CHAPTER XXX

by Sinclair Lewis

　　CHAPTER XXXITHE summer before, Mrs. Babbitt's letters had crackled with desire toreturn to Zenith. Now they said nothing of returning, but a wistful"I suppose everything is going on all right without me" among her drychronicles of weather and sicknesses hinted to Babbitt that he hadn'tbeen very urgent about her coming. He worried it:"If she were here, and I went on raising cain like I been doing, she'dhave a fit. I got to get hold of myself. I got to learn to play aroundand yet not make a fool of myself. I can do it, too, if folks likeVerg Gunch 'll let me alone, and Myra 'll stay away. But--poor kid, shesounds lonely. Lord, I don't want to hurt her!"Impulsively he wrote that they missed her, and her next letter saidhappily that she was coming home.He persuaded himself that he was eager to see her. He bought rosesfor the house, he ordered squab for dinner, he had the car cleaned andpolished. All the way home from the station with her he was adequatein his accounts of Ted's success in basket-ball at the university, butbefore they reached Floral Heights there was nothing more to say, andalready he felt the force of her stolidity, wondered whether he couldremain a good husband and still sneak out of the house this evening forhalf an hour with the Bunch. When he had housed the car he blunderedupstairs, into the familiar talcum-scented warmth of her presence,blaring, "Help you unpack your bag?""No, I can do it."Slowly she turned, holding up a small box, and slowly she said, "Ibrought you a present, just a new cigar-case. I don't know if you'd careto have it--"She was the lonely girl, the brown appealing Myra Thompson, whom he hadmarried, and he almost wept for pity as he kissed her and besought,"Oh, honey, honey, CARE to have it? Of course I do! I'm awful proud youbrought it to me. And I needed a new case badly."He wondered how he would get rid of the case he had bought the weekbefore."And you really are glad to see me back?""Why, you poor kiddy, what you been worrying about?""Well, you didn't seem to miss me very much."By the time he had finished his stint of lying they were firmly boundagain. By ten that evening it seemed improbable that she had everbeen away. There was but one difference: the problem of remaining arespectable husband, a Floral Heights husband, yet seeing Tanis andthe Bunch with frequency. He had promised to telephone to Tanis thatevening, and now it was melodramatically impossible. He prowled aboutthe telephone, impulsively thrusting out a hand to lift the receiver,but never quite daring to risk it. Nor could he find a reasonfor slipping down to the drug store on Smith Street, with itstelephone-booth. He was laden with responsibility till he threw it offwith the speculation: "Why the deuce should I fret so about not beingable to 'phone Tanis? She can get along without me. I don't owe heranything. She's a fine girl, but I've given her just as much as she hasme. . . . Oh, damn these women and the way they get you all tied up incomplications!"IIFor a week he was attentive to his wife, took her to the theater, todinner at the Littlefields'; then the old weary dodging and shiftingbegan and at least two evenings a week he spent with the Bunch. He stillmade pretense of going to the Elks and to committee-meetings but lessand less did he trouble to have his excuses interesting, less and lessdid she affect to believe them. He was certain that she knew he wasassociating with what Floral Heights called "a sporty crowd," yetneither of them acknowledged it. In matrimonial geography the distancebetween the first mute recognition of a break and the admission thereofis as great as the distance between the first naive faith and the firstdoubting.As he began to drift away he also began to see her as a human being, tolike and dislike her instead of accepting her as a comparatively movablepart of the furniture, and he compassionated that husband-and-wiferelation which, in twenty-five years of married life, had become aseparate and real entity. He recalled their high lights the summervacation in Virginia meadows under the blue wall of the mountains; theirmotor tour through Ohio, and the exploration of Cleveland, Cincinnati,and Columbus; the birth of Verona; their building of this new house,planned to comfort them through a happy old age--chokingly they had saidthat it might be the last home either of them would ever have. Yet hismost softening remembrance of these dear moments did not keep him frombarking at dinner, "Yep, going out f' few hours. Don't sit up for me."He did not dare now to come home drunk, and though he rejoiced in hisreturn to high morality and spoke with gravity to Pete and Fulton Bemisabout their drinking, he prickled at Myra's unexpressed criticisms andsulkily meditated that a "fellow couldn't ever learn to handle himselfif he was always bossed by a lot of women."He no longer wondered if Tanis wasn't a bit worn and sentimental. Incontrast to the complacent Myra he saw her as swift and air-borne andradiant, a fire-spirit tenderly stooping to the hearth, and howeverpitifully he brooded on his wife, he longed to be with Tanis.Then Mrs. Babbitt tore the decent cloak from her unhappiness andthe astounded male discovered that she was having a small determinedrebellion of her own.IIIThey were beside the fireless fire-place, in the evening."Georgie," she said, "you haven't given me the list of your householdexpenses while I was away.""No, I--Haven't made it out yet." Very affably: "Gosh, we must try tokeep down expenses this year.""That's so. I don't know where all the money goes to. I try toeconomize, but it just seems to evaporate.""I suppose I oughtn't to spend so much on cigars. Don't know but whatI'll cut down my smoking, maybe cut it out entirely. I was thinking ofa good way to do it, the other day: start on these cubeb cigarettes, andthey'd kind of disgust me with smoking.""Oh, I do wish you would! It isn't that I care, but honestly, George, itis so bad for you to smoke so much. Don't you think you could reduce theamount? And George--I notice now, when you come home from these lodgesand all, that sometimes you smell of whisky. Dearie, you know I don'tworry so much about the moral side of it, but you have a weak stomachand you can't stand all this drinking.""Weak stomach, hell! I guess I can carry my booze about as well as mostfolks!""Well, I do think you ought to be careful. Don't you see, dear, I don'twant you to get sick.""Sick rats! I'm not a baby! I guess I ain't going to get sick justbecause maybe once a week I shoot a highball! That's the trouble withwomen. They always exaggerate so.""George, I don't think you ought to talk that way when I'm just speakingfor your own good.""I know, but gosh all fishhooks, that's the trouble with women! They'realways criticizing and commenting and bringing things up, and then theysay it's 'for your own good'!""Why, George, that's not a nice way to talk, to answer me so short.""Well, I didn't mean to answer short, but gosh, talking as if I was akindergarten brat, not able to tote one highball without calling for theSt. Mary's ambulance! A fine idea you must have of me!""Oh, it isn't that; it's just--I don't want to see you get sick and--My,I didn't know it was so late! Don't forget to give me those householdaccounts for the time while I was away.""Oh, thunder, what's the use of taking the trouble to make 'em out now?Let's just skip 'em for that period.""Why, George Babbitt, in all the years we've been married we've neverfailed to keep a complete account of every penny we've spent!""No. Maybe that's the trouble with us.""What in the world do you mean?""Oh, I don't mean anything, only--Sometimes I get so darn sick and tiredof all this routine and the accounting at the office and expensesat home and fussing and stewing and fretting and wearing myself outworrying over a lot of junk that doesn't really mean a doggone thing,and being so careful and--Good Lord, what do you think I'm made for?I could have been a darn good orator, and here I fuss and fret andworry--""Don't you suppose I ever get tired of fussing? I get so bored withordering three meals a day, three hundred and sixty-five days a year,and ruining my eyes over that horrid sewing-machine, and looking afteryour clothes and Rone's and Ted's and Tinka's and everybody's, andthe laundry, and darning socks, and going down to the Piggly Wiggly tomarket, and bringing my basket home to save money on the cash-and-carryand--EVERYTHING!""Well, gosh," with a certain astonishment, "I suppose maybe you do! Buttalk about--Here I have to be in the office every single day, while youcan go out all afternoon and see folks and visit with the neighbors anddo any blinkin' thing you want to!""Yes, and a fine lot of good that does me! Just talking over thesame old things with the same old crowd, while you have all sorts ofinteresting people coming in to see you at the office.""Interesting! Cranky old dames that want to know why I haven't rentedtheir dear precious homes for about seven times their value, and bunchof old crabs panning the everlasting daylights out of me because theydon't receive every cent of their rentals by three G.M. on the second ofthe month! Sure! Interesting! Just as interesting as the small pox!""Now, George, I will not have you shouting at me that way!""Well, it gets my goat the way women figure out that a man doesn't do adarn thing but sit on his chair and have lovey-dovey conferences with alot of classy dames and give 'em the glad eye!""I guess you manage to give them a glad enough eye when they do comein.""What do you mean? Mean I'm chasing flappers?""I should hope not--at your age!""Now you look here! You may not believe it--Of course all you see isfat little Georgie Babbitt. Sure! Handy man around the house! Fixes thefurnace when the furnace-man doesn't show up, and pays the bills, butdull, awful dull! Well, you may not believe it, but there's some womenthat think old George Babbitt isn't such a bad scout! They think he'snot so bad-looking, not so bad that it hurts anyway, and he's got apretty good line of guff, and some even think he shakes a darn wickedWalkover at dancing!""Yes." She spoke slowly. "I haven't much doubt that when I'm away youmanage to find people who properly appreciate you.""Well, I just mean--" he protested, with a sound of denial. Then he wasangered into semi-honesty. "You bet I do! I find plenty of folks, anddoggone nice ones, that don't think I'm a weak-stomached baby!""That's exactly what I was saying! You can run around with anybody youplease, but I'm supposed to sit here and wait for you. You have thechance to get all sorts of culture and everything, and I just stayhome--""Well, gosh almighty, there's nothing to prevent your reading books andgoing to lectures and all that junk, is there?""George, I told you, I won't have you shouting at me like that! I don'tknow what's come over you. You never used to speak to me in this crankyway.""I didn't mean to sound cranky, but gosh, it certainly makes me sore toget the blame because you don't keep up with things.""I'm going to! Will you help me?""Sure. Anything I can do to help you in the culture-grabbing line--yoursto oblige, G. F. Babbitt.""Very well then, I want you to go to Mrs. Mudge's New Thought meetingwith me, next Sunday afternoon.""Mrs. Who's which?""Mrs. Opal Emerson Mudge. The field-lecturer for the American NewThought League. She's going to speak on 'Cultivating the Sun Spirit'before the League of the Higher Illumination, at the Thornleigh.""Oh, punk! New Thought! Hashed thought with a poached egg! 'Cultivatingthe--' It sounds like 'Why is a mouse when it spins?' That's a finespiel for a good Presbyterian to be going to, when you can hear DocDrew!""Reverend Drew is a scholar and a pulpit orator and all that, but hehasn't got the Inner Ferment, as Mrs. Mudge calls it; he hasn't anyinspiration for the New Era. Women need inspiration now. So I want youto come, as you promised."IVThe Zenith branch of the League of the Higher Illumination met in thesmaller ballroom at the Hotel Thornleigh, a refined apartment with palegreen walls and plaster wreaths of roses, refined parquet flooring, andultra-refined frail gilt chairs. Here were gathered sixty-five women andten men. Most of the men slouched in their chairs and wriggled, whiletheir wives sat rigidly at attention, but two of them--red-necked, meatymen--were as respectably devout as their wives. They were newly richcontractors who, having bought houses, motors, hand-painted pictures,and gentlemanliness, were now buying a refined ready-made philosophy.It had been a toss-up with them whether to buy New Thought, ChristianScience, or a good standard high-church model of Episcopalianism.In the flesh, Mrs. Opal Emerson Mudge fell somewhat short of a propheticaspect. She was pony-built and plump, with the face of a haughtyPekingese, a button of a nose, and arms so short that, despite her mostindignant endeavors, she could not clasp her hands in front of her asshe sat on the platform waiting. Her frock of taffeta and green velvet,with three strings of glass beads, and large folding eye-glassesdangling from a black ribbon, was a triumph of refinement.Mrs. Mudge was introduced by the president of the League of the HigherIllumination, an oldish young woman with a yearning voice, white spats,and a mustache. She said that Mrs. Mudge would now make it plain to thesimplest intellect how the Sun Spirit could be cultivated, and they whohad been thinking about cultivating one would do well to treasure Mrs.Mudge's words, because even Zenith (and everybody knew that Zenith stoodin the van of spiritual and New Thought progress) didn't often havethe opportunity to sit at the feet of such an inspiring Optimist andMetaphysical Seer as Mrs. Opal Emerson Mudge, who had lived the Life ofWider Usefulness through Concentration, and in the Silence found thoseSecrets of Mental Control and the Inner Key which were immediatelygoing to transform and bring Peace, Power, and Prosperity to the unhappynations; and so, friends, would they for this precious gem-studded hourforget the Illusions of the Seeming Real, and in the actualization ofthe deep-lying Veritas pass, along with Mrs. Opal Emerson Mudge, to theRealm Beautiful.If Mrs. Mudge was rather pudgier than one would like one's swamis,yogis, seers, and initiates, yet her voice had the real professionalnote. It was refined and optimistic; it was overpoweringly calm; itflowed on relentlessly, without one comma, till Babbitt was hypnotized.Her favorite word was "always," which she pronounced olllllle-ways. Herprincipal gesture was a pontifical but thoroughly ladylike blessing withtwo stubby fingers.She explained about this matter of Spiritual Saturation:"There are those--"Of "those" she made a linked sweetness long drawn out; a far-offdelicate call in a twilight minor. It chastely rebuked the restlesshusbands, yet brought them a message of healing."There are those who have seen the rim and outer seeming of the logosthere are those who have glimpsed and in enthusiasm possessed themselvesof some segment and portion of the Logos there are those who thusflicked but not penetrated and radioactivated by the Dynamis go alwaysto and fro assertative that they possess and are possessed of the Logosand the Metaphysikos but this word I bring you this concept I enlargethat those that are not utter are not even inceptive and that holinessis in its definitive essence always always always whole-iness and--"It proved that the Essence of the Sun Spirit was Truth, but its Aura andEffluxion were Cheerfulness:"Face always the day with the dawn-laugh with the enthusiasm of theinitiate who perceives that all works together in the revolutions ofthe Wheel and who answers the strictures of the Soured Souls of theDestructionists with a Glad Affirmation--"It went on for about an hour and seven minutes.At the end Mrs. Mudge spoke with more vigor and punctuation:"Now let me suggest to all of you the advantages of the Theosophical andPantheistic Oriental Reading Circle, which I represent. Our object is tounite all the manifestations of the New Era into one cohesive whole--NewThought, Christian Science, Theosophy, Vedanta, Bahaism, and the othersparks from the one New Light. The subscription is but ten dollarsa year, and for this mere pittance the members receive not only themonthly magazine, Pearls of Healing, but the privilege of sending rightto the president, our revered Mother Dobbs, any questions regardingspiritual progress, matrimonial problems, health and well-beingquestions, financial difficulties, and--"They listened to her with adoring attention. They looked genteel. Theylooked ironed-out. They coughed politely, and crossed their legs withquietness, and in expensive linen handkerchiefs they blew their noseswith a delicacy altogether optimistic and refined.As for Babbitt, he sat and suffered.When they were blessedly out in the air again, when they drove homethrough a wind smelling of snow and honest sun, he dared not speak. Theyhad been too near to quarreling, these days. Mrs. Babbitt forced it:"Did you enjoy Mrs. Mudge's talk?""Well I--What did you get out of it?""Oh, it starts a person thinking. It gets you out of a routine ofordinary thoughts.""Well, I'll hand it to Opal she isn't ordinary, but gosh--Honest, didthat stuff mean anything to you?""Of course I'm not trained in metaphysics, and there was lots I couldn'tquite grasp, but I did feel it was inspiring. And she speaks so readily.I do think you ought to have got something out of it.""Well, I didn't! I swear, I was simply astonished, the way those womenlapped it up! Why the dickens they want to put in their time listeningto all that blaa when they--""It's certainly better for them than going to roadhouses and smoking anddrinking!""I don't know whether it is or not! Personally I don't see a wholelot of difference. In both cases they're trying to get away fromthemselves--most everybody is, these days, I guess. And I'd certainlyget a whole lot more out of hoofing it in a good lively dance, evenin some dive, than sitting looking as if my collar was too tight, andfeeling too scared to spit, and listening to Opal chewing her words.""I'm sure you do! You're very fond of dives. No doubt you saw a lot ofthem while I was away!""Look here! You been doing a hell of a lot of insinuating and hintingaround lately, as if I were leading a double life or something, and I'mdamn sick of it, and I don't want to hear anything more about it!""Why, George Babbitt! Do you realize what you're saying? Why, George, inall our years together you've never talked to me like that!""It's about time then!""Lately you've been getting worse and worse, and now, finally, you'recursing and swearing at me and shouting at me, and your voice so uglyand hateful--I just shudder!""Oh, rats, quit exaggerating! I wasn't shouting, or swearing either.""I wish you could hear your own voice! Maybe you don't realize howit sounds. But even so--You never used to talk like that. You simplyCOULDN'T talk this way if something dreadful hadn't happened to you."His mind was hard. With amazement he found that he wasn't particularlysorry. It was only with an effort that he made himself more agreeable:"Well, gosh, I didn't mean to get sore.""George, do you realize that we can't go on like this, getting fartherand farther apart, and you ruder and ruder to me? I just don't knowwhat's going to happen."He had a moment's pity for her bewilderment; he thought of how manydeep and tender things would be hurt if they really "couldn't go on likethis." But his pity was impersonal, and he was wondering, "Wouldn't itmaybe be a good thing if--Not a divorce and all that, o' course, butkind of a little more independence?"While she looked at him pleadingly he drove on in a dreadful silence.