zimmer wände farblich gestalten

zimmer wände farblich gestalten-chapter xxiii ihe was busy, from march to june. he kept himself from the bewilderment ofthinking. his wife and the neighbors were generous. every evening he played bridge or attendedthe 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 hethought of the emancipated house in which
he could, if he desired, go mad and cursethe gods without having to keep up a husbandly front. he considered, "i could have a reg'larparty to-night; stay out till two and not do any explaining afterwards.cheers!" he telephoned to vergil gunch, to eddieswanson. 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 kindlyto ted and verona, hesitating but not disapproving when verona stated her opinionof kenneth escott's opinion of dr. john
jennison drew's opinion of the opinions ofthe evolutionists. ted was working in a garage through thesummer 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 thefuture of wireless telephony. ted and verona went to a dance afterdinner. even the maid was out. rarely had babbitt been alone in the housefor 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 hermaidenly blue and white bed, humming and grunting in a solid-citizen manner as heexamined her books: conrad's "rescue," a volume strangely named "figures of earth," poetry (quite irregular poetry, babbittthought) 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 werefamous ones, too--did not seem to care
about telling a good story which wouldenable 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 aboutcounterfeiting--detectives sneaking up on the old house at night. he tucked the book under his arm, heclumped 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 frosthad already stamped the maple trees with gold, the spanish oaks were hung withpatches of wine red, the sumach was brilliant in the darkening underbrush. a pattern of wild geese, flying low andunconcerned above the hills, wavered against the serene ashen evening. howat penny, standing in the comparativeclearing of a road, decided that the shifting regular flight would not comeclose enough for a shot.... he had no intention of hunting the geese. with the drooping of day his keenness hadevaporated; an habitual indifference
strengthened, permeating him...."there it was again: discontent with the good common ways. babbitt laid down the book and listened tothe stillness. the inner doors of the house were open. he heard from the kitchen the steady dripof the refrigerator, a rhythm demanding and disquieting.he roamed to the window. the summer evening was foggy and, seenthrough the wire screen, the street lamps were crosses of pale fire.the whole world was abnormal. while he brooded, verona and ted came inand 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 uppaul." then he remembered. he saw paul in a jailbird's uniform, butwhile 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 withoutturmoil or desire. through the mist came a man at so feverisha 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 andbrought it down with a crash. his glasses on their broad pretentiousribbon banged against his stomach. babbitt incredulously saw that it was chumfrink. frink stopped, focused his vision, andspoke 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 noiseof 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 neverquite falling. babbitt would have been no more astonishedand no less had a ghost skipped out of the fog carrying his head. he accepted frink with vast apathy; hegrunted, "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 oneof 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 aclammy cold boiled potato. he was thinking. it was coming to him that perhaps all lifeas he knew it and vigorously practised it was futile; that heaven as portrayed by thereverend 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 rearchildren 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 presenceof paul riesling; and from that he stumbled into the admission that he wanted the fairygirl--in the flesh. if there had been a woman whom he loved, hewould have fled to her, humbled his forehead on her knees.he thought of his stenographer, miss
mcgoun. he thought of the prettiest of the manicuregirls at the hotel thornleigh barber shop. as he fell asleep on the davenport he feltthat he had found something in life, and that he had made a terrifying, thrillingbreak with everything that was decent and normal. ii he had forgotten, next morning, that he wasa conscious rebel, but he was irritable in the office and at the eleven o'clock driveof telephone calls and visitors he did something he had often desired and never
dared: he left the office without excusesto those stave-drivers his employees, and went to the movies.he enjoyed the right to be alone. he came out with a vicious determination todo what he pleased. as he approached the roughnecks' table atthe club, everybody laughed. "well, here's the millionaire!" said sidneyfinkelstein. "yes, i saw him in his locomobile!" saidprofessor pumphrey. "gosh, it must be great to be a smart guylike georgie!" moaned vergil gunch. "he's probably stolen all of dorchester. i'd hate to leave a poor little defenselesspiece 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 hewas suddenly touchy. he grunted, "yuh, sure; maybe i'll take youguys on as office boys!" he was impatient as the jest elaboratelyrolled on to its denouement. "of course he may have been meeting agirl," they said, and "no, i think he was waiting for his old roommate, sir jerusalemdoak." he exploded, "oh, spring it, spring it, youboneheads!
what's the great joke?""hurray! george is peeved!" snickered sidneyfinkelstein, while a grin went round the table. gunch revealed the shocking truth: he hadseen babbitt coming out of a motion-picture theater--at noon!they kept it up. with a hundred variations, a hundredguffaws, they said that he had gone to the movies during business-hours. he didn't so much mind gunch, but he wasannoyed 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 burnedhis nose when he tried to drink. he raged that finkelstein was like thatlump of ice. but he won through; he kept up his bantertill they grew tired of the superlative jest and turned to the great problems ofthe day. he reflected, "what's the matter with meto-day? seems like i've got an awful grouch.only they talk so darn much. but i better steer careful and keep mymouth shut." as they lighted their cigars he mumbled,"got to get back," and on a chorus of "if
you will go spending your mornings withlady ushers at the movies!" he escaped. he heard them giggling. he was embarrassed. while he was most bombastically agreeingwith the coat-man that the weather was warm, he was conscious that he was longingto run childishly with his troubles to the comfort of the fairy child. iiihe 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?" hepurred. "i think i'll go up-state to a farm do youwant 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 getit copied after i do the letters." she was gone. babbitt utterly repudiated the view that hehad been trying to discover how approachable was miss mcgoun."course! knew there was nothing doing!" he
said. iveddie swanson, the motor-car agent who lived across the street from babbitt, wasgiving a sunday supper. his wife louetta, young louetta who lovedjazz 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 menshe might be alluring; now he admitted that to himself she was overwhelmingly alluring. mrs. babbitt had never quite approved oflouetta; babbitt was glad that she was not
here this evening. he insisted on helping louetta in thekitchen: taking the chicken croquettes from the warming-oven, the lettuce sandwichesfrom the ice-box. he held her hand, once, and shedepressingly didn't notice it. she caroled, "you're a good littlemother's-helper, georgie. now trot in with the tray and leave it onthe side-table." he wished that eddie swanson would givethem cocktails; that louetta would have one. he wanted--oh, he wanted to be one of thesebohemians 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 withseveral repetitions by orville jones of "any time louetta wants to come sit on mylap i'll tell this sandwich to beat it!" but they were respectable, as befittedsunday evening. babbitt had discreetly preempted a placebeside louetta on the piano bench. while he talked about motors, while helistened 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 luxuryof the setting, he studied her. slim waist girdled with raw silk, strongbrows, ardent eyes, hair parted above a broad forehead--she meant youth to him anda charm which saddened. he thought of how valiant a companion shewould be on a long motor tour, exploring mountains, picnicking in a pine grove highabove a valley. her frailness touched him; he was angry ateddie swanson for the incessant family bickering.all at once he identified louetta with the
fairy girl. he was startled by the conviction that theyhad 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 inhis coffee and sneak across the road and i'll show you how to mix a cocktail," heroared. "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'lljump for the gin!" every one giggled at this naughtiness. in a pleased way eddie swanson stated thathe would have a physician analyze his coffee daily. the others were diverted to a discussion ofthe more agreeable recent murders, but babbitt drew louetta back to personalthings: "that's the prettiest dress i ever saw inmy life." "do you honestly like it?""like it? why, say, i'm going to have kenneth escottput 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 arotten dancer i am!" he was lumbering to his feet."i'll teach you. i can teach anybody." her eyes were moist, her voice was jaggedwith excitement. he was convinced that he had won her.
he clasped her, conscious of her smoothwarmth, 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 uplike a regular stage dancer!" he gloated; and she answered busily, "yes--yes--i toldyou 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!" hevowed.
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 themoment he was as urgent as ever. he danced with mrs. orville jones, but hewatched louetta swooping down the length of the room with her husband. "careful! you're getting foolish!" he cautionedhimself, 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 thatshadowy place where men never dance. "i'm crazy to-night; better go home," heworried, but he left mrs. jones and dashed to louetta's lovely side, demanding, "thenext is mine." "oh, i'm so hot; i'm not going to dancethis one." "then," boldly, "come out and sit on theporch and get all nice and cool." "well--" in the tender darkness, with the clamor inthe 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 wifecomes 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 wastoo sacred even for the diplomacy of love. "--when i get tired out at the office andeverything, 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 andslipped away.
but after two minutes of shamed andchildish longing to sneak home he was snorting, "certainly i wasn't trying to getchummy with her! knew there was nothing doing, all thetime!" and he ambled in to dance with mrs. orville jones, and to avoid louetta,virtuously and conspicuously. > chapter xxiv ihis visit to paul was as unreal as his night of fog and questioning. unseeing he went through prison corridorsstinking of carbolic acid to a room lined
with pale yellow settees pierced inrosettes, 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 theguard's commands; he meekly pushed babbitt's gifts of tobacco and magazinesacross the table to the guard for examination. he had nothing to say but "oh, i'm gettingused 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 homesomething in his own self seemed to have died: a loyal and vigorous faith in thegoodness 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. iiher card read "mrs. daniel judique." babbitt knew of her as the widow of awholesale paper-dealer. she must have been forty or forty-two buthe thought her younger when he saw her in
the office, that afternoon. she had come to inquire about renting anapartment, 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 swissfrock dotted with white, a cool-looking graceful frock.a broad black hat shaded her face. her eyes were lustrous, her soft chin of anagreeable plumpness, and her cheeks an even rose. babbitt wondered afterward if she was madeup, 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 alittle flat, just a bedroom, or perhaps two, and sitting-room and kitchenette andbath, but i want one that really has some charm to it, not these dingy places or these new ones with terrible gaudychandeliers. and i can't pay so dreadfully much.my name's tanis judique." "i think maybe i've got just the thing foryou.
would you like to chase around and look atit now?" "yes. i have a couple of hours." in the new cavendish apartments, babbitthad a flat which he had been holding for sidney finkelstein, but at the thought ofdriving beside this agreeable woman he threw over his friend finkelstein, and with a note of gallantry he proclaimed, "i'lllet you see what i can do!" he dusted the seat of the car for her, andtwice he risked death in showing off his driving. "you do know how to handle a car!" shesaid.
he liked her voice. there was, he thought, music in it and ahint of culture, not a bouncing giggle like louetta swanson's. he boasted, "you know, there's a lot ofthese fellows that are so scared and drive so slow that they get in everybody's way. the safest driver is a fellow that knowshow 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 myhusband passed on--and i used to make believe drive it, but i don't think anywoman ever learns to drive like a man." "well, now, there's some mighty good womandrivers." "oh, of course, these women that try toimitate men, and play golf and everything, and ruin their complexions and spoil theirhands!" "that's so. i never did like these mannish females.""i mean--of course, i admire them, dreadfully, and i feel so weak and uselessbeside 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 handstogether with a kittenish curving of slim white fingers which delighted him, andyearned: "i do love to play--i mean--i like to drumon the piano, but i haven't had any real training. mr. judique used to say i would 've been agood 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 allthis classical stuff." "oh, i do! i just love chopin and all those.""do you, honest? well, of course, i go to lots of thesehighbrow concerts, but i do like a good jazz orchestra, right up on its toes, withthe fellow that plays the bass fiddle spinning it around and beating it up withthe 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 youup on that proposition. i'll be coming up to your flat and makingyou 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 theseyoung fellows, but i'll tell you: i feel it's a man's place to take a full, youmight say, a creative share in the world's work and mold conditions and have somethingto show for his life, don't you think so?" "oh, i do!" "and so i have to sacrifice some of thethings i might like to tackle, though i do, by golly, play about as good a game of golfas the next fellow!" "oh, i'm sure you do....
are you married?""uh--yes.... and, uh, of course official duties i'm thevice-president of the boosters' club, and i'm running one of the committees of thestate association of real estate boards, and that means a lot of work and responsibility--and practically nogratitude for it." "oh, i know!public men never do get proper credit." they looked at each other with a highdegree of mutual respect, and at the cavendish apartments he helped her out in acourtly 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, andhe was stirred but cautious. it was a pretty flat, of white woodwork andsoft blue walls. mrs. judique gushed with pleasure as sheagreed to take it, and as they walked down the hall to the elevator she touched hissleeve, caroling, "oh, i'm so glad i went to you! it's such a privilege to meet a man whoreally understands. oh! the flats some people have showed me!" he had a sharp instinctive belief that hecould put his arm around her, but he
rebuked himself and with excessivepoliteness 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 somewomen.... 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!" iiihe was harassed and puzzled by it, but he found that he was turning toward youth, asyouth. the girl who especially disturbed him--though he had never spoken to her--was the last manicure girl on the right in thepompeian barber shop. she was small, swift, black-haired,smiling. she was nineteen, perhaps, or twenty. she wore thin salmon-colored blouses whichexhibited her shoulders and her black-
ribboned camisoles.he went to the pompeian for his fortnightly hair-trim. as always, he felt disloyal at desertinghis 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 idon'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 idoggone 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 thebasement of the hotel thornleigh, largest and most dynamically modern hotel inzenith. curving marble steps with a rail ofpolished brass led from the hotel-lobby down to the barber shop. the interior was of black and white andcrimson tiles, with a sensational ceiling of burnished gold, and a fountain in whicha massive nymph forever emptied a scarlet cornucopia.
forty barbers and nine manicure girlsworked desperately, and at the door six colored porters lurked to greet thecustomers, to care reverently for their hats and collars, to lead them to a place of waiting where, on a carpet like a tropicisle in the stretch of white stone floor, were a dozen leather chairs and a tableheaped with magazines. babbitt's porter was an obsequious gray-haired negro who did him an honor highly esteemed in the land of zenith--greeted himby name. yet babbitt was unhappy. his bright particular manicure girl wasengaged.
she was doing the nails of an overdressedman and giggling with him. babbitt hated him. he thought of waiting, but to stop thepowerful system of the pompeian was inconceivable, and he was instantly waftedinto a chair. about him was luxury, rich and delicate. one votary was having a violet-ray facialtreatment, the next an oil shampoo. boys wheeled about miraculous electricalmassage-machines. the barbers snatched steaming towels from amachine like a howitzer of polished nickel and disdainfully flung them away after asecond's use.
on the vast marble shelf facing the chairswere hundreds of tonics, amber and ruby and emerald. it was flattering to babbitt to have twopersonal 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 askedhis opinion of the havre de grace races, the baseball season, and mayor prout. the young negro bootblack hummed "the campmeeting blues" and polished in rhythm to his tune, drawing the shiny shoe-rag sotaut 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 yourfavorite tonic, sir? have you time to-day, sir, for a facialmassage? your scalp is a little tight; shall i giveyou a scalp massage?" babbitt's best thrill was in the shampoo. the barber made his hair creamy with thicksoap, then (as babbitt bent over the bowl, muffled in towels) drenched it with hotwater which prickled along his scalp, and at last ran the water ice-cold.
at the shock, the sudden burning cold onhis skull, babbitt's heart thumped, his chest heaved, and his spine was an electricwire. it was a sensation which broke the monotonyof life. he looked grandly about the shop as he satup. the barber obsequiously rubbed his wet hairand bound it in a towel as in a turban, so that babbitt resembled a plump pink califon an ingenious and adjustable throne. the barber begged (in the manner of one whowas a good fellow yet was overwhelmed by the splendors of the calif), "how about alittle 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 manicureafter all," he droned, and excitedly watched her coming, dark-haired, smiling,tender, little. the manicuring would have to be finished ather table, and he would be able to talk to her without the barber listening. he waited contentedly, not trying to peepat her, while she filed his nails and the barber shaved him and smeared on hisburning cheeks all the interesting mixtures
which the pleasant minds of barbers havedevised through the revolving ages. when the barber was done and he satopposite the girl at her table, he admired the marble slab of it, admired the sunkenset bowl with its tiny silver taps, and admired himself for being able to frequentso costly a place. when she withdrew his wet hand from thebowl, it was so sensitive from the warm soapy water that he was abnormally aware ofthe clasp of her firm little paw. he delighted in the pinkness and glossinessof her nails. her hands seemed to him more adorable thanmrs. judique's thin fingers, and more elegant.
he had a certain ecstasy in the pain whenshe gnawed at the cuticle of his nails with a sharp knife. he struggled not to look at the outline ofher young bosom and her shoulders, the more apparent under a film of pink chiffon. he was conscious of her as an exquisitething, and when he tried to impress his personality on her he spoke as awkwardly asa 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 nailsthat are looked after good. i always think that's the best way to spota real gent. there was an auto salesman in hereyesterday 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 ifhe's a tin-horn or a real gent!"' "yes, maybe there's something to that.
course, that is--with a pretty kiddy likeyou, 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 nevertalk 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 himselfthat "there were some roughnecks who would think that just because a girl was amanicure 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 toouncomfortably good. he inquired in a voice quick with sympathy: "i suppose you have a lot of fellows whotry 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 awaywith anything. the things they saaaaaay!
but, believe me, i know how to hop thosebirds! i just give um the north and south and askum, 'say, who do you think you're talking to?' and they fade away like love's youngnightmare and oh, don't you want a box of nail-paste? it will keep the nails as shiny as whenfirst manicured, harmless to apply and lasts for days.""sure, i'll try some. say--say, it's funny; i've been coming hereever 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 folksin 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 tomyself, '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 doloress or something with someclass to it?'" "well, now, i think it's a scrumptiousname. ida!" "i bet i know your name!""well, now, not necessarily. of course--oh, it isn't so specially wellknown." "aren't you mr. sondheim that travels forthe 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 feelingshave been hurt. "oh, sure.i've read your ads. they're swell." "um, well--you might have read about myspeeches." "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 someawfully nice gentlemen and improve her mind with conversation, and you get so you canread a guy's character at the first glance." "look here, ida; please don't think i'mgetting fresh--" he was hotly reflecting that it would be humiliating to be rejectedby this child, and dangerous to be accepted. if he took her to dinner, if he were seenby censorious friends--but he went on ardently: "don't think i'm getting fresh ifi suggest it would be nice for us to go out and have a little dinner together someevening."
"i don't know as i ought to but--mygentleman-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 associationwith an educated and mature person like himself. but, lest some one see them and notunderstand, he would take her to biddlemeier's inn, on the outskirts of thecity.
they would have a pleasant drive, this hotlonely evening, and he might hold her hand- -no, he wouldn't even do that. ida was complaisant; her bare shouldersshowed it only too clearly; but he'd be hanged if he'd make love to her merelybecause she expected it. then his car broke down; something hadhappened 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 stirthe 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 andinterestingly wicked about a taxicab. but when he met her, on a corner two blocksfrom 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 heardthat tale before. all the way out to biddlemeier's inn hetried to talk as an old friend, but he could not pierce the wall of her words.
with interminable indignation she narratedher retorts to "that fresh head-barber" and the drastic things she would do to him ifhe persisted in saying that she was "better at gassing than at hoof-paring." at biddlemeier's inn they were unable toget anything to drink. the head-waiter refused to understand whogeorge f. babbitt was. they sat steaming before a vast mixedgrill, 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 abovetransfigured maples. "let's drive some other place, where we canget 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 mefits." he was trembling. she was everything that was young andexquisite. 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, underthe 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 andtransition; he kissed her and simply she responded to his kiss, they two behind thestolid back of the chauffeur. her hat fell off, and she broke from hisembrace to reach for it.
"oh, let it be!" he implored."huh? my hat? not a chance!" he waited till she had pinned it on, thenhis arm sank about her. she drew away from it, and said withmaternal 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 wasa fool with more vigor, precision, and intelligence than he himself displayed. he reflected that from the standpoint ofthe rev. dr. john jennison drew he was a wicked man, and from the standpoint of missida putiak, an old bore who had to be endured as the penalty attached to eating alarge dinner. "dearie, you aren't going to go and getpeevish, 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 withemployees, and let me tell you it doesn't pay to antagonize--"
at the drab wooden house in which she livedhe 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 helistened to the sparrows, then to remember that everything was wrong; that he wasdetermined to go astray, and not in the least enjoying the process. why, he wondered, should he be inrebellion? "why not be sensible; stop all this idioticrunning around, and enjoy himself with his
family, his business, the fellows at theclub?" what was he getting out of rebellion? misery and shame--the shame of beingtreated 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 regaincontentment 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 ofthat. if in miss mcgoun, louetta swanson, and idahe had failed to find the lady kind and
lovely, it did not prove that she did notexist. he was hunted by the ancient thought thatsomewhere must exist the not impossible she who would understand him, value him, andmake him happy. iimrs. babbitt returned in august. on her previous absences he had missed herreassuring buzz and of her arrival he had made a fete. now, though he dared not hurt her byletting a hint of it appear in his letters, he was sorry that she was coming before hehad found himself, and he was embarrassed by the need of meeting her and lookingjoyful.
he loitered down to the station; he studiedthe summer-resort posters, lest he have to speak to acquaintances and expose hisuneasiness. but he was well trained. when the train clanked in he was out on thecement platform, peering into the chair- cars, and as he saw her in the line ofpassengers 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 herabsurd little nose and lively eyes, that
loved him, believed him great, and as heclasped her, lifted and held her till she squealed, he was for the moment come backto his old steady self. tinka sat beside him in the car, with onehand on the steering-wheel, pretending to help him drive, and he shouted back to hiswife, "i'll bet the kid will be the best chuffer in the family! she holds the wheel like an oldprofessional!" all the while he was dreading the momentwhen he would be alone with his wife and she would patiently expect him to beardent. iii
there was about the house an unofficialtheory that he was to take his vacation alone, to spend a week or ten days incatawba, but he was nagged by the memory that a year ago he had been with paul inmaine. he saw himself returning; finding peacethere, and the presence of paul, in a life primitive and heroic. like a shock came the thought that heactually could go. only, he couldn't, really; he couldn'tleave his business, and "myra would think it sort of funny, his going way off therealone. course he'd decided to do whatever hedarned pleased, from now on, but still--to
go way off to maine!"he went, after lengthy meditations. with his wife, since it was inconceivableto explain that he was going to seek paul's spirit in the wilderness, he frugallyemployed the lie prepared over a year ago and scarcely used at all. he said that he had to see a man in newyork on business. he could not have explained even to himselfwhy he drew from the bank several hundred dollars more than he needed, nor why hekissed tinka so tenderly, and cried, "god bless you, baby!" from the train he waved to her till she wasbut a scarlet spot beside the brown bulkier
presence of mrs. babbitt, at the end of asteel and cement aisle ending in vast barred gates. with melancholy he looked back at the lastsuburb of zenith. all the way north he pictured the maineguides: simple and strong and daring, jolly as they played stud-poker in their unceiledshack, 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 claimwith a man like joe, work hard with his hands, be free and noisy in a flannelshirt, and never come back to this dull
decency! or, like a trapper in a northern canadamovie, plunge through the forest, make camp in the rockies, a grim and wordlesscaveman! why not? he could do it!there'd be enough money at home for the family to live on till verona was marriedand ted self-supporting. old henry t. would look out for them. honestly!why not? really live--
he longed for it, admitted that he longedfor it, then almost believed that he was going lo do it.whenever common sense snorted, "nonsense! folks don't run away from decent familiesand partners; just simply don't do it, that's all!" then babbitt answeredpleadingly, "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 thewharf before the camp-hotel, again spat heroically into the delicate and shiveringwater, while the pines rustled, the
mountains glowed, and a trout leaped andfell in a sliding circle. he hurried to the guides' shack as to hisreal 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 cabinthe guides sat about the greasy table playing stud-poker with greasy cards: halfa 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 ahand, 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 theold home. he played for half an hour before he spokeagain.
his head was reeking with the smoke ofpipes and cheap cigars, and he was weary of pairs and four-flushes, resentful of theway 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 friendshipbabbitt was offering him. babbitt paid up his losses and left theshack rather childishly. joe raised his head from the coils of smokelike a seal rising from surf, grunted,
"i'll come 'round t'morrow," and dived downto his three aces. neither in his voiceless cabin, fragrantwith planks of new-cut pine, nor along the lake, nor in the sunset clouds whichpresently eddied behind the lavender-misted mountains, could babbitt find the spirit ofpaul as a reassuring presence. he was so lonely that after supper hestopped 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 futuretriumphs in the state university and of tinka's remarkable vocabulary till he washomesick for the home he had left forever. through the darkness, through that northernpine-walled silence, he blundered down to
the lake-front and found a canoe. there were no paddles in it but with aboard, 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 cottagesbecame yellow dots, a cluster of glow-worms at the base of sachem mountain. larger and ever more imperturbable was themountain in the star-filtered darkness, and the lake a limitless pavement of blackmarble. he was dwarfed and dumb and a little awed,but that insignificance freed him from the pomposities of being mr. george f. babbittof zenith; saddened and freed his heart.
now he was conscious of the presence ofpaul, fancied him (rescued from prison, from zilla and the brisk exactitudes of thetar-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 tosee any of those damn people again! i was a fool to get sore because joeparadise didn't jump up and hug me. he's one of these woodsmen; too wise to goyelping and talking your arm off like a cityman. but get him back in the mountains, out onthe trail--!
that's real living!" ivjoe reported at babbitt's cabin at nine the next morning.babbitt greeted him as a fellow caveman: "well, joe, how d' you feel about hittingthe 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 carpond--they tell me the shack there isn't being used--and camp out?" "well, all right, mr. babbitt, but it'snearer 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 andget into the woods and really hike." "i think maybe it would be easier to go bywater, 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 oldpack, 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 sixteenyears. 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 wrathbefore joe returned. he pictured him as warming up and tellingthe most entertaining stories. but joe had not yet warmed up when theytook the trail. he persistently kept behind babbitt, andhowever much his shoulders ached from the
pack, however sorely he panted, babbittcould hear his guide panting equally. but the trail was satisfying: a path brownwith pine-needles and rough with roots, among the balsams, the ferns, the suddengroves of white birch. he became credulous again, and rejoiced insweating. when he stopped to rest he chuckled, "guesswe'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 thetrees. i tell you, joe, you don't appreciate howlucky you are to live in woods like this,
instead of a city with trolleys grindingand 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 flowerresentfully "well, some folks call it one thing and some calls it another i alwaysjust call it pink flower." babbitt blessedly ceased thinking astramping turned into blind plodding. he was submerged in weariness. his plump legs seemed to go on bythemselves, without guidance, and he
mechanically wiped away the sweat whichstung 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 hoveredover a hot waste of brush, they reached the cool shore of box car pond. when he lifted the pack from his back hestaggered from the change in balance, and for a moment could not stand erect. he lay beneath an ample-bosomed maple treenear the guest-shack, and joyously felt sleep running through his veins. he awoke toward dusk, to find joeefficiently cooking bacon and eggs and
flapjacks for supper, and his admiration ofthe woodsman returned. he sat on a stump and felt virile. "joe, what would you do if you had a lot ofmoney? would you stick to guiding, or would youtake 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 otherhuman being within ten miles. he was lonelier than he had ever been inhis life. then he was in zenith. he was worrying as to whether miss mcgounwasn't paying too much for carbon paper. he was at once resenting and missing thepersistent teasing at the roughnecks' table. he was wondering what zilla riesling wasdoing now.
he was wondering whether, after thesummer'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 toolate. i don't care! i will!"he thought of ida putiak, of louetta
swanson, of that nice widow--what was hername?--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 fromthinking about folks!" thus it came to him merely to run away wasfolly, because he could never run away from himself.that moment he started for zenith. in his journey there was no appearance offlight, but he was fleeing, and four days afterward he was on the zenith train. he knew that he was slinking back notbecause it was what he longed to do but
because it was all he could do. he scanned again his discovery that hecould never run away from zenith and family and office, because in his own brain hebore the office and the family and every street and disquiet and illusion of zenith. "but i'm going to--oh, i'm going to startsomething!" he vowed, and he tried to make it valiant. chapter xxvi as he walked through the train, looking forfamiliar faces, he saw only one person whom he knew, and that was seneca doane, thelawyer who, after the blessings of being in
babbitt's own class at college and of becoming a corporation-counsel, had turnedcrank, had headed farmer-labor tickets and fraternized with admitted socialists. though he was in rebellion, naturallybabbitt did not care to be seen talking with such a fanatic, but in all thepullmans 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 hewondered 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 goodchance to talk to you, doane. i was, uh--sorry you didn't turn up at thelast 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 meananything in particular, and he smiled. babbitt liked that smile, and hunted forconversation: "saw a bang-up cabaret in new york: the 'good-morning cutie' bunch at thehotel minton." "yes, they're pretty girls.
i danced there one evening.""oh. like dancing?" "naturally. i like dancing and pretty women and goodfood better than anything else in the world.most men do." "but gosh, doane, i thought you fellowswanted 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 thegarment 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 againstme, 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 fightme. i have no doubt you're good for theorganization. i remember--in college you were anunusually liberal, sensitive chap. i can still recall your saying to me thatyou were going to be a lawyer, and take the cases of the poor for nothing, and fightthe rich.
and i remember i said i was going to be oneof 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 andself-conscious; he tried to look like the boy he had been a quarter-century ago, andhe 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 otherfellow a chance, and listening to his ideas.""that's fine." "tell you how i figure it: a littleopposition is good for all of us, so a fellow, especially if he's a business manand 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 businessthink i'm pretty visionary, but i just let 'em think what they want to and go righton--same as you do....
by golly, this is nice to have a chance tosit 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 businessmen and try to make them a little more liberal in their attitude toward poorbeecher ingram." "ingram? but, why, he's this nut preacher that gotkicked out of the congregationalist church,
isn't he, and preaches free love andsedition?" this, doane explained, was indeed thegeneral conception of beecher ingram, but he himself saw beecher ingram as a priestof the brotherhood of man, of which babbitt was notoriously an upholder. so would babbitt keep his acquaintancesfrom hounding ingram and his forlorn little church?"you bet! i'll call down any of the boys i heargetting funny about ingram," babbitt said affectionately to his dear friend doane.doane warmed up and became reminiscent. he spoke of student days in germany, oflobbying for single tax in washington, of
international labor conferences.he mentioned his friends, lord wycombe, colonel wedgwood, professor piccoli. babbitt had always supposed that doaneassociated only with the i. w. w., but now he nodded gravely, as one who knew lordwycombes by the score, and he got in two references to sir gerald doak. he felt daring and idealistic andcosmopolitan. suddenly, in his new spiritual grandeur, hewas sorry for zilla riesling, and understood her as these ordinary fellows atthe boosters' club never could. iifive hours after he had arrived in zenith
and told his wife how hot it was in newyork, 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 friendseneca doane. he had not seen zilla since paul had shother, and he still pictured her as buxom, high-colored, lively, and a little blowsy. as he drove up to her boarding-house, in adepressing 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 yellowedwad of old paper crumpled into wrinkles. where zilla had bounced and jiggled, thiswoman was dreadfully still. he waited half an hour before she came intothe boarding-house parlor. fifty times he opened the book ofphotographs of the chicago world's fair of 1893, fifty times he looked at the pictureof the court of honor. he was startled to find zilla in the room. she wore a black streaky gown which she hadtried to brighten with a girdle of crimson ribbon.the ribbon had been torn and patiently mended.
he noted this carefully, because he did notwish to look at her shoulders. one shoulder was lower than the other; onearm she carried in contorted fashion, as though it were paralyzed; and behind a highcollar of cheap lace there was a gouge in the anemic neck which had once been shiningand softly plump. "yes?" she said."well, well, old zilla! by golly, it's good to see you again!" "he can send his messages through alawyer." "why, rats, zilla, i didn't come justbecause 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 friendof 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 sortof start over again. honest, zilla, i'd like to do something tomake you both happy. know what i thought to-day? mind you, paul doesn't know a thing aboutthis--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 weregenerous." "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 wishedfor worldly pleasures, for dancing and the theater. but when i was in the hospital the pastorof the pentecostal communion faith used to come to see me, and he showed me, rightfrom the prophecies written in the word of god, that the day of judgment is coming and all the members of the older churches aregoing straight to eternal damnation, because they only do lip-service andswallow 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 deadvoice recaptured something of the shrill energy of the old zilla. she wound up with a furious: "it's the blessing of god himself that paulshould be in prison now, and torn and humbled by punishment, so that he may yetsave his soul, and so other wicked men, these horrible chasers after women andlust, may have an example." babbitt had itched and twisted. as in church he dared not move during thesermon so now he felt that he must seem attentive, though her screechingdenunciations flew past him like carrion
birds. he sought to be calm and brotherly:"yes, i know, zilla. but gosh, it certainly is the essence ofreligion to be charitable, isn't it? let me tell you how i figure it: what weneed 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 asbroad-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 thefaith!" "i'll bet you do!with paul's money! but just to show you how liberal i am, i'mgoing to send a check for ten bucks to this beecher ingram, because a lot of fellowsare saying the poor cuss preaches sedition and free love, and they're trying to runhim out of town." "and they're right!they ought to run him out of town!
why, he preaches--if you can call itpreaching--in a theater, in the house of satan! you don't know what it is to find god, tofind peace, to behold the snares that the devil spreads out for our feet. oh, i'm so glad to see the mysteriouspurposes 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 mebefore you go to war, will you?"
iiivast is the power of cities to reclaim the wanderer. more than mountains or the shore-devouringsea, a city retains its character, imperturbable, cynical, holding behindapparent changes its essential purpose. though babbitt had deserted his family anddwelt with joe paradise in the wilderness, though he had become a liberal, though hehad been quite sure, on the night before he reached zenith, that neither he nor the city would be the same again, ten daysafter his return he could not believe that he had ever been away.
nor was it at all evident to hisacquaintances that there was a new george f. babbitt, save that he was more irritableunder the incessant chaffing at the athletic club, and once, when vergil gunch observed that seneca doane ought to behanged, babbitt snorted, "oh, rats, he's not so bad." at home he grunted "eh?" across thenewspaper 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 apure-food crusade against commission- houses. as a result he had been given an excellentjob 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 talkingabout. this september ted had entered the stateuniversity as a freshman in the college of arts and sciences.
the university was at mohalis only fifteenmiles from zenith, and ted often came down for the week-end.babbitt was worried. ted was "going in for" everything butbooks. he had tried to "make" the football team asa light half-back, he was looking forward to the basket-ball season, he was on thecommittee 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 learnnothing save a mumbled, "oh, gosh, these old stiffs of teachers just give you a lotof junk about literature and economics." one week-end ted proposed, "say, dad, whycan't i transfer over from the college to
the school of engineering and takemechanical engineering? you always holler that i never study, buthonest, i would study there." "no, the engineering school hasn't got thestanding the college has," fretted babbitt. "i'd like to know how it hasn't! the engineers can play on any of theteams!" 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 trulyoratorical account of the lawyer's life. before he was through with it, babbitt hadted a united states senator. among the great lawyers whom he mentionedwas seneca doane.
"but, gee whiz," ted marveled, "i thoughtyou 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 aimsof labor, a lot of chumps that lack liberality and broad-mindedness think he'sa 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 englishnobleman that's so well known.
and you now, which would you rather do: bein with a lot of greasy mechanics and laboring-men, or chum up to a real fellowlike 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 miningengineering instead of the academic course? you talk about standing--maybe there isn'tmuch in mechanical engineering, but the miners, gee, they got seven out of elevenin the new elections to nu tau tau!" chapter xxvii the strike which turned zenith into twobelligerent camps; white and red, began
late in september with a walk-out oftelephone girls and linemen, in protest against a reduction of wages. the newly formed union of dairy-productsworkers went out, partly in sympathy and partly in demand for a forty-four hourweek. they were followed by the truck-drivers'union. industry was tied up, and the whole citywas nervous with talk of a trolley strike, a printers' strike, a general strike. furious citizens, trying to get telephonecalls through strike-breaking girls, danced helplessly.
every truck that made its way from thefactories to the freight-stations was guarded by a policeman, trying to lookstoical beside the scab driver. a line of fifty trucks from the zenithsteel 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, andsmall 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 coatand stalked through crowds, a .44 automatic
in hand. even babbitt's friend, clarence drum theshoe merchant--a round and merry man who told stories at the athletic club, and whostrangely resembled a victorian pug-dog-- was to be seen as a waddling but ferocious captain, with his belt tight about hiscomfortable little belly, and his round little mouth petulant as he piped tochattering 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 eachwas 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 tinsoldier!" and striking truck-drivers inquired tenderly, "say, joe, when i wasfighting in france, was you in camp in the states or was you doing swede exercises inthe y. m. c. a.? be careful of that bayonet, now, or you'llcut yourself!" there was no one in zenith who talked ofanything but the strike, and no one who did not take sides.
you were either a courageous friend oflabor, or you were a fearless supporter of the rights of property; and in either caseyou were belligerent, and ready to disown any friend who did not hate the enemy. a condensed-milk plant was set afire--eachside 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 aboutthese agitators, but when he read a broadside alleging that even on their former wages the telephone girls had beenhungry, he was troubled. "all lies and fake figures," he said, butin a doubtful croak. for the sunday after, the chatham roadpresbyterian church announced a sermon by dr. john jennison drew on "how the saviourwould end strikes." babbitt had been negligent about church-going lately, but he went to the service, hopeful that dr. drew really did have theinformation 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 preacherbutting 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 floppingwith the intensity of his poetic and
sociologic ardor, trumpeted: "during the untoward series of industrialdislocations which have--let us be courageous and admit it boldly--throttledthe business life of our fair city these past days, there has been a great deal of loose talk about scientific prevention ofscientific--scientific! now, let me tell you that the mostunscientific thing in the world is science! take the attacks on the establishedfundamentals of the christian creed which were so popular with the 'scientists' ageneration ago. oh, yes, they were mighty fellows, andgreat poo-bahs of criticism!
they were going to destroy the church; theywere going to prove the world was created and has been brought to its extraordinarylevel of morality and civilization by blind chance. yet the church stands just as firmly to-dayas ever, and the only answer a christian pastor needs make to the long-hairedopponents of his simple faith is just a pitying smile! "and now these same 'scientists' want toreplace the natural condition of free competition by crazy systems which, nomatter by what high-sounding names they are called, are nothing but a despoticpaternalism.
naturally, i'm not criticizing laborcourts, injunctions against men proven to be striking unjustly, or those excellentunions in which the men and the boss get together. but i certainly am criticizing the systemsin which the free and fluid motivation of independent labor is to be replaced bycooked-up wage-scales and minimum salaries and government commissions and laborfederations and all that poppycock. "what is not generally understood is thatthis 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 ofworkmen 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, lovingbrothers, 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 allthe service kept glancing at him doubtfully, till babbitt was nervous. iithe strikers had announced a parade for tuesday morning, but colonel nixon hadforbidden it, the newspapers said. when babbitt drove west from his office atten that morning he saw a drove of shabby men heading toward the tangled, dirtydistrict 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 ariot. he drove toward the starting-point of theparade, a triangle of limp and faded grass known as moore street park, and halted hiscar. the park and streets were buzzing withstrikers, 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' monotonousorders: "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 answeredonly, "sure, that's right. keep moving, billy!" babbitt thrilled over the citizen-soldiers,hated the scoundrels who were obstructing the pleasant ways of prosperity, admiredcolonel 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 thepark. many of them bore posters with "they can'tstop our peacefully walking."
the militiamen tore away the posters, butthe strikers fell in behind their leaders and straggled off, a thin unimpressivetrickle between steel-glinting lines of soldiers. babbitt saw with disappointment that therewasn't going to be any violence, nothing interesting at all.then he gasped. among the marchers, beside a bulky youngworkman, 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 swelllike 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 clarencedrum 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 silentduring lunch, while the others fretted, "i don't know what the world's coming to," orsolaced their spirits with "kidding." captain clarence drum came swinging by,splendid in khaki. "how's it going, captain?" inquired vergilgunch. "oh, we got 'em stopped.
we worked 'em off on side streets andseparated '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 thewhole 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 ingod's world but a lot of bomb-throwing socialists and thugs, and the only way tohandle 'em is with a club!
that's what i'd do; beat up the whole lotof 'em!" babbitt heard himself saying, "oh, rats,clarence, they look just about like you and me, and i certainly didn't notice anybombs." drum complained, "oh, you didn't, eh? well, maybe you'd like to take charge ofthe strike! just tell colonel nixon what innocents thestrikers are! he'd be glad to hear about it!" drum strode on, while all the table staredat babbitt. "what's the idea?
do you want us to give those hell-houndslove and kisses, or what?" said orville jones. "do you defend a lot of hoodlums that aretrying to take the bread and butter away from our families?" raged professorpumphrey. vergil gunch intimidatingly said nothing. he put on sternness like a mask; his jawwas hard, his bristly short hair seemed cruel, his silence was a ferocious thunder. while the others assured babbitt that theymust 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 oftoughs. but i just mean--strikes me it's bad policyto 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 hotand 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. iiias he was leaving the club babbitt heard chum frink protesting to gunch, "--don'tknow what's got into him. last sunday doc drew preached a corkingsermon about decency in business and babbitt kicked about that, too.near 's i can figure out--" babbitt was vaguely frightened. ivhe 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 thespeaker must be the notorious freelance preacher, beecher ingram, of whom senecadoane had spoken. ingram was a gaunt man with flamboyanthair, 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 bighulking men ought to be able--" babbitt saw that from the sidewalk vergilgunch was watching him. in vague disquiet he started the car andmechanically drove on, while gunch's hostile eyes seemed to follow him all theway.
v"there's a lot of these fellows," babbitt was complaining to his wife, "that think ifworkmen go on strike they're a regular bunch of fiends. now, of course, it's a fight between soundbusiness and the destructive element, and we got to lick the stuffin's out of 'emwhen they challenge us, but doggoned if i see why we can't fight like gentlemen and not go calling 'em dirty dogs and sayingthey ought to be shot down." "why, george," she said placidly, "ithought 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 saidthese so-called 'liberal' people were the worst of--""rats! woman never can understand the differentdefinitions 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 notsuch bad people.
just foolish. they don't understand the complications ofmerchandizing and profit, the way we business men do, but sometimes i thinkthey're about like the rest of us, and no more hogs for wages than we are forprofits." "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'tmean a word you say--but if people that didn't understand you were to hear you talking, they'd think you were a regularsocialist!"
"what do i care what anybody thinks? and let me tell you right now--i want youto distinctly understand i never was a wild crazy kid, and when i say a thing, i meanit, and i stand by it and--honest, do you think people would think i was too liberalif 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, "shedoesn't understand me. hardly understand myself.
why can't i take things easy, way i usedto? "wish i could go out to senny doane's houseand talk things over with him. no! suppose verg gunch saw me going inthere! "wish i knew some really smart woman, andnice, that would see what i'm trying to get at, and let me talk to her and--i wonder ifmyra's right? could the fellows think i've gone nuttyjust because i'm broad-minded and liberal? way verg looked at me--" chapter xxviii miss mcgoun came into his private office atthree 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 andpleasant. 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 niceflat."
"sure! bet i remember!what can i do for you?" "why, it's just a little--i don't know thati 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, andwith these autumn rains the roof is beginning to leak, and i'd be awfully gladif--" 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'sgot refinement, savvy, class! 'after all your trouble--give you a cup oftea.' 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 except that vergil gunch seemed lesscordial, 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 hewasn'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 fromseven thousand to eighty-five hundred-- would miss mcgoun be sure and put it downon the card--mrs. scott's house--raise. when he had thus established himself as aperson unemotional and interested only in business, he sauntered out.
he took a particularly long time to starthis car; he kicked the tires, dusted the glass of the speedometer, and tightened thescrews holding the wind-shield spot-light. he drove happily off toward the bellevuedistrict, conscious of the presence of mrs. judique as of a brilliant light on thehorizon. the maple leaves had fallen and they linedthe 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 thatpeople like mrs. judique could give a
place," he ruminated, as he rattled throughthe long, crude, airy streets. the wind rose, enlivening, keen, and in ablaze of well-being he came to the flat of tanis judique. she was wearing, when she flutteringlyadmitted him, a frock of black chiffon cut modestly round at the base of her prettythroat. she seemed to him immensely sophisticated. he glanced at the cretonnes and coloredprints 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 meanit seriously!" "perhaps not.but you might have tried!" "well, here i've come for my lesson, andyou 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 thatleak."
she climbed with him to the flat roof ofthe apartment-house a detached world of slatted wooden walks, clotheslines, water-tank in a penthouse. he poked at things with his toe, and soughtto impress her by being learned about copper gutters, the desirability of passingplumbing pipes through a lead collar and sleeve and flashing them with copper, and the advantages of cedar over boiler-ironfor roof-tanks. "you have to know so much, in real estate!"she admired. he promised that the roof should berepaired within two days. "do you mind my 'phoning from yourapartment?" he asked.
"heavens, no!" he stood a moment at the coping, lookingover a land of hard little bungalows with abnormally large porches, and newapartment-houses, small, but brave with variegated brick walls and terra-cottatrimmings. beyond them was a hill with a gouge ofyellow clay like a vast wound. behind every apartment-house, beside eachdwelling, were small garages. it was a world of good little people,comfortable, industrious, credulous. in the autumnal light the flat newness wasmellowed, and the air was a sun-tinted pool."golly, it's one fine afternoon.
you get a great view here, right uptanner'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 thataccount! oh, that was naughty of me!i was just teasing. seriously though, there are so few whorespond--who react to views. i mean--they haven't any feeling of poetryand beauty." "that's a fact, they haven't," he breathed,admiring her slenderness and the absorbed, airy way in which she looked toward thehill, chin lifted, lips smiling. "well, guess i'd better telephone theplumbers, so they'll get on the job first
thing in the morning." when he had telephoned, making itconspicuously 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 greenrep chair, his legs thrust out before him, to glance at the black chinese telephonestand 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 contentmentso deep that he was wistfully discontented, he saw magnolias by moonlight and heardplantation darkies crooning to the banjo. he wanted to be near her, on pretense ofhelping her, yet he wanted to remain in this still ecstasy.languidly he remained. when she bustled in with the tea he smiledup at her. "this is awfully nice!" for the first time, he was not fencing; hewas quietly and securely friendly; and friendly and quiet was her answer: "it'snice to have you here. you were so kind, helping me to find thislittle home."
they agreed that the weather would soonturn cold. they agreed that prohibition wasprohibitive. they agreed that art in the home wascultural. they agreed about everything. they even became bold.they hinted that these modern young girls, well, honestly, their short skirts wereshort. they were proud to find that they were notshocked 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 pretendthey're bad by the way they dress really
never go any farther. they give away the fact that they haven'tthe instincts of a womanly woman." remembering ida putiak, the manicure girl,and how ill she had used him, babbitt agreed with enthusiasm; remembering how illall the world had used him, he told of paul riesling, of zilla, of seneca doane, of thestrike: "see how it was? course i was as anxious to have thosebeggars licked to a standstill as anybody else, but gosh, no reason for not seeingtheir side. for a fellow's own sake, he's got to bebroad-minded and liberal, don't you think
so?""oh, i do!" sitting on the hard little couch, sheclasped her hands beside her, leaned toward him, absorbed him; and in a glorious stateof being appreciated he proclaimed: "so i up and said to the fellows at theclub, 'look here,' i--" "do you belong to the union club?i think it's--" "no; the athletic. tell you: course they're always asking meto join the union, but i always say, 'no, sir!nothing doing!' i don't mind the expense but i can't standall 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 mytroubles! you wouldn't hardly think i was an oldduffer; 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-agedsometimes; all these responsibilities and all.""oh, i know!"
her voice caressed him; it cloaked him likewarm 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 theclub." "well, it was like this: course senecadoane is a friend of mine--they can say what they want to, they can call himanything they please, but what most folks here don't know is that senny is the bosom
pal of some of the biggest statesmen in theworld--lord wycombe, frinstance--you know, this big british nobleman. my friend sir gerald doak told me that lordwycombe 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 wegot 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: yousee i happen to know what a big noise senny doane is outside of zenith, but of course aprophet hasn't got any honor in his own country, and senny, darn his old hide, he's so blame modest that he never lets folksknow the kind of an outfit he travels with when he goes abroad. well, during the strike clarence drum comespee-rading up to our table, all dolled up fit to kill in his nice lil cap'n'suniform, and somebody says to him, 'busting the strike, clarence?'
"well, he swells up like a pouter-pigeonand he hollers, so 's you could hear him way up in the reading-room, 'yes, sure; itold the strike-leaders where they got off, and so they went home.' "'well,' i says to him, 'glad there wasn'tany violence.' "'yes,' he says, 'but if i hadn't kept myeye skinned there would 've been. all those fellows had bombs in theirpockets. 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, butthey're a good deal like you and me, after all.' "and then vergil gunch or somebody--no, itwas chum frink--you know, this famous poet- -great pal of mine--he says to me, 'lookhere,' he says, 'do you mean to say you advocate these strikes?' well, i was so disgusted with a fellowwhose mind worked that way that i swear, i had a good mind to not explain at all--justignore him--" "oh, that's so wise!" said mrs. judique. "--but finally i explains to him: 'if you'ddone as much as i have on chamber of
commerce committees and all,' i says, 'thenyou'd have the right to talk! but same time,' i says, 'i believe intreating 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 hisconvictions!" "but do you think it was a good stunt?
after all, some of these fellows are sodarn cautious and narrow-minded that they're prejudiced against a fellow thattalks right out in meeting." "what do you care? in the long run they're bound to respect aman 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 iknow! but seriously, you don't realize what afamous man you are." "well--though i haven't done much oratingthis fall.
too kind of bothered by this paul rieslingbusiness, i guess. but--do you know, you're the first personthat'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 twopeople have so much--what shall i call it?- -so much analysis that they can discard allthese stupid conventions and understand each other and become acquainted rightaway, like ships that pass in the night?" "i certainly do!i certainly do!"
he was no longer quiescent in his chair; hewandered about the room, he dropped on the couch beside her. but as he awkwardly stretched his handtoward 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 ponderedflappers smoking in zenith restaurants, but he knew only one woman who smoked--mrs. samdoppelbrau, 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 niceand--so nice and like a man. you'll find an ash-tray in my bedroom, onthe table beside the bed, if you don't mind getting it." he was embarrassed by her bedroom: thebroad couch with a cover of violet silk, mauve curtains striped with gold. chinese chippendale bureau, and an amazingrow of slippers, with ribbon-wound shoe-
trees, and primrose stockings lying acrossthem. his manner of bringing the ash-tray hadjust the right note of easy friendliness, he felt. "a boob like verg gunch would try to getfunny 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 ashtray she said, "don'tyou want to give me another cigarette?" and hopelessly he saw the screen of pale smoke and her graceful tilted hand again betweenthem. he was not merely curious now to find outwhether 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 thisfretful drama. they were talking cheerfully of motors, oftrips to california, of chum frink. once he said delicately, "i do hate theseguys--i hate these people that invite
themselves to meals, but i seem to have afeeling i'm going to have supper with the lovely mrs. tanis judique to-night. but i suppose you probably have seven datesalready." "well, i was thinking some of going to themovies. yes, i really think i ought to get out andget some fresh air." she did not encourage him to stay, butnever did she discourage him. he considered, "i better take a sneak! she will let me stay--there is somethingdoing--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 cigaretteaway, brusquely taking her hand: "tanis!stop teasing me! you know we--here we are, a couple oflonely birds, and we're awful happy together.anyway i am! never been so happy! do let me stay! ill gallop down to the delicatessen and buysome stuff--cold chicken maybe--or cold turkey--and we can have a nice littlesupper, and afterwards, if you want to chase me out, i'll be good and go like alamb."
"well--yes--it would be nice," she said.nor did she withdraw her hand. he squeezed it, trembling, and blunderedtoward his coat. at the delicatessen he bought preposterousstores of food, chosen on the principle of expensiveness. from the drug store across the street hetelephoned to his wife, "got to get a fellow to sign a lease before he leavestown 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; hewashed the lettuce, he opened the olive bottle. she ordered him to set the table, and as hetrotted into the living-room, as he hunted through the buffet for knives and forks, hefelt 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 onyour 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 thisold chiffon rag, and if you can't stand poor tanis that way, you can go to the clubfor 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 theduke 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 hethrust his head out of the window and
reported, "it's turned awful chilly, and ithink 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 thrashinglike 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, andpropped 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 eachother. as they fell silent the room was stillerthan a country lane. there was no sound from the street save thewhir 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 allfear and doubting were smoothed away; and
when he reached home, at dawn, the rapturehad mellowed to contentment serene and full of memories.

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