of his voice and the brutality of his -attack, he convinced her also, and presently he had her apologizing for -his having spent the evening with Tanis. He went up to bed well pleased, -not only the master but the martyr of the household. For a distasteful -moment after he had lain down he wondered if he had been altogether -just. “Ought to be ashamed, bullying her. Maybe there is her side to -things. Maybe she hasn’t had such a bloomin’ hectic time herself. But I -don’t care! Good for her to get waked up a little. And I’m going to keep -free. Of her and Tanis and the fellows at the club and everybody. I’m -going to run my own life!” - - -II - -In this mood he was particularly objectionable at the Boosters’ Club -lunch next day. They were addressed by a congressman who had just -returned from an exhaustive three-months study of the finances, -ethnology, political systems, linguistic divisions, mineral resources, -and agriculture of Germany, France, Great Britain, Italy, Austria, -Czechoslovakia, Jugoslavia, and Bulgaria. He told them all about those -subjects, together with three funny stories about European -misconceptions of America and some spirited words on the necessity of -keeping ignorant foreigners out of America. - -“Say, that was a mighty informative talk. Real he-stuff,” said Sidney -Finkelstein. - -But the disaffected Babbitt grumbled, “Four-flusher! Bunch of hot air! -And what’s the matter with the immigrants? Gosh, they aren’t all -ignorant, and I got a hunch we’re all descended from immigrants -ourselves.” - -“Oh, you make me tired!” said Mr. Finkelstein. - -Babbitt was aware that Dr. A. I. Dilling was sternly listening from -across the table. Dr. Dilling was one of the most important men in the -Boosters’. He was not a physician but a surgeon, a more romantic and -sounding occupation. He was an intense large man with a boiling of black -hair and a thick black mustache. The newspapers often chronicled his -operations; he was professor of surgery in the State University; he went -to dinner at the very best houses on Royal Ridge; and he was said to be -worth several hundred thousand dollars. It was dismaying to Babbitt to -have such a person glower at him. He hastily praised the congressman’s -wit, to Sidney Finkelstein, but for Dr. Dilling’s benefit. - - -III - -That afternoon three men shouldered into Babbitt’s office with the air -of a Vigilante committee in frontier days. They were large, resolute, -big-jawed men, and they were all high lords in the land of Zenith--Dr. -Dilling the surgeon, Charles McKelvey the contractor, and, most -dismaying of all, the white-bearded Colonel Rutherford Snow, owner of -the _Advocate-Times_. In their whelming presence Babbitt felt small and -insignificant. - -“Well, well, great pleasure, have chairs, what c’n I do for you?” he -babbled. - -They neither sat nor offered observations on the weather. - -“Babbitt,” said Colonel Snow, “we’ve come from the Good Citizens’ -League. We’ve decided we want you to join. Vergil Gunch says you don’t -care to, but I think we can show you a new light. The League is going to -combine with the Chamber of Commerce in a campaign for the Open Shop, -so it’s time for you to put your name down.” - -In his embarrassment Babbitt could not recall his reasons for not -wishing to join the League, if indeed he had ever definitely known them, -but he was passionately certain that he did not wish to join, and at the -thought of their forcing him he felt a stirring of anger against even -these princes of commerce. - -“Sorry, Colonel, have to think it over a little,” he mumbled. - -McKelvey snarled, “That means you’re not going to join, George?” - -Something black and unfamiliar and ferocious spoke from Babbitt: “Now, -you look here, Charley! I’m damned if I’m going to be bullied into -joining anything, not even by you plutes!” - -“We’re not bullying anybody,” Dr. Billing began, but Colonel Snow thrust -him aside with, “Certainly we are! We don’t mind a little bullying, if -it’s necessary. Babbitt, the G.C.L. has been talking about you a good -deal. You’re supposed to be a sensible, clean, responsible man; you -always have been; but here lately, for God knows what reason, I hear -from all sorts of sources that you’re running around with a loose crowd, -and what’s a whole lot worse, you’ve actually been advocating and -supporting some of the most dangerous elements in town, like this fellow -Doane.” - -“Colonel, that strikes me as my private business.” - -“Possibly, but we want to have an understanding. You’ve stood in, you -and your father-in-law, with some of the most substantial and -forward-looking interests in town, like my friends of the Street -Traction Company, and my papers have given you a lot of boosts. Well, -you can’t expect the decent citizens to go on aiding you if you intend -to side with precisely the people who are trying to undermine us.” - -Babbitt was frightened, but he had an agonized instinct that if he -yielded in this he would yield in everything. He protested: - -“You’re exaggerating, Colonel. I believe in being broad-minded and -liberal, but, of course, I’m just as much agin the cranks and -blatherskites and labor unions and so on as you are. But fact is, I -belong to so many organizations now that I can’t do ’em justice, and I -want to think it over before I decide about coming into the G.C.L.” - -Colonel Snow condescended, “Oh, no, I’m not exaggerating! Why the doctor -here heard you cussing out and defaming one of the finest types of -Republican congressmen, just this noon! And you have entirely the wrong -idea about ‘thinking over joining.’ We’re not begging you to join the -G.C.L.--we’re permitting you to join. I’m not sure, my boy, but what if -you put it off it’ll be too late. I’m not sure we’ll want you then. -Better think quick--better think quick!” - -The three Vigilantes, formidable in their righteousness, stared at him -in a taut silence. Babbitt waited through. He thought nothing at all, he -merely waited, while in his echoing head buzzed, “I don’t want to -join-- I don’t want to join-- I don’t want to.” - -“All right. Sorry for you!” said Colonel Snow, and the three men -abruptly turned their beefy backs. - - -IV - -As Babbitt went out to his car that evening he saw Vergil Gunch coming -down the block. He raised his hand in salutation, but Gunch ignored it -and crossed the street. He was certain that Gunch had seen him. He drove -home in sharp discomfort. - -His wife attacked at once: “Georgie dear, Muriel Frink was in this -afternoon, and she says that Chum says the committee of this Good -Citizens’ League especially asked you to join and you wouldn’t. Don’t -you think it would be better? You know all the nicest people belong, and -the League stands for--” - -“I know what the League stands for! It stands for the suppression of -free speech and free thought and everything else! I don’t propose to be -bullied and rushed into joining anything, and it isn’t a question of -whether it’s a good league or a bad league or what the hell kind of a -league it is; it’s just a question of my refusing to be told I got to--” - -“But dear, if you don’t join, people might criticize you.” - -“Let ’em criticize!” - -“But I mean _nice_ people!” - -“Rats, I-- Matter of fact, this whole League is just a fad. It’s like all -these other organizations that start off with such a rush and let on -they’re going to change the whole works, and pretty soon they peter out -and everybody forgets all about ’em!” - -“But if it’s _the_ fad now, don’t you think you--” - -“No, I don’t! Oh, Myra, please quit nagging me about it. I’m sick of -hearing about the confounded G.C.L. I almost wish I’d joined it when -Verg first came around, and got it over. And maybe I’d’ve come in to-day -if the committee hadn’t tried to bullyrag me, but, by God, as long as -I’m a free-born independent American cit--” - -“Now, George, you’re talking exactly like the German furnace-man.” - -“Oh, I am, am I! Then, I won’t talk at all!” - -He longed, that evening, to see Tanis Judique, to be strengthened by her -sympathy. When all the family were up-stairs he got as far as -telephoning to her apartment-house, but he was agitated about it and -when the janitor answered he blurted, “Nev’ mind-- I’ll call later,” and -hung up the receiver. - - -V - -If Babbitt had not been certain about Vergil Gunch’s avoiding him, there -could be little doubt about William Washington Eathorne, next morning. -When Babbitt was driving down to the office he overtook Eathorne’s car, -with the great banker sitting in anemic solemnity behind his chauffeur. -Babbitt waved and cried, “Mornin’!” Eathorne looked at him deliberately, -hesitated, and gave him a nod more contemptuous than a direct cut. - -Babbitt’s partner and father-in-law came in at ten: - -“George, what’s this I hear about some song and dance you gave Colonel -Snow about not wanting to join the G.C.L.? What the dickens you trying -to do? Wreck the firm? You don’t suppose these Big Guns will stand your -bucking them and springing all this ‘liberal’ poppycock you been getting -off lately, do you?” - -“Oh, rats, Henry T., you been reading bum fiction. There ain’t any such -a thing as these plots to keep folks from being liberal. This is a free -country. A man can do anything he wants to.” - -“Course th’ ain’t any plots. Who said they was? Only if folks get an -idea you’re scatter-brained and unstable, you don’t suppose they’ll want -to do business with you, do you? One little rumor about your being a -crank would do more to ruin this business than all the plots and stuff -that these fool story-writers could think up in a month of Sundays.” - -That afternoon, when the old reliable Conrad Lyte, the merry miser, -Conrad Lyte, appeared, and Babbitt suggested his buying a parcel of land -in the new residential section of Dorchester, Lyte said hastily, too -hastily, “No, no, don’t want to go into anything new just now.” - -A week later Babbitt learned, through Henry Thompson, that the officials -of the Street Traction Company were planning another real-estate coup, -and that Sanders, Torrey and Wing, not the Babbitt-Thompson Company, -were to handle it for them. - -“I figure that Jake Offutt is kind of leery about the way folks are -talking about you. Of course Jake is a rock-ribbed old die-hard, and he -probably advised the Traction fellows to get some other broker. George, -you got to do something!” trembled Thompson. - -And, in a rush, Babbitt agreed. All nonsense the way people misjudged -him, but still-- He determined to join the Good Citizens’ League the next -time he was asked, and in furious resignation he waited. He wasn’t -asked. They ignored him. He did not have the courage to go to the League -and beg in, and he took refuge in a shaky boast that he had “gotten away -with bucking the whole city. Nobody could dictate to _him_ how he was -going to think and act!” - -He was jarred as by nothing else when the paragon of stenographers, Miss -McGoun, suddenly left him, though her reasons were excellent--she needed -a rest, her sister was sick, she might not do any more work for six -months. He was uncomfortable with her successor, Miss Havstad. What Miss -Havstad’s given name was, no one in the office ever knew. It seemed -improbable that she had a given name, a lover, a powder-puff, or a -digestion. She was so impersonal, this slight, pale, industrious Swede, -that it was vulgar to think of her as going to an ordinary home to eat -hash. She was a perfectly oiled and enameled machine, and she ought, -each evening, to have been dusted off and shut in her desk beside her -too-slim, too-frail pencil points. She took dictation swiftly, her -typing was perfect, but Babbitt became jumpy when he tried to work with -her. She made him feel puffy, and at his best-beloved daily jokes she -looked gently inquiring. He longed for Miss McGoun’s return, and thought -of writing to her. - -Then he heard that Miss McGoun had, a week after leaving him, gone over -to his dangerous competitors, Sanders, Torrey and Wing. - -He was not merely annoyed; he was frightened. “Why did she quit, then?” -he worried. “Did she have a hunch my business is going on the rocks? And -it was Sanders got the Street Traction deal. Rats--sinking ship!” - -Gray fear loomed always by him now. He watched Fritz Weilinger, the -young salesman, and wondered if he too would leave. Daily he fancied -slights. He noted that he was not asked to speak at the annual Chamber -of Commerce dinner. When Orville Jones gave a large poker party and he -was not invited, he was certain that he had been snubbed. He was afraid -to go to lunch at the Athletic Club, and afraid not to go. He believed -that he was spied on; that when he left the table they whispered about -him. Everywhere he heard the rustling whispers: in the offices of -clients, in the bank when he made a deposit, in his own office, in his -own home. Interminably he wondered what They were saying of him. All day -long in imaginary conversations he caught them marveling, “Babbitt? Why, -say, he’s a regular anarchist! You got to admire the fellow for his -nerve, the way he turned liberal and, by golly, just absolutely runs his -life to suit himself, but say, he’s dangerous, that’s what he is, and -he’s got to be shown up.” - -He was so twitchy that when he rounded a corner and chanced on two -acquaintances talking--whispering--his heart leaped, and he stalked by -like an embarrassed schoolboy. When he saw his neighbors Howard -Littlefield and Orville Jones together, he peered at them, went indoors -to escape their spying, and was miserably certain that they had been -whispering--plotting--whispering. - -Through all his fear ran defiance. He felt stubborn. Sometimes he -decided that he had been a very devil of a fellow, as bold as Seneca -Doane; sometimes he planned to call on Doane and tell him what a -revolutionist he was, and never got beyond the planning. But just as -often, when he heard the soft whispers enveloping him he wailed, “Good -Lord, what have I done? Just played with the Bunch, and called down -Clarence Drum about being such a high-and-mighty sodger. Never catch -_me_ criticizing people and trying to make them accept _my_ ideas!” - -He could not stand the strain. Before long he admitted that he would -like to flee back to the security of conformity, provided there was a -decent and creditable way to return. But, stubbornly, he would not be -forced back; he would not, he swore, “eat dirt.” - -Only in spirited engagements with his wife did these turbulent fears -rise to the surface. She complained that he seemed nervous, that she -couldn’t understand why he did not want to “drop in at the -Littlefields’” for the evening. He tried, but he could not express to -her the nebulous facts of his rebellion and punishment. And, with Paul -and Tanis lost, he had no one to whom he could talk. “Good Lord, Tinka -is the only real friend I have, these days,” he sighed, and he clung to -the child, played floor-games with her all evening. - -He considered going to see Paul in prison, but, though he had a pale -curt note from him every week, he thought of Paul as dead. It was Tanis -for whom he was longing. - -“I thought I was so smart and independent, cutting Tanis out, and I need -her, Lord how I need her!” he raged. “Myra simply can’t understand. All -she sees in life is getting along by being just like other folks. But -Tanis, she’d tell me I was all right.” - -Then he broke, and one evening, late, he did run to Tanis. He had not -dared to hope for it, but she was in, and alone. Only she wasn’t Tanis. -She was a courteous, brow-lifting, ice-armored woman who looked like -Tanis. She said, “Yes, George, what is it?” in even and uninterested -tones, and he crept away, whipped. - -His first comfort was from Ted and Eunice Littlefield. - -They danced in one evening when Ted was home from the university, and -Ted chuckled, “What’s this I hear from Euny, dad? She says her dad says -you raised Cain by boosting old Seneca Doane. Hot dog! Give ’em fits! -Stir ’em up! This old burg is asleep!” Eunice plumped down on Babbitt’s -lap, kissed him, nestled her bobbed hair against his chin, and crowed, -“I think you’re lots nicer than Howard. Why is it,” confidentially, -“that Howard is such an old grouch? The man has a good heart, and -honestly, he’s awfully bright, but he never will learn to step on the -gas, after all the training I’ve given him. Don’t you think we could do -something with him, dearest?” - -“Why, Eunice, that isn’t a nice way to speak of your papa,” Babbitt -observed, in the best Floral Heights manner, but he was happy for the -first time in weeks. He pictured himself as the veteran liberal -strengthened by the loyalty of the young generation. They went out to -rifle the ice-box. Babbitt gloated, “If your mother caught us at this, -we’d certainly get our come-uppance!” and Eunice became maternal, -scrambled a terrifying number of eggs for them, kissed Babbitt on the -ear, and in the voice of a brooding abbess marveled, “It beats the devil -why feminists like me still go on nursing these men!” - -Thus stimulated, Babbitt was reckless when he encountered Sheldon -Smeeth, educational director of the Y.M.C.A. and choir-leader of the -Chatham Road Church. With one of his damp hands Smeeth imprisoned -Babbitt’s thick paw while he chanted, “Brother Babbitt, we haven’t seen -you at church very often lately. I know you’re busy with a multitude of -details, but you mustn’t forget your dear friends at the old church -home.” - -Babbitt shook off the affectionate clasp--Sheldy liked to hold hands for -a long time--and snarled, “Well, I guess you fellows can run the show -without me. Sorry, Smeeth; got to beat it. G’day.” - -But afterward he winced, “If that white worm had the nerve to try to -drag me back to the Old Church Home, then the holy outfit must have been -doing a lot of talking about me, too.” - -He heard them whispering--whispering--Dr. John Jennison Drew, -Cholmondeley Frink, even William Washington Eathorne. The independence -seeped out of him and he walked the streets alone, afraid of men’s -cynical eyes and the incessant hiss of whispering. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII - - -I - -He tried to explain to his wife, as they prepared for bed, how -objectionable was Sheldon Smeeth, but all her answer was, “He has such a -beautiful voice--so spiritual. I don’t think you ought to speak of him -like that just because you can’t appreciate music!” He saw her then as a -stranger; he stared bleakly at this plump and fussy woman with the broad -bare arms, and wondered how she had ever come here. - -In his chilly cot, turning from aching side to side, he pondered of -Tanis. “He’d been a fool to lose her. He had to have somebody he could -really talk to. He’d--oh, he’d _bust_ if he went on stewing about things -by himself. And Myra, useless to expect her to understand. Well, rats, -no use dodging the issue. Darn shame for two married people to drift -apart after all these years; darn rotten shame; but nothing could bring -them together now, as long as he refused to let Zenith bully him into -taking orders--and he was by golly not going to let anybody bully him -into anything, or wheedle him or coax him either!” - -He woke at three, roused by a passing motor, and struggled out of bed -for a drink of water. As he passed through the bedroom he heard his wife -groan. His resentment was night-blurred; he was solicitous in inquiring, -“What’s the trouble, hon?” - -“I’ve got--such a pain down here in my side--oh, it’s just--it tears at -me.” - -“Bad indigestion? Shall I get you some bicarb?” - -“Don’t think--that would help. I felt funny last evening and yesterday, -and then--oh!--it passed away and I got to sleep and-- That auto woke me -up.” - -Her voice was laboring like a ship in a storm. He was alarmed. - -“I better call the doctor.” - -“No, no! It’ll go away. But maybe you might get me an ice-bag.” - -He stalked to the bathroom for the ice-bag, down to the kitchen for ice. -He felt dramatic in this late-night expedition, but as he gouged the -chunk of ice with the dagger-like pick he was cool, steady, mature; and -the old friendliness was in his voice as he patted the ice-bag into -place on her groin, rumbling, “There, there, that’ll be better now.” He -retired to bed, but he did not sleep. He heard her groan again. -Instantly he was up, soothing her, “Still pretty bad, honey?” - -“Yes, it just gripes me, and I can’t get to sleep.” - -Her voice was faint. He knew her dread of doctors’ verdicts and he did -not inform her, but he creaked down-stairs, telephoned to Dr. Earl -Patten, and waited, shivering, trying with fuzzy eyes to read a -magazine, till he heard the doctor’s car. - -The doctor was youngish and professionally breezy. He came in as though -it were sunny noontime. “Well, George, little trouble, eh? How is she -now?” he said busily as, with tremendous and rather irritating -cheerfulness, he tossed his coat on a chair and warmed his hands at a -radiator. He took charge of the house. Babbitt felt ousted and -unimportant as he followed the doctor up to the bedroom, and it was the -doctor who chuckled, “Oh, just little stomach-ache” when Verona peeped -through her door, begging, “What is it, Dad, what is it?” - -To Mrs. Babbitt the doctor said with amiable belligerence, after his -examination, “Kind of a bad old pain, eh? I’ll give you something to -make you sleep, and I think you’ll feel better in the morning. I’ll come -in right after breakfast.” But to Babbitt, lying in wait in the lower -hall, the doctor sighed, “I don’t like the feeling there in her belly. -There’s some rigidity and some inflammation. She’s never had her -appendix out, has she? Um. Well, no use worrying. I’ll be here first -thing in the morning, and meantime she’ll get some rest. I’ve given her -a hypo. Good night.” - -Then was Babbitt caught up in the black tempest. - -Instantly all the indignations which had been dominating him and the -spiritual dramas through which he had struggled became pallid and absurd -before the ancient and overwhelming realities, the standard and -traditional realities, of sickness and menacing death, the long night, -and the thousand steadfast implications of married life. He crept back -to her. As she drowsed away in the tropic languor of morphia, he sat on -the edge of her bed, holding her hand, and for the first time in many -weeks her hand abode trustfully in his. - -He draped himself grotesquely in his toweling bathrobe and a pink and -white couch-cover, and sat lumpishly in a wing-chair. The bedroom was -uncanny in its half-light, which turned the curtains to lurking robbers, -the dressing-table to a turreted castle. It smelled of cosmetics, of -linen, of sleep. He napped and woke, napped and woke, a hundred times. -He heard her move and sigh in slumber; he wondered if there wasn’t some -officious brisk thing he could do for her, and before he could quite -form the thought he was asleep, racked and aching. The night was -infinite. When dawn came and the waiting seemed at an end, he fell -asleep, and was vexed to have been caught off his guard, to have been -aroused by Verona’s entrance and her agitated “Oh, what _is_ it, Dad?” - -His wife was awake, her face sallow and lifeless in the morning light, -but now he did not compare her with Tanis; she was not merely A Woman, -to be contrasted with other women, but his own self, and though he might -criticize her and nag her, it was only as he might criticize and nag -himself, interestedly, unpatronizingly, without the expectation of -changing--or any real desire to change--the eternal essence. - -With Verona he sounded fatherly again, and firm. He consoled Tinka, who -satisfactorily pointed the excitement of the hour by wailing. He ordered -early breakfast, and wanted to look at the newspaper, and felt somehow -heroic and useful in not looking at it. But there were still crawling -and totally unheroic hours of waiting before Dr. Patten returned. - -“Don’t see much change,” said Patten. “I’ll be back about eleven, and if -you don’t mind, I think I’ll bring in some other world-famous -pill-pedler for consultation, just to be on the safe side. Now George, -there’s nothing you can do. I’ll have Verona keep the ice-bag -filled--might as well leave that on, I guess--and you, you better beat -it to the office instead of standing around her looking as if you were -the patient. The nerve of husbands! Lot more neurotic than the women! -They always have to horn in and get all the credit for feeling bad when -their wives are ailing. Now have another nice cup of coffee and git!” - -Under this derision Babbitt became more matter-of-fact. He drove to the -office, tried to dictate letters, tried to telephone and, before the -call was answered, forgot to whom he was telephoning. At a quarter after -ten he returned home. As he left the down-town traffic and sped up the -car, his face was as grimly creased as the mask of tragedy. - -His wife greeted him with surprise. “Why did you come back, dear? I -think I feel a little better. I told Verona to skip off to her office. -Was it wicked of me to go and get sick?” - -He knew that she wanted petting, and she got it, joyously. They were -curiously happy when he heard Dr. Patten’s car in front. He looked out -of the window. He was frightened. With Patten was an impatient man with -turbulent black hair and a hussar mustache--Dr. A. I. Dilling, the -surgeon. Babbitt sputtered with anxiety, tried to conceal it, and -hurried down to the door. - -Dr. Patten was profusely casual: “Don’t want to worry you, old man, but -I thought it might be a good stunt to have Dr. Dilling examine her.” He -gestured toward Dilling as toward a master. - -Billing nodded in his curtest manner and strode up-stairs. Babbitt -tramped the living-room in agony. Except for his wife’s confinements -there had never been a major operation in the family, and to him surgery -was at once a miracle and an abomination of fear. But when Dilling and -Patten came down again he knew that everything was all right, and he -wanted to laugh, for the two doctors were exactly like the bearded -physicians in a musical comedy, both of them rubbing their hands and -looking foolishly sagacious. - -Dr. Dilling spoke: - -“I’m sorry, old man, but it’s acute appendicitis. We ought to operate. -Of course you must decide, but there’s no question as to what has to be -done.” - -Babbitt did not get all the force of it. He mumbled, “Well, I suppose we -could get her ready in a couple o’ days. Probably Ted ought to come down -from the university, just in case anything happened.” - -Dr. Dilling growled, “Nope. If you don’t want peritonitis to set in, -we’ll have to operate right away. I must advise it strongly. If you say -go ahead, I’ll ’phone for the St. Mary’s ambulance at once, and we’ll -have her on the table in three-quarters of an hour.” - -“I--I-- Of course, I suppose you know what-- But great God, man, I can’t -get her clothes ready and everything in two seconds, you know! And in -her state, so wrought-up and weak--” - -“Just throw her hair-brush and comb and tooth-brush in a bag; that’s all -she’ll need for a day or two,” said Dr. Dilling, and went to the -telephone. - -Babbitt galloped desperately up-stairs. He sent the frightened Tinka out -of the room. He said gaily to his wife, “Well, old thing, the doc thinks -maybe we better have a little operation and get it over. Just take a -few minutes--not half as serious as a confinement--and you’ll be all -right in a jiffy.” - -She gripped his hand till the fingers ached. She said patiently, like a -cowed child, “I’m afraid--to go into the dark, all alone!” Maturity was -wiped from her eyes; they were pleading and terrified. “Will you stay -with me? Darling, you don’t have to go to the office now, do you? Could -you just go down to the hospital with me? Could you come see me this -evening--if everything’s all right? You won’t have to go out this -evening, will you?” - -He was on his knees by the bed. While she feebly ruffled his hair, he -sobbed, he kissed the lawn of her sleeve, and swore, “Old honey, I love -you more than anything in the world! I’ve kind of been worried by -business and everything, but that’s all over now, and I’m back again.” - -“Are you really? George, I was thinking, lying here, maybe it would be a -good thing if I just _went_. I was wondering if anybody really needed -me. Or wanted me. I was wondering what was the use of my living. I’ve -been getting so stupid and ugly--” - -“Why, you old humbug! Fishing for compliments when I ought to be packing -your bag! Me, sure, I’m young and handsome and a regular village cut-up -and--” He could not go on. He sobbed again; and in muttered -incoherencies they found each other. - -As he packed, his brain was curiously clear and swift. He’d have no more -wild evenings, he realized. He admitted that he would regret them. A -little grimly he perceived that this had been his last despairing fling -before the paralyzed contentment of middle-age. Well, and he grinned -impishly, “it was one doggone good party while it lasted!” And--how much -was the operation going to cost? “I ought to have fought that out with -Dilling. But no, damn it, I don’t care how much it costs!” - -The motor ambulance was at the door. Even in his grief the Babbitt who -admired all technical excellences was interested in the kindly skill -with which the attendants slid Mrs. Babbitt upon a stretcher and carried -her down-stairs. The ambulance was a huge, suave, varnished, white -thing. Mrs. Babbitt moaned, “It frightens me. It’s just like a hearse, -just like being put in a hearse. I want you to stay with me.” - -“I’ll be right up front with the driver,” Babbitt promised. - -“No, I want you to stay inside with me.” To the attendants: “Can’t he be -inside?” - -“Sure, ma’am, you bet. There’s a fine little camp-stool in there,” the -older attendant said, with professional pride. - -He sat beside her in that traveling cabin with its cot, its stool, its -active little electric radiator, and its quite unexplained calendar, -displaying a girl eating cherries, and the name of an enterprising -grocer. But as he flung out his hand in hopeless cheerfulness it touched -the radiator, and he squealed: - -“Ouch! Jesus!” - -“Why, George Babbitt, I won’t have you cursing and swearing and -blaspheming!” - -“I know, awful sorry but-- Gosh all fish-hooks, look how I burned my -hand! Gee whiz, it hurts! It hurts like the mischief! Why, that damn -radiator is hot as--it’s hot as--it’s hotter ’n the hinges of Hades! -Look! You can see the mark!” - -So, as they drove up to St. Mary’s Hospital, with the nurses already -laying out the instruments for an operation to save her life, it was she -who consoled him and kissed the place to make it well, and though he -tried to be gruff and mature, he yielded to her and was glad to be -babied. - -The ambulance whirled under the hooded carriage-entrance of the -hospital, and instantly he was reduced to a zero in the nightmare -succession of cork-floored halls, endless doors open on old women -sitting up in bed, an elevator, the anesthetizing room, a young interne -contemptuous of husbands. He was permitted to kiss his wife; he saw a -thin dark nurse fit the cone over her mouth and nose; he stiffened at a -sweet and treacherous odor; then he was driven out, and on a high stool -in a laboratory he sat dazed, longing to see her once again, to insist -that he had always loved her, had never for a second loved anybody else -or looked at anybody else. In the laboratory he was conscious only of a -decayed object preserved in a bottle of yellowing alcohol. It made him -very sick, but he could not take his eyes from it. He was more aware of -it than of waiting. His mind floated in abeyance, coming back always to -that horrible bottle. To escape it he opened the door to the right, -hoping to find a sane and business-like office. He realized that he was -looking into the operating-room; in one glance he took in Dr. Dilling, -strange in white gown and bandaged head, bending over the steel table -with its screws and wheels, then nurses holding basins and cotton -sponges, and a swathed thing, just a lifeless chin and a mound of white -in the midst of which was a square of sallow flesh with a gash a little -bloody at the edges, protruding from the gash a cluster of forceps like -clinging parasites. - -He shut the door with haste. It may be that his frightened repentance of -the night and morning had not eaten in, but this dehumanizing interment -of her who had been so pathetically human shook him utterly, and as he -crouched again on the high stool in the laboratory he swore faith to his -wife... to Zenith... to business efficiency... to the Boosters’ Club... -to every faith of the Clan of Good Fellows. - -Then a nurse was soothing, “All over! Perfect success! She’ll come out -fine! She’ll be out from under the anesthetic soon, and you can see -her.” - -He found her on a curious tilted bed, her face an unwholesome yellow but -her purple lips moving slightly. Then only did he really believe that -she was alive. She was muttering. He bent, and heard her sighing, “Hard -get real maple syrup for pancakes.” He laughed inexhaustibly; he beamed -on the nurse and proudly confided, “Think of her talking about maple -syrup! By golly, I’m going to go and order a hundred gallons of it, -right from Vermont!” - - -II - -She was out of the hospital in seventeen days. He went to see her each -afternoon, and in their long talks they drifted back to intimacy. Once -he hinted something of his relations to Tanis and the Bunch, and she was -inflated by the view that a Wicked Woman had captivated her poor George. - -If once he had doubted his neighbors and the supreme charm of the Good -Fellows, he was convinced now. You didn’t, he noted, “see Seneca Doane -coming around with any flowers or dropping in to chat with the Missus,” -but Mrs. Howard Littlefield brought to the hospital her priceless wine -jelly (flavored with real wine); Orville Jones spent hours in picking -out the kind of novels Mrs. Babbitt liked--nice love stories about New -York millionaries and Wyoming cowpunchers; Louetta Swanson knitted a -pink bed-jacket; Sidney Finkelstein and his merry brown-eyed flapper of -a wife selected the prettiest nightgown in all the stock of Parcher and -Stein. - -All his friends ceased whispering about him, suspecting him. At the -Athletic Club they asked after her daily. Club members whose names he -did not know stopped him to inquire, “How’s your good lady getting on?” -Babbitt felt that he was swinging from bleak uplands down into the rich -warm air of a valley pleasant with cottages. - -One noon Vergil Gunch suggested, “You planning to be at the hospital -about six? The wife and I thought we’d drop in.” They did drop in. Gunch -was so humorous that Mrs. Babbitt said he must “stop making her laugh -because honestly it was hurting her incision.” As they passed down the -hall Gunch demanded amiably, “George, old scout, you were soreheaded -about something, here a while back. I don’t know why, and it’s none of -my business. But you seem to be feeling all hunky-dory again, and why -don’t you come join us in the Good Citizens’ League, old man? We have -some corking times together, and we need your advice.” - -Then did Babbitt, almost tearful with joy at being coaxed instead of -bullied, at being permitted to stop fighting, at being able to desert -without injuring his opinion of himself, cease utterly to be a domestic -revolutionist. He patted Gunch’s shoulder, and next day he became a -member of the Good Citizens’ League. - -Within two weeks no one in the League was more violent regarding the -wickedness of Seneca Doane, the crimes of labor unions, the perils of -immigration, and the delights of golf, morality, and bank-accounts than -was George F. Babbitt. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV - - -I - -The Good Citizens’ League had spread through the country, but nowhere -was it so effective and well esteemed as in cities of the type of -Zenith, commercial cities of a few hundred thousand inhabitants, most of -which--though not all--lay inland, against a background of cornfields -and mines and of small towns which depended upon them for -mortgage-loans, table-manners, art, social philosophy and millinery. - -To the League belonged most of the prosperous citizens of Zenith. They -were not all of the kind who called themselves “Regular Guys.” Besides -these hearty fellows, these salesmen of prosperity, there were the -aristocrats, that is, the men who were richer or had been rich for more -generations: the presidents of banks and of factories, the land-owners, -the corporation lawyers, the fashionable doctors, and the few young-old -men who worked not at all but, reluctantly remaining in Zenith, -collected luster-ware and first editions as though they were back in -Paris. All of them agreed that the working-classes must be kept in their -place; and all of them perceived that American Democracy did not imply -any equality of wealth, but did demand a wholesome sameness of thought, -dress, painting, morals, and vocabulary. - -In this they were like the ruling-class of any other country, -particularly of Great Britain, but they differed in being more vigorous -and in actually trying to produce the accepted standards which all -classes, everywhere, desire, but usually despair of realizing. - -The longest struggle of the Good Citizens’ League was against the Open -Shop--which was secretly a struggle against all union labor. -Accompanying it was an Americanization Movement, with evening classes in -English and history and economics, and daily articles in the newspapers, -so that newly arrived foreigners might learn that the true-blue and one -hundred per cent. American way of settling labor-troubles was for -workmen to trust and love their employers. - -The League was more than generous in approving other organizations which -agreed with its aims. It helped the Y.M.C.A. to raise a -two-hundred-thousand-dollar fund for a new building. Babbitt, Vergil -Gunch, Sidney Finkelstein, and even Charles McKelvey told the spectators -at movie theaters how great an influence for manly Christianity the -“good old Y.” had been in their own lives; and the hoar and mighty -Colonel Rutherford Snow, owner of the _Advocate-Times_, was photographed -clasping the hand of Sheldon Smeeth of the Y.M.C.A. It is true that -afterward, when Smeeth lisped, “You must come to one of our -prayer-meetings,” the ferocious Colonel bellowed, “What the hell would I -do that for? I’ve got a bar of my own,” but this did not appear in the -public prints. - -The League was of value to the American Legion at a time when certain of -the lesser and looser newspapers were criticizing that organization of -veterans of the Great War. One evening a number of young men raided the -Zenith Socialist Headquarters, burned its records, beat the office -staff, and agreeably dumped desks out of the window. All of the -newspapers save the _Advocate-Times_ and the _Evening Advocate_ -attributed this valuable but perhaps hasty direct-action to the American -Legion. Then a flying squadron from the Good Citizens’ League called on -the unfair papers and explained that no ex-soldier could possibly do -such a thing, and the editors saw the light, and retained their -advertising. When Zenith’s lone Conscientious Objector came home from -prison and was righteously run out of town, the newspapers referred to -the perpetrators as an “unidentified mob.” - - -II - -In all the activities and triumphs of the Good Citizens’ League Babbitt -took part, and completely won back to self-respect, placidity, and the -affection of his friends. But he began to protest, “Gosh, I’ve done my -share in cleaning up the city. I want to tend to business. Think I’ll -just kind of slacken up on this G.C.L. stuff now.” - -He had returned to the church as he had returned to the Boosters’ Club. -He had even endured the lavish greeting which Sheldon Smeeth gave him. -He was worried lest during his late discontent he had imperiled his -salvation. He was not quite sure there was a Heaven to be attained, but -Dr. John Jennison Drew said there was, and Babbitt was not going to take -a chance. - -One evening when he was walking past Dr. Drew’s parsonage he impulsively -went in and found the pastor in his study. - -“Jus’ minute--getting ’phone call,” said Dr. Drew in business-like -tones, then, aggressively, to the telephone: “’Lo--’lo! This Berkey and -Hannis? Reverend Drew speaking. Where the dickens is the proof for next -Sunday’s calendar? Huh? Y’ ought to have it here. Well, I can’t help it -if they’re _all_ sick! I got to have it to-night. Get an A.D.T. boy and -shoot it up here quick.” - -He turned, without slackening his briskness. “Well, Brother Babbitt, -what c’n I do for you?” - -“I just wanted to ask-- Tell you how it is, dominie: Here a while ago I -guess I got kind of slack. Took a few drinks and so on. What I wanted to -ask is: How is it if a fellow cuts that all out and comes back to his -senses? Does it sort of, well, you might say, does it score against him -in the long run?” - -The Reverend Dr. Drew was suddenly interested. “And, uh, brother--the -other things, too? Women?” - -“No, practically, you might say, practically not at all.” - -“Don’t hesitate to tell me, brother! That’s what I’m here for. Been -going on joy-rides? Squeezing girls in cars?” The reverend eyes -glistened. - -“No--no--” - -“Well, I’ll tell you. I’ve got a deputation from the Don’t Make -Prohibition a Joke Association coming to see me in a quarter of an hour, -and one from the Anti-Birth-Control Union at a quarter of ten.” He -busily glanced at his watch. “But I can take five minutes off and pray -with you. Kneel right down by your chair, brother. Don’t be ashamed to -seek the guidance of God.” - -Babbitt’s scalp itched and he longed to flee, but Dr. Drew had already -flopped down beside his desk-chair and his voice had changed from -rasping efficiency to an unctuous familiarity with sin and with the -Almighty. Babbitt also knelt, while Drew gloated: - -“O Lord, thou seest our brother here, who has been led astray by -manifold temptations. O Heavenly Father, make his heart to be pure, as -pure as a little child’s. Oh, let him know again the joy of a manly -courage to abstain from evil--” - -Sheldon Smeeth came frolicking into the study. At the sight of the two -men he smirked, forgivingly patted Babbitt on the shoulder, and knelt -beside him, his arm about him, while he authorized Dr. Drew’s -imprecations with moans of “Yes, Lord! Help our brother, Lord!” - -Though he was trying to keep his eyes closed, Babbitt squinted between -his fingers and saw the pastor glance at his watch as he concluded with -a triumphant, “And let him never be afraid to come to Us for counsel and -tender care, and let him know that the church can lead him as a little -lamb.” - -Dr. Drew sprang up, rolled his eyes in the general direction of Heaven, -chucked his watch into his pocket, and demanded, “Has the deputation -come yet, Sheldy?” - -“Yep, right outside,” Sheldy answered, with equal liveliness; then, -caressingly, to Babbitt, “Brother, if it would help, I’d love to go -into the next room and pray with you while Dr. Drew is receiving the -brothers from the Don’t Make Prohibition a Joke Association.” - -“No--no thanks--can’t take the time!” yelped Babbitt, rushing toward the -door. - -Thereafter he was often seen at the Chatham Road Presbyterian Church, -but it is recorded that he avoided shaking hands with the pastor at the -door. - - -III - -If his moral fiber had been so weakened by rebellion that he was not -quite dependable in the more rigorous campaigns of the Good Citizens’ -League nor quite appreciative of the church, yet there was no doubt of -the joy with which Babbitt returned to the pleasures of his home and of -the Athletic Club, the Boosters, the Elks. - -Verona and Kenneth Escott were eventually and hesitatingly married. For -the wedding Babbitt was dressed as carefully as was Verona; he was -crammed into the morning-coat he wore to teas thrice a year; and with a -certain relief, after Verona and Kenneth had driven away in a limousine, -he returned to the house, removed the morning coat, sat with his aching -feet up on the davenport, and reflected that his wife and he could have -the living-room to themselves now, and not have to listen to Verona and -Kenneth worrying, in a cultured collegiate manner, about minimum wages -and the Drama League. - -But even this sinking into peace was less consoling than his return to -being one of the best-loved men in the Boosters’ Club. - - -IV - -President Willis Ijams began that Boosters’ Club luncheon by standing -quiet and staring at them so unhappily that they feared he was about to -announce the death of a Brother Booster. He spoke slowly then, and -gravely: - -“Boys, I have something shocking to reveal to you; something terrible -about one of our own members.” - -Several Boosters, including Babbitt, looked disconcerted. - -“A knight of the grip, a trusted friend of mine, recently made a trip -up-state, and in a certain town, where a certain Booster spent his -boyhood, he found out something which can no longer be concealed. In -fact, he discovered the inward nature of a man whom we have accepted as -a Real Guy and as one of us. Gentlemen, I cannot trust my voice to say -it, so I have written it down.” - -He uncovered a large blackboard and on it, in huge capitals, was the -legend: - - George Follansbee Babbitt--oh you Folly! - -The Boosters cheered, they laughed, they wept, they threw rolls at -Babbitt, they cried, “Speech, speech! Oh you Folly!” - -President Ijams continued: - -“That, gentlemen, is the awful thing Georgie Babbitt has been concealing -all these years, when we thought he was just plain George F. Now I want -you to tell us, taking it in turn, what you’ve always supposed the F. -stood for.” - -Flivver, they suggested, and Frog-face and Flathead and Farinaceous and -Freezone and Flapdoodle and Foghorn. By the joviality of their insults -Babbitt knew that he had been taken back to their hearts, and happily he -rose. - -“Boys, I’ve got to admit it. I’ve never worn a wrist-watch, or parted my -name in the middle, but I will confess to ‘Follansbee.’ My only -justification is that my old dad--though otherwise he was perfectly -sane, and packed an awful wallop when it came to trimming the City -Fellers at checkers--named me after the family doc, old Dr. Ambrose -Follansbee. I apologize, boys. In my next what-d’you-call-it I’ll see to -it that I get named something really practical--something that sounds -swell and yet is good and virile--something, in fact, like that grand -old name so familiar to every household--that bold and almost -overpowering name, Willis Jimjams Ijams!” - -He knew by the cheer that he was secure again and popular; he knew that -he would no more endanger his security and popularity by straying from -the Clan of Good Fellows. - - -V - -Henry Thompson dashed into the office, clamoring, “George! Big news! -Jake Offutt says the Traction Bunch are dissatisfied with the way -Sanders, Torrey and Wing handled their last deal, and they’re willing to -dicker with us!” - -Babbitt was pleased in the realization that the last scar of his -rebellion was healed, yet as he drove home he was annoyed by such -background thoughts as had never weakened him in his days of belligerent -conformity. He discovered that he actually did not consider the Traction -group quite honest. “Well, he’d carry out one more deal for them, but as -soon as it was practicable, maybe as soon as old Henry Thompson died, -he’d break away from all association from them. He was forty-eight; in -twelve years he’d be sixty; he wanted to leave a clean business to his -grandchildren. Course there was a lot of money in negotiating for the -Traction people, and a fellow had to look at things in a practical way, -only--” He wriggled uncomfortably. He wanted to tell the Traction group -what he thought of them. “Oh, he couldn’t do it, not now. If he offended -them this second time, they would crush him. But--” - -He was conscious that his line of progress seemed confused. He wondered -what he would do with his future. He was still young; was he through -with all adventuring? He felt that he had been trapped into the very net -from which he had with such fury escaped and, supremest jest of all, -been made to rejoice in the trapping. - -“They’ve licked me; licked me to a finish!” he whimpered. - -The house was peaceful, that evening, and he enjoyed a game of pinochle -with his wife. He indignantly told the Tempter that he was content to -do things in the good old-fashioned way. The day after, he went to see -the purchasing-agent of the Street Traction Company and they made plans -for the secret purchase of lots along the Evanston Road. But as he drove -to his office he struggled, “I’m going to run things and figure out -things to suit myself--when I retire.” - - -VI - -Ted had come down from the University for the week-end. Though he no -longer spoke of mechanical engineering and though he was reticent about -his opinion of his instructors, he seemed no more reconciled to college, -and his chief interest was his wireless telephone set. - -On Saturday evening he took Eunice Littlefield to a dance at Devon -Woods. Babbitt had a glimpse of her, bouncing in the seat of the car, -brilliant in a scarlet cloak over a frock of thinnest creamy silk. They -two had not returned when the Babbitts went to bed, at half-past eleven. -At a blurred indefinite time of late night Babbitt was awakened by the -ring of the telephone and gloomily crawled down-stairs. Howard -Littlefield was speaking: - -“George, Euny isn’t back yet. Is Ted?” - -“No--at least his door is open--” - -“They ought to be home. Eunice said the dance would be over at midnight. -What’s the name of those people where they’re going?” - -“Why, gosh, tell the truth, I don’t know, Howard. It’s some classmate of -Ted’s, out in Devon Woods. Don’t see what we can do. Wait, I’ll skip up -and ask Myra if she knows their name.” - -Babbitt turned on the light in Ted’s room. It was a brown boyish room; -disordered dresser, worn books, a high-school pennant, photographs of -basket-ball teams and baseball teams. Ted was decidedly not there. - -Mrs. Babbitt, awakened, irritably observed that she certainly did not -know the name of Ted’s host, that it was late, that Howard Littlefield -was but little better than a born fool, and that she was sleepy. But she -remained awake and worrying while Babbitt, on the sleeping-porch, -struggled back into sleep through the incessant soft rain of her -remarks. It was after dawn when he was aroused by her shaking him and -calling “George! George!” in something like horror. - -“Wha--wha--what is it?” - -“Come here quick and see. Be quiet!” - -She led him down the hall to the door of Ted’s room and pushed it gently -open. On the worn brown rug he saw a froth of rose-colored chiffon -lingerie; on the sedate Morris chair a girl’s silver slipper. And on the -pillows were two sleepy heads--Ted’s and Eunice’s. - -Ted woke to grin, and to mutter with unconvincing defiance, “Good -morning! Let me introduce my wife--Mrs. Theodore Roosevelt Eunice -Littlefield Babbitt, Esquiress.” - -“Good God!” from Babbitt, and from his wife a long wailing, “You’ve gone -and--” - -“We got married last evening. Wife! Sit up and say a pretty good morning -to mother-in-law.” - -But Eunice hid her shoulders and her charming wild hair under the -pillow. - -By nine o’clock the assembly which was gathered about Ted and Eunice in -the living-room included Mr. and Mrs. George Babbitt, Dr. and Mrs. -Howard Littlefield, Mr. and Mrs. Kenneth Escott, Mr. and Mrs. Henry T. -Thompson, and Tinka Babbitt, who was the only pleased member of the -inquisition. - -A crackling shower of phrases filled the room: - -“At their age--” “Ought to be annulled--” “Never heard of such a thing -in--” “Fault of both of them and--” “Keep it out of the papers--” “Ought -to be packed off to school--” “Do something about it at once, and what I -say is--” “Damn good old-fashioned spanking--” - -Worst of them all was Verona. “_Ted!_ Some way _must_ be found to make -you under_stand_ how dreadfully _serious_ this is, instead of standing -_around_ with that silly foolish _smile_ on your face!” - -He began to revolt. “Gee whittakers, Rone, you got married yourself, -didn’t you?” - -“That’s entirely different.” - -“You bet it is! They didn’t have to work on Eu and me with a chain and -tackle to get us to hold hands!” - -“Now, young man, we’ll have no more flippancy,” old Henry Thompson -ordered. “You listen to me.” - -“You listen to Grandfather!” said Verona. - -“Yes, listen to your Grandfather!” said Mrs. Babbitt. - -“Ted, you listen to Mr. Thompson!” said Howard Littlefield. - -“Oh, for the love o’ Mike, I am listening!” Ted shouted. “But you look -here, all of you! I’m getting sick and tired of being the corpse in this -post mortem! If you want to kill somebody, go kill the preacher that -married us! Why, he stung me five dollars, and all the money I had in -the world was six dollars and two bits. I’m getting just about enough of -being hollered at!” - -A new voice, booming, authoritative, dominated the room. It was Babbitt. -“Yuh, there’s too darn many putting in their oar! Rone, you dry up. -Howard and I are still pretty strong, and able to do our own cussing. -Ted, come into the dining-room and we’ll talk this over.” - -In the dining-room, the door firmly closed, Babbitt walked to his son, -put both hands on his shoulders. “You’re more or less right. They all -talk too much. Now what do you plan to do, old man?” - -“Gosh, dad, are you really going to be human?” - -“Well, I-- Remember one time you called us ‘the Babbitt men’ and said we -ought to stick together? I want to. I don’t pretend to think this isn’t -serious. The way the cards are stacked against a young fellow to-day, I -can’t say I approve of early marriages. But you couldn’t have married a -better girl than Eunice; and way I figure it, Littlefield is darn lucky -to get a Babbitt for a son-in-law! But what do you plan to do? Course -you could go right ahead with the U., and when you’d finished--” - -“Dad, I can’t stand it any more. Maybe it’s all right for some fellows. -Maybe I’ll want to go back some day. But me, I want to get into -mechanics. I think I’d get to be a good inventor. There’s a fellow that -would give me twenty dollars a week in a factory right now.” - -“Well--” Babbitt crossed the floor, slowly, ponderously, seeming a -little old. “I’ve always wanted you to have a college degree.” He -meditatively stamped across the floor again. “But I’ve never-- Now, for -heaven’s sake, don’t repeat this to your mother, or she’d remove what -little hair I’ve got left, but practically, I’ve never done a single -thing I’ve wanted to in my whole life! I don’t know ’s I’ve accomplished -anything except just get along. I figure out I’ve made about a quarter -of an inch out of a possible hundred rods. Well, maybe you’ll carry -things on further. I don’t know. But I do get a kind of sneaking -pleasure out of the fact that you knew what you wanted to do and did it. -Well, those folks in there will try to bully you, and tame you down. -Tell ’em to go to the devil! I’ll back you. Take your factory job, if -you want to. Don’t be scared of the family. No, nor all of Zenith. Nor -of yourself, the way I’ve been. Go ahead, old man! The world is yours!” - -Arms about each other’s shoulders, the Babbitt men marched into the -living-room and faced the swooping family. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BABBITT *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for -copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very -easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation -of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project -Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may -do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected -by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark -license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country other than the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no - restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it - under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this - eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the - United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where - you are located before using this eBook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm website -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that: - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of -the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the Foundation as set -forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, -Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up -to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's website -and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without -widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |