CHAPTER XXVIII

by Sinclair Lewis

　　CHAPTER XXVIIIIMISS McGOUN came into his private office at three in the afternoon with"Lissen, Mr. Babbitt; there's a Mrs. Judique on the 'phone--wants to seeabout some repairs, and the salesmen are all out. Want to talk to her?""All right."The voice of Tanis Judique was clear and pleasant. The black cylinderof 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 theCavendish Apartments and helped me find such a nice flat.""Sure! Bet I remember! What can I do for you?""Why, it's just a little--I don't know that I ought to bother you, butthe janitor doesn't seem to be able to fix it. You know my flat is onthe top floor, and with these autumn rains the roof is beginning toleak, and I'd be awfully glad if--""Sure! I'll come up and take a look at it." Nervously, "When do youexpect 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, afterall your trouble.""Fine! I'll run up there soon as I can get away."He meditated, "Now there's a woman that's got refinement, savvy, CLASS!'After all your trouble--give you a cup of tea.' She'd appreciate afellow. I'm a fool, but I'm not such a bad cuss, get to know me. And notso much a fool as they think!"The great strike was over, the strikers beaten. Except that VergilGunch seemed less cordial, there were no visible effects of Babbitt'streachery to the clan. The oppressive fear of criticism was gone, but adiffident loneliness remained. Now he was so exhilarated that, to provehe wasn't, he droned about the office for fifteen minutes, looking atblue-prints, explaining to Miss McGoun that this Mrs. Scott wanted moremoney for her house--had raised the asking-price--raised it from seventhousand to eighty-five hundred--would Miss McGoun be sure and putit down on the card--Mrs. Scott's house--raise. When he had thusestablished himself as a person unemotional and interested only inbusiness, he sauntered out. He took a particularly long time to starthis car; he kicked the tires, dusted the glass of the speedometer, andtightened the screws holding the wind-shield spot-light.He drove happily off toward the Bellevue district, conscious of thepresence of Mrs. Judique as of a brilliant light on the horizon. Themaple leaves had fallen and they lined the gutters of the asphaltedstreets. It was a day of pale gold and faded green, tranquil andlingering. Babbitt was aware of the meditative day, and of thebarrenness of Bellevue--blocks of wooden houses, garages, little shops,weedy lots. "Needs pepping up; needs the touch that people like Mrs.Judique could give a place," he ruminated, as he rattled through thelong, 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 flutteringly admitted him, a frock of blackchiffon cut modestly round at the base of her pretty throat. She seemedto him immensely sophisticated. He glanced at the cretonnes and coloredprints in her living-room, and gurgled, "Gosh, you've fixed the placenice! Takes a clever woman to know how to make a home, all right!""You really like it? I'm so glad! But you've neglected me, scandalously.You promised to come some time and learn to dance."Rather unsteadily, "Oh, but you didn't mean it seriously!""Perhaps not. But you might have tried!""Well, here I've come for my lesson, and you might just as well prepareto have me stay for supper!"They both laughed in a manner which indicated that of course he didn'tmean it."But first I guess I better look at that leak."She climbed with him to the flat roof of the apartment-house a detachedworld of slatted wooden walks, clotheslines, water-tank in a penthouse.He poked at things with his toe, and sought to impress her by beinglearned about copper gutters, the desirability of passing plumbing pipesthrough a lead collar and sleeve and flashing them with copper, and theadvantages of cedar over boiler-iron for roof-tanks."You have to know so much, in real estate!" she admired.He promised that the roof should be repaired within two days. "Do youmind my 'phoning from your apartment?" he asked."Heavens, no!"He stood a moment at the coping, looking over a land of hard littlebungalows with abnormally large porches, and new apartment-houses,small, but brave with variegated brick walls and terra-cotta trimmings.Beyond them was a hill with a gouge of yellow clay like a vast wound.Behind every apartment-house, beside each dwelling, were small garages.It was a world of good little people, comfortable, industrious,credulous.In the autumnal light the flat newness was mellowed, and the air was asun-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 that account! Oh, that was naughtyof 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 andthe absorbed, airy way in which she looked toward the hill, chin lifted,lips smiling. "Well, guess I'd better telephone the plumbers, so they'llget on the job first thing in the morning."When he had telephoned, making it conspicuously authoritative and gruffand masculine, he looked doubtful, and sighed, "S'pose I'd better be--""Oh, you must have that cup of tea first!""Well, it would go pretty good, at that."It was luxurious to loll in a deep green rep chair, his legs thrustout before him, to glance at the black Chinese telephone stand and thecolored photograph of Mount Vernon which he had always liked so much,while in the tiny kitchen--so near--Mrs. Judique sang "My Creole Queen."In an intolerable sweetness, a contentment so deep that he was wistfullydiscontented, he saw magnolias by moonlight and heard plantation darkiescrooning to the banjo. He wanted to be near her, on pretense of helpingher, yet he wanted to remain in this still ecstasy. Languidly heremained.When she bustled in with the tea he smiled up at her. "This is awfullynice!" For the first time, he was not fencing; he was quietly andsecurely friendly; and friendly and quiet was her answer: "It's nice tohave you here. You were so kind, helping me to find this little home."They agreed that the weather would soon turn cold. They agreed thatprohibition was prohibitive. They agreed that art in the home wascultural. They agreed about everything. They even became bold. Theyhinted that these modern young girls, well, honestly, their short skirtswere short. They were proud to find that they were not shocked by suchfrank speaking. Tanis ventured, "I know you'll understand--I mean--Idon'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 giveaway the fact that they haven't the instincts of a womanly woman."Remembering Ida Putiak, the manicure girl, and how ill she had used him,Babbitt agreed with enthusiasm; remembering how ill all the world hadused him, he told of Paul Riesling, of Zilla, of Seneca Doane, of thestrike:"See how it was? Course I was as anxious to have those beggars licked toa standstill as anybody else, but gosh, no reason for not seeing theirside. For a fellow's own sake, he's got to be broad-minded and liberal,don't you think so?""Oh, I do!" Sitting on the hard little couch, she clasped her handsbeside her, leaned toward him, absorbed him; and in a glorious state ofbeing appreciated he proclaimed:"So I up and said to the fellows at the club, 'Look here,' I--""Do you belong to the Union Club? I think it's--""No; the Athletic. Tell you: Course they're always asking me to jointhe Union, but I always say, 'No, sir! Nothing doing!' I don't mind theexpense but I can't stand all the old fogies.""Oh, yes, that's so. But tell me: what did you say to them?""Oh, you don't want to hear it. I'm probably boring you to death with mytroubles! You wouldn't hardly think I was an old duffer; I sound like akid!""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 like warm silk."And I feel lonely, so lonely, some days, Mr. Babbitt.""We're a sad pair of birds! But I think we're pretty darn nice!""Yes, I think we're lots nicer than most people I know!" They smiled."But please tell me what you said at the Club.""Well, it was like this: Course Seneca Doane is a friend of mine--theycan say what they want to, they can call him anything they please, butwhat most folks here don't know is that Senny is the bosom pal of someof the biggest statesmen in the world--Lord Wycombe, frinstance--youknow, this big British nobleman. My friend Sir Gerald Doak told methat Lord Wycombe is one of the biggest guns in England--well, Doak orsomebody 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 otherGeorge and Jerry, and we got so pickled together in Chicago--""That must have been fun. But--" She shook a finger at him. "--I can'thave you getting pickled! I'll have to take you in hand!""Wish you would! . . . Well, zize saying: You see I happen to know whata big noise Senny Doane is outside of Zenith, but of course a prophethasn't got any honor in his own country, and Senny, darn his old hide,he's so blame modest that he never lets folks know the kind of an outfithe travels with when he goes abroad. Well, during the strike ClarenceDrum comes pee-rading up to our table, all dolled up fit to kill in hisnice lil cap'n's uniform, and somebody says to him, 'Busting the strike,Clarence?'"Well, he swells up like a pouter-pigeon and he hollers, so 's youcould hear him way up in the reading-room, 'Yes, sure; I told thestrike-leaders where they got off, and so they went home.'"'Well,' I says to him, 'glad there wasn't any violence.'"'Yes,' he says, 'but if I hadn't kept my eye skinned there would 'vebeen. All those fellows had bombs in their pockets. They're reg'laranarchists.'"'Oh, rats, Clarence,' I says, 'I looked 'em all over carefully, andthey didn't have any more bombs 'n a rabbit,' I says. 'Course,' I says,'they're foolish, but they're a good deal like you and me, after all.'"And then Vergil Gunch or somebody--no, it was Chum Frink--you know,this famous poet--great pal of mine--he says to me, 'Look here,' hesays, 'do you mean to say you advocate these strikes?' Well, I was sodisgusted with a fellow whose mind worked that way that I swear, I had agood mind to not explain at all--just ignore him--""Oh, that's so wise!" said Mrs. Judique."--but finally I explains to him: 'If you'd done as much as I have onChamber of Commerce committees and all,' I says, 'then you'd have theright to talk! But same time,' I says, 'I believe in treating youropponent like a gentleman!' Well, sir, that held 'em! Frink--Chum Ialways call him--he didn't have another word to say. But at that, Iguess 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 courageof his convictions!""But do you think it was a good stunt? After all, some of these fellowsare so darn cautious and narrow-minded that they're prejudiced against afellow that talks right out in meeting.""What do you care? In the long run they're bound to respect a man whomakes them think, and with your reputation for oratory you--""What do you know about my reputation for oratory?""Oh, I'm not going to tell you everything I know! But seriously, youdon't realize what a famous man you are.""Well--Though I haven't done much orating this fall. Too kind ofbothered by this Paul Riesling business, I guess. But--Do you know,you're the first person that's really understood what I was getting at,Tanis--Listen to me, will you! Fat nerve I've got, calling you Tanis!""Oh, do! And shall I call you George? Don't you think it's awfully nicewhen two people have so much--what shall I call it?--so much analysisthat they can discard all these stupid conventions and understand eachother and become acquainted right away, like ships that pass in thenight?""I certainly do! I certainly do!"He was no longer quiescent in his chair; he wandered about the room, hedropped on the couch beside her. But as he awkwardly stretched his handtoward her fragile, immaculate fingers, she said brightly, "Do give mea cigarette. Would you think poor Tanis was dreadfully naughty if shesmoked?""Lord, no! I like it!"He had often and weightily pondered flappers smoking in Zenithrestaurants, but he knew only one woman who smoked--Mrs. Sam Doppelbrau,his flighty neighbor. He ceremoniously lighted Tanis's cigarette, lookedfor a place to deposit the burnt match, and dropped it into his pocket."I'm sure you want a cigar, you poor man!" she crooned."Do you mind one?""Oh, no! I love the smell of a good cigar; so nice and--so nice and likea man. You'll find an ash-tray in my bedroom, on the table beside thebed, if you don't mind getting it."He was embarrassed by her bedroom: the broad couch with a cover ofviolet silk, mauve curtains striped with gold. Chinese Chippendalebureau, and an amazing row of slippers, with ribbon-wound shoe-trees,and primrose stockings lying across them. His manner of bringing theash-tray had just the right note of easy friendliness, he felt. "A booblike Verg Gunch would try to get funny about seeing her bedroom, butI take it casually." He was not casual afterward. The contentment ofcompanionship was gone, and he was restless with desire to touch herhand. 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 shesaid, "Don't you want to give me another cigarette?" and hopelessly hesaw the screen of pale smoke and her graceful tilted hand again betweenthem. He was not merely curious now to find out whether she wouldlet him hold her hand (all in the purest friendship, naturally), butagonized with need of it.On the surface appeared none of all this fretful drama. They weretalking cheerfully of motors, of trips to California, of Chum Frink.Once he said delicately, "I do hate these guys--I hate these people thatinvite themselves to meals, but I seem to have a feeling I'm going tohave supper with the lovely Mrs. Tanis Judique to-night. But I supposeyou probably have seven dates already.""Well, I was thinking some of going to the movies. Yes, I really think Iought to get out and get some fresh air."She did not encourage him to stay, but never did she discourage him.He considered, "I better take a sneak! She WILL let me stay--there ISsomething doing--and I mustn't get mixed up with--I mustn't--I've got tobeat it." Then, "No. it's too late now."Suddenly, at seven, brushing her cigarette away, brusquely taking herhand:"Tanis! Stop teasing me! You know we--Here we are, a couple of lonelybirds, and we're awful happy together. Anyway I am! Never been sohappy! Do let me stay! Ill gallop down to the delicatessen and buy somestuff--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 golike a lamb.""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 preposterous stores offood, chosen on the principle of expensiveness. From the drug storeacross the street he telephoned to his wife, "Got to get a fellow tosign a lease before he leaves town on the midnight. Won't be home tilllate. Don't wait up for me. Kiss Tinka good-night." He expectantlylumbered back to the flat."Oh, you bad thing, to buy so much food!" was her greeting, and hervoice was gay, her smile acceptant.He helped her in the tiny white kitchen; he washed the lettuce, heopened the olive bottle. She ordered him to set the table, and as hetrotted into the living-room, as he hunted through the buffet for knivesand forks, he felt utterly at home."Now the only other thing," he announced, "is what you're going to wear.I can't decide whether you're to put on your swellest evening gown, orlet your hair down and put on short skirts and make-believe you're alittle girl.""I'm going to dine just as I am, in this old chiffon rag, and if youcan't stand poor Tanis that way, you can go to the club for dinner!""Stand you!" He patted her shoulder. "Child, you're the brainiest andthe loveliest and finest woman I've ever met! Come now, Lady Wycombe,if you'll take the Duke of Zenith's arm, we will proambulate in to themagnolious feed!""Oh, you do say the funniest, nicest things!"When they had finished the picnic supper he thrust his head out of thewindow and reported, "It's turned awful chilly, and I think it's goingto 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-outto-night, and we were in a funny little old-fashioned cottage, andthe trees thrashing like everything outside, and a great big log fireand--I'll tell you! Let's draw this couch up to the radiator, andstretch our feet out, and pretend it's a wood-fire.""Oh, I think that's pathetic! You big child!"But they did draw up to the radiator, and propped their feet againstit--his clumsy black shoes, her patent-leather slippers. In the dimnessthey talked of themselves; of how lonely she was, how bewildered he, andhow wonderful that they had found each other. As they fell silent theroom was stiller than a country lane. There was no sound from the streetsave the whir of motor-tires, the rumble of a distant freight-train.Self-contained was the room, warm, secure, insulated from the harassingworld.He was absorbed by a rapture in which all fear and doubting weresmoothed away; and when he reached home, at dawn, the rapture hadmellowed to contentment serene and full of memories.