CHAPTER XIX

by Sinclair Lewis

　　CHAPTER XIXITHE Zenith Street Traction Company planned to build car-repair shops inthe suburb of Dorchester, but when they came to buy the land theyfound it held, on options, by the Babbitt-Thompson Realty Company. Thepurchasing-agent, the first vice-president, and even the president ofthe Traction Company protested against the Babbitt price. They mentionedtheir duty toward stockholders, they threatened an appeal to the courts,though somehow the appeal to the courts was never carried out and theofficials found it wiser to compromise with Babbitt. Carbon copies ofthe correspondence are in the company's files, where they may be viewedby any public commission.Just after this Babbitt deposited three thousand dollars in the bank,the purchasing-agent of the Street Traction Company bought a fivethousand dollar car, he first vice-president built a home in DevonWoods, and the president was appointed minister to a foreign country.To obtain the options, to tie up one man's land without letting hisneighbor know, had been an unusual strain on Babbitt. It was necessaryto introduce rumors about planning garages and stores, to pretendthat he wasn't taking any more options, to wait and look as bored as apoker-player at a time when the failure to secure a key-lot threatenedhis whole plan. To all this was added a nerve-jabbing quarrel with hissecret associates in the deal. They did not wish Babbitt and Thompsonto have any share in the deal except as brokers. Babbitt ratheragreed. "Ethics of the business-broker ought to strictly represent hisprinciples and not get in on the buying," he said to Thompson."Ethics, rats! Think I'm going to see that bunch of holy grafters getaway with the swag and us not climb in?" snorted old Henry."Well, I don't like to do it. Kind of double-crossing.""It ain't. It's triple-crossing. It's the public that getsdouble-crossed. Well, now we've been ethical and got it out of oursystems, the question is where we can raise a loan to handle some ofthe property for ourselves, on the Q. T. We can't go to our bank for it.Might come out.""I could see old Eathorne. He's close as the tomb.""That's the stuff."Eathorne was glad, he said, to "invest in character," to make Babbittthe loan and see to it that the loan did not appear on the books of thebank. Thus certain of the options which Babbitt and Thompson obtainedwere on parcels of real estate which they themselves owned, though theproperty did not appear in their names.In the midst of closing this splendid deal, which stimulated businessand public confidence by giving an example of increased real-estateactivity, Babbitt was overwhelmed to find that he had a dishonest personworking for him.The dishonest one was Stanley Graff, the outside salesman.For some time Babbitt had been worried about Graff. He did not keep hisword to tenants. In order to rent a house he would promise repairswhich the owner had not authorized. It was suspected that he juggledinventories of furnished houses so that when the tenant left he hadto pay for articles which had never been in the house and the priceof which Graff put into his pocket. Babbitt had not been able to provethese suspicions, and though he had rather planned to discharge Graff hehad never quite found time for it.Now into Babbitt's private room charged a red-faced man, panting, "Lookhere! I've come to raise particular merry hell, and unless you have thatfellow pinched, I will!" "What's--Calm down, o' man. What's trouble?""Trouble! Huh! Here's the trouble--""Sit down and take it easy! They can hear you all over the building!""This fellow Graff you got working for you, he leases me a house. Iwas in yesterday and signs the lease, all O.K., and he was to get theowner's signature and mail me the lease last night. Well, and he did.This morning I comes down to breakfast and the girl says a fellow hadcome to the house right after the early delivery and told her he wantedan envelope that had been mailed by mistake, big long envelope with'Babbitt-Thompson' in the corner of it. Sure enough, there it was, soshe lets him have it. And she describes the fellow to me, and it wasthis Graff. So I 'phones to him and he, the poor fool, he admits it! Hesays after my lease was all signed he got a better offer from anotherfellow and he wanted my lease back. Now what you going to do about it?""Your name is--?""William Varney--W. K. Varney.""Oh, yes. That was the Garrison house." Babbitt sounded the buzzer. WhenMiss McGoun came in, he demanded, "Graff gone out?""Yes, sir.""Will you look through his desk and see if there is a lease made out toMr. Varney on the Garrison house?" To Varney: "Can't tell you how sorryI am this happened. Needless to say, I'll fire Graff the minute he comesin. And of course your lease stands. But there's one other thing I'dlike to do. I'll tell the owner not to pay us the commission but applyit to your rent. No! Straight! I want to. To be frank, this thing shakesme up bad. I suppose I've always been a Practical Business Man. ProbablyI've told one or two fairy stories in my time, when the occasion calledfor it--you know: sometimes you have to lay things on thick, to impressboneheads. But this is the first time I've ever had to accuse one ofmy own employees of anything more dishonest than pinching a few stamps.Honest, it would hurt me if we profited by it. So you'll let me hand youthe commission? Good!"IIHe walked through the February city, where trucks flung up a spatteringof slush and the sky was dark above dark brick cornices. He came backmiserable. He, who respected the law, had broken it by concealing theFederal crime of interception of the mails. But he could not see Graffgo to jail and his wife suffer. Worse, he had to discharge Graff andthis was a part of office routine which he feared. He liked peopleso much, he so much wanted them to like him that he could not bearinsulting them.Miss McGoun dashed in to whisper, with the excitement of an approachingscene, "He's here!""Mr. Graff? Ask him to come in."He tried to make himself heavy and calm in his chair, and to keep hiseyes expressionless. Graff stalked in--a man of thirty-five, dapper,eye-glassed, with a foppish mustache."Want me?" said Graff."Yes. Sit down."Graff continued to stand, grunting, "I suppose that old nut Varney hasbeen in to see you. Let me explain about him. He's a regular tightwad,and he sticks out for every cent, and he practically lied to me abouthis ability to pay the rent--I found that out just after we signed up.And then another fellow comes along with a better offer for the house,and I felt it was my duty to the firm to get rid of Varney, and I wasso worried about it I skun up there and got back the lease. Honest, Mr.Babbitt, I didn't intend to pull anything crooked. I just wanted thefirm to have all the commis--""Wait now, Stan. This may all be true, but I've been having a lot ofcomplaints about you. Now I don't s'pose you ever mean to do wrong,and I think if you just get a good lesson that'll jog you up a little,you'll turn out a first-class realtor yet. But I don't see how I cankeep you on."Graff leaned against the filing-cabinet, his hands in his pockets, andlaughed. "So I'm fired! Well, old Vision and Ethics, I'm tickledto death! But I don't want you to think you can get away with anyholier-than-thou stuff. Sure I've pulled some raw stuff--a little ofit--but how could I help it, in this office?""Now, by God, young man--""Tut, tut! Keep the naughty temper down, and don't holler, becauseeverybody in the outside office will hear you. They're probablylistening right now. Babbitt, old dear, you're crooked in the firstplace and a damn skinflint in the second. If you paid me a decent salaryI wouldn't have to steal pennies off a blind man to keep my wife fromstarving. Us married just five months, and her the nicest girl living,and you keeping us flat broke all the time, you damned old thief, so youcan put money away for your saphead of a son and your wishywashy foolof a daughter! Wait, now! You'll by God take it, or I'll bellow so thewhole office will hear it! And crooked--Say, if I told the prosecutingattorney what I know about this last Street Traction option steal, bothyou and me would go to jail, along with some nice, clean, pious, high-uptraction guns!""Well, Stan, looks like we were coming down to cases. That deal--Therewas nothing crooked about it. The only way you can get progress is forthe broad-gauged men to get things done; and they got to be rewarded--""Oh, for Pete's sake, don't get virtuous on me! As I gather it, I'mfired. All right. It's a good thing for me. And if I catch you knockingme to any other firm, I'll squeal all I know about you and Henry T. andthe dirty little lickspittle deals that you corporals of industry pulloff for the bigger and brainier crooks, and you'll get chased out oftown. And me--you're right, Babbitt, I've been going crooked, but nowI'm going straight, and the first step will be to get a job in someoffice where the boss doesn't talk about Ideals. Bad luck, old dear, andyou can stick your job up the sewer!"Babbitt sat for a long time, alternately raging, "I'll have himarrested," and yearning "I wonder--No, I've never done anything thatwasn't necessary to keep the Wheels of Progress moving."Next day he hired in Graff's place Fritz Weilinger, the salesman of hismost injurious rival, the East Side Homes and Development Company, andthus at once annoyed his competitor and acquired an excellent man.Young Fritz was a curly-headed, merry, tennis-playing youngster. He madecustomers welcome to the office. Babbitt thought of him as a son, and inhim had much comfort.IIIAn abandoned race-track on the outskirts of Chicago, a plot excellentfor factory sites, was to be sold, and Jake Offut asked Babbitt tobid on it for him. The strain of the Street Traction deal and hisdisappointment in Stanley Graff had so shaken Babbitt that he foundit hard to sit at his desk and concentrate. He proposed to his family,"Look here, folks! Do you know who's going to trot up to Chicago for acouple of days--just week-end; won't lose but one day of school--knowwho's going with that celebrated business-ambassador, George F. Babbitt?Why, Mr. Theodore Roosevelt Babbitt!""Hurray!" Ted shouted, and "Oh, maybe the Babbitt men won't paint thatlil ole town red!"And, once away from the familiar implications of home, they were two mentogether. Ted was young only in his assumption of oldness, and the onlyrealms, apparently, in which Babbitt had a larger and more grown-upknowledge than Ted's were the details of real estate and the phrases ofpolitics. When the other sages of the Pullman smoking-compartment hadleft them to themselves, Babbitt's voice did not drop into the playfuland otherwise offensive tone in which one addresses children butcontinued its overwhelming and monotonous rumble, and Ted tried toimitate it in his strident tenor:"Gee, dad, you certainly did show up that poor boot when he got flipabout the League of Nations!""Well, the trouble with a lot of these fellows is, they simply don'tknow what they're talking about. They don't get down to facts.... Whatdo you think of Ken Escott?""I'll tell you, dad: it strikes me Ken is a nice lad; no special faultsexcept he smokes too much; but slow, Lord! Why, if we don't give hima shove the poor dumb-bell never will propose! And Rone just as bad.Slow.""Yes, I guess you're right. They're slow. They haven't either one of 'emgot our pep.""That's right. They're slow. I swear, dad, I don't know how Rone gotinto our family! I'll bet, if the truth were known, you were a bad oldegg when you were a kid!""Well, I wasn't so slow!""I'll bet you weren't! I'll bet you didn't miss many tricks!""Well, when I was out with the girls I didn't spend all the time telling'em about the strike in the knitting industry!"They roared together, and together lighted cigars."What are we going to do with 'em?" Babbitt consulted."Gosh, I don't know. I swear, sometimes I feel like taking Ken aside andputting him over the jumps and saying to him, 'Young fella me lad, areyou going to marry young Rone, or are you going to talk her to death?Here you are getting on toward thirty, and you're only making twenty ortwenty-five a week. When you going to develop a sense of responsibilityand get a raise? If there's anything that George F. or I can do to helpyou, call on us, but show a little speed, anyway!'""Well, at that, it might not be so bad if you or I talked to him, excepthe might not understand. He's one of these high brows. He can't comedown to cases and lay his cards on the table and talk straight out fromthe shoulder, like you or I can.""That's right, he's like all these highbrows.""That's so, like all of 'em.""That's a fact."They sighed, and were silent and thoughtful and happy.The conductor came in. He had once called at Babbitt's office, to askabout houses. "H' are you, Mr. Babbitt! We going to have you with us toChicago? This your boy?""Yes, this is my son Ted.""Well now, what do you know about that! Here I been thinking you werea youngster yourself, not a day over forty, hardly, and you with thisgreat big fellow!""Forty? Why, brother, I'll never see forty-five again!""Is that a fact! Wouldn't hardly 'a' thought it!""Yes, sir, it's a bad give-away for the old man when he has to travelwith a young whale like Ted here!""You're right, it is." To Ted: "I suppose you're in college now?"Proudly, "No, not till next fall. I'm just kind of giving the diff'rentcolleges the once-over now."As the conductor went on his affable way, huge watch-chain jinglingagainst his blue chest, Babbitt and Ted gravely considered colleges.They arrived at Chicago late at night; they lay abed in the morning,rejoicing, "Pretty nice not to have to get up and get down to breakfast,heh?" They were staying at the modest Eden Hotel, because Zenithbusiness men always stayed at the Eden, but they had dinner in thebrocade and crystal Versailles Room of the Regency Hotel. Babbittordered Blue Point oysters with cocktail sauce, a tremendous steak witha tremendous platter of French fried potatoes, two pots of coffee, applepie with ice cream for both of them and, for Ted, an extra piece ofmince pie."Hot stuff! Some feed, young fella!" Ted admired."Huh! You stick around with me, old man, and I'll show you a good time!"They went to a musical comedy and nudged each other at the matrimonialjokes and the prohibition jokes; they paraded the lobby, arm in arm,between acts, and in the glee of his first release from the shame whichdissevers fathers and sons Ted chuckled, "Dad, did you ever hear the oneabout the three milliners and the judge?"When Ted had returned to Zenith, Babbitt was lonely. As he was tryingto make alliance between Offutt and certain Milwaukee interests whichwanted the race-track plot, most of his time was taken up in waiting fortelephone calls.... Sitting on the edge of his bed, holding the portabletelephone, asking wearily, "Mr. Sagen not in yet? Didn' he leave anymessage for me? All right, I'll hold the wire." Staring at a stain onthe wall, reflecting that it resembled a shoe, and being bored by thistwentieth discovery that it resembled a shoe. Lighting a cigarette;then, bound to the telephone with no ashtray in reach, wondering whatto do with this burning menace and anxiously trying to toss it into thetiled bathroom. At last, on the telephone, "No message, eh? All right,I'll call up again."One afternoon he wandered through snow-rutted streets of which hehad never heard, streets of small tenements and two-family houses andmarooned cottages. It came to him that he had nothing to do, that therewas nothing he wanted to do. He was bleakly lonely in the evening, whenhe dined by himself at the Regency Hotel. He sat in the lobby afterward,in a plush chair bedecked with the Saxe-Coburg arms, lighting a cigarand looking for some one who would come and play with him and save himfrom thinking. In the chair next to him (showing the arms of Lithuania)was a half-familiar man, a large red-faced man with pop eyes and adeficient yellow mustache. He seemed kind and insignificant, and aslonely as Babbitt himself. He wore a tweed suit and a reluctant orangetie.It came to Babbitt with a pyrotechnic crash. The melancholy stranger wasSir Gerald Doak.Instinctively Babbitt rose, bumbling, "How 're you, Sir Gerald? 'Memberwe met in Zenith, at Charley McKelvey's? Babbitt's my name--realestate.""Oh! How d' you do." Sir Gerald shook hands flabbily.Embarrassed, standing, wondering how he could retreat, Babbittmaundered, "Well, I suppose you been having a great trip since we sawyou in Zenith.""Quite. British Columbia and California and all over the place," he saiddoubtfully, looking at Babbitt lifelessly."How did you find business conditions in British Columbia? Or I supposemaybe you didn't look into 'em. Scenery and sport and so on?""Scenery? Oh, capital. But business conditions--You know, Mr. Babbitt,they're having almost as much unemployment as we are." Sir Gerald wasspeaking warmly now."So? Business conditions not so doggone good, eh?""No, business conditions weren't at all what I'd hoped to find them.""Not good, eh?""No, not--not really good.""That's a darn shame. Well--I suppose you're waiting for somebody totake you out to some big shindig, Sir Gerald.""Shindig? Oh. Shindig. No, to tell you the truth, I was wondering whatthe deuce I could do this evening. Don't know a soul in Tchicahgo. Iwonder if you happen to know whether there's a good theater in thiscity?""Good? Why say, they're running grand opera right now! I guess maybeyou'd like that.""Eh? Eh? Went to the opera once in London. Covent Garden sort of thing.Shocking! No, I was wondering if there was a good cinema-movie."Babbitt was sitting down, hitching his chair over, shouting, "Movie?Say, Sir Gerald, I supposed of course you had a raft of dames waiting tolead you out to some soiree--""God forbid!""--but if you haven't, what do you say you and me go to a movie? There'sa peach of a film at the Grantham: Bill Hart in a bandit picture.""Right-o! Just a moment while I get my coat."Swollen with greatness, slightly afraid lest the noble blood ofNottingham change its mind and leave him at any street corner, Babbittparaded with Sir Gerald Doak to the movie palace and in silent bliss satbeside him, trying not to be too enthusiastic, lest the knight despisehis adoration of six-shooters and broncos. At the end Sir Geraldmurmured, "Jolly good picture, this. So awfully decent of you to takeme. Haven't enjoyed myself so much for weeks. All these Hostesses--theynever let you go to the cinema!""The devil you say!" Babbitt's speech had lost the delicate refinementand all the broad A's with which he had adorned it, and become heartyand natural. "Well, I'm tickled to death you liked it, Sir Gerald."They crawled past the knees of fat women into the aisle; they stood inthe lobby waving their arms in the rite of putting on overcoats. Babbitthinted, "Say, how about a little something to eat? I know a place wherewe could get a swell rarebit, and we might dig up a little drink--thatis, if you ever touch the stuff.""Rather! But why don't you come to my room? I've some Scotch--not halfbad.""Oh, I don't want to use up all your hootch. It's darn nice of you,but--You probably want to hit the hay."Sir Gerald was transformed. He was beefily yearning. "Oh really, now;I haven't had a decent evening for so long! Having to go to all thesedances. No chance to discuss business and that sort of thing. Do be agood chap and come along. Won't you?""Will I? You bet! I just thought maybe--Say, by golly, it does do afellow good, don't it, to sit and visit about business conditions,after he's been to these balls and masquerades and banquets and allthat society stuff. I often feel that way in Zenith. Sure, you bet I'llcome.""That's awfully nice of you." They beamed along the street. "Lookhere, old chap, can you tell me, do American cities always keep up thisdreadful social pace? All these magnificent parties?""Go on now, quit your kidding! Gosh, you with court balls and functionsand everything--""No, really, old chap! Mother and I--Lady Doak, I should say, we usuallyplay a hand of bezique and go to bed at ten. Bless my soul, I couldn'tkeep up your beastly pace! And talking! All your American women, theyknow so much--culture and that sort of thing. This Mrs. McKelvey--yourfriend--""Yuh, old Lucile. Good kid.""--she asked me which of the galleries I liked best in Florence. Or wasit in Firenze? Never been in Italy in my life! And primitives. Did Ilike primitives. Do you know what the deuce a primitive is?""Me? I should say not! But I know what a discount for cash is.""Rather! So do I, by George! But primitives!""Yuh! Primitives!"They laughed with the sound of a Boosters' luncheon.Sir Gerald's room was, except for his ponderous and durable Englishbags, very much like the room of George F. Babbitt; and quite in themanner of Babbitt he disclosed a huge whisky flask, looked proud andhospitable, and chuckled, "Say, when, old chap."It was after the third drink that Sir Gerald proclaimed, "How do youYankees get the notion that writing chaps like Bertrand Shaw and thisWells represent us? The real business England, we think those chaps aretraitors. Both our countries have their comic Old Aristocracy--you know,old county families, hunting people and all that sort of thing--and weboth have our wretched labor leaders, but we both have a backbone ofsound business men who run the whole show.""You bet. Here's to the real guys!""I'm with you! Here's to ourselves!"It was after the fourth drink that Sir Gerald asked humbly, "What do youthink of North Dakota mortgages?" but it was not till after the fifththat Babbitt began to call him "Jerry," and Sir Gerald confided, "Isay, do you mind if I pull off my boots?" and ecstatically stretched hisknightly feet, his poor, tired, hot, swollen feet out on the bed.After the sixth, Babbitt irregularly arose. "Well, I better be hikingalong. Jerry, you're a regular human being! I wish to thunder we'd beenbetter acquainted in Zenith. Lookit. Can't you come back and stay withme a while?""So sorry--must go to New York to-morrow. Most awfully sorry, old boy.I haven't enjoyed an evening so much since I've been in the States.Real talk. Not all this social rot. I'd never have let them give me thebeastly title--and I didn't get it for nothing, eh?--if I'd thought I'dhave to talk to women about primitives and polo! Goodish thing to havein Nottingham, though; annoyed the mayor most frightfully when I got it;and of course the missus likes it. But nobody calls me 'Jerry' now--"He was almost weeping. "--and nobody in the States has treated me like afriend till to-night! Good-by, old chap, good-by! Thanks awfully!""Don't mention it, Jerry. And remember whenever you get to Zenith, thelatch-string is always out.""And don't forget, old boy, if you ever come to Nottingham, Mother andI will be frightfully glad to see you. I shall tell the fellows inNottingham your ideas about Visions and Real Guys--at our next RotaryClub luncheon."IVBabbitt lay abed at his hotel, imagining the Zenith Athletic Club askinghim, "What kind of a time d'you have in Chicago?" and his answering,"Oh, fair; ran around with Sir Gerald Doak a lot;" picturing himselfmeeting Lucile McKelvey and admonishing her, "You're all right, Mrs.Mac, when you aren't trying to pull this highbrow pose. It's just asGerald Doak says to me in Chicago--oh, yes, Jerry's an old friend ofmine--the wife and I are thinking of running over to England to staywith Jerry in his castle, next year--and he said to me, 'Georgie, oldbean, I like Lucile first-rate, but you and me, George, we got to makeher get over this highty-tighty hooptediddle way she's got."But that evening a thing happened which wrecked his pride.VAt the Regency Hotel cigar-counter he fell to talking with a salesmanof pianos, and they dined together. Babbitt was filled with friendlinessand well-being. He enjoyed the gorgeousness of the dining-room: thechandeliers, the looped brocade curtains, the portraits of French kingsagainst panels of gilded oak. He enjoyed the crowd: pretty women, goodsolid fellows who were "liberal spenders."He gasped. He stared, and turned away, and stared again. Three tablesoff, with a doubtful sort of woman, a woman at once coy and withered,was Paul Riesling, and Paul was supposed to be in Akron, sellingtar-roofing. The woman was tapping his hand, mooning at him andgiggling. Babbitt felt that he had encountered something involvedand harmful. Paul was talking with the rapt eagerness of a man who istelling his troubles. He was concentrated on the woman's faded eyes.Once he held her hand and once, blind to the other guests, he puckeredhis lips as though he was pretending to kiss her. Babbitt had so strongan impulse to go to Paul that he could feel his body uncoiling, hisshoulders moving, but he felt, desperately, that he must be diplomatic,and not till he saw Paul paying the check did he bluster to thepiano-salesman, "By golly-friend of mine over there--'scuse mesecond--just say hello to him."He touched Paul's shoulder, and cried, "Well, when did you hit town?"Paul glared up at him, face hardening. "Oh, hello, George. Thought you'dgone back to Zenith." He did not introduce his companion. Babbitt peepedat her. She was a flabbily pretty, weakly flirtatious woman of forty-twoor three, in an atrocious flowery hat. Her rouging was thorough butunskilful."Where you staying, Paulibus?"The woman turned, yawned, examined her nails. She seemed accustomed tonot being introduced.Paul grumbled, "Campbell Inn, on the South Side.""Alone?" It sounded insinuating."Yes! Unfortunately!" Furiously Paul turned toward the woman, smilingwith a fondness sickening to Babbitt. "May! Want to introduce you. Mrs.Arnold, this is my old-acquaintance, George Babbitt.""Pleasmeech," growled Babbitt, while she gurgled, "Oh, I'm very pleasedto meet any friend of Mr. Riesling's, I'm sure."Babbitt demanded, "Be back there later this evening, Paul? I'll dropdown and see you.""No, better--We better lunch together to-morrow.""All right, but I'll see you to-night, too, Paul. I'll go down to yourhotel, and I'll wait for you!"