CHAPTER XXXII

by Sinclair Lewis

　　CHAPTER XXXIIIHIS wife was up when he came in. "Did you have a good time?" shesniffed."I did not. I had a rotten time! Anything else I got to explain?""George, how can you speak like--Oh, I don't know what's come over you!""Good Lord, there's nothing come over me! Why do you look for troubleall the time?" He was warning himself, "Careful! Stop being sodisagreeable. Course she feels it, being left alone here all evening."But he forgot his warning as she went on:"Why do you go out and see all sorts of strange people? I suppose you'llsay you've been to another committee-meeting this evening!""Nope. I've been calling on a woman. We sat by the fire and kidded eachother and had a whale of a good time, if you want to know!""Well--From the way you say it, I suppose it's my fault you went there!I probably sent you!""You did!""Well, upon my word--""You hate 'strange people' as you call 'em. If you had your way, I'd beas much of an old stick-in-the-mud as Howard Littlefield. You never wantto have anybody with any git to 'em at the house; you want a bunch ofold stiffs that sit around and gas about the weather. You're doingyour level best to make me old. Well, let me tell you, I'm not going tohave--"Overwhelmed she bent to his unprecedented tirade, and in answer shemourned:"Oh, dearest, I don't think that's true. I don't mean to make you old,I know. Perhaps you're partly right. Perhaps I am slow about gettingacquainted with new people. But when you think of all the dear goodtimes we have, and the supper-parties and the movies and all--"With true masculine wiles he not only convinced himself that she hadinjured him but, by the loudness of his voice and the brutality of hisattack, he convinced her also, and presently he had her apologizing forhis having spent the evening with Tanis. He went up to bed well pleased,not only the master but the martyr of the household. For a distastefulmoment after he had lain down he wondered if he had been altogetherjust. "Ought to be ashamed, bullying her. Maybe there is her side tothings. Maybe she hasn't had such a bloomin' hectic time herself. But Idon't care! Good for her to get waked up a little. And I'm going to keepfree. Of her and Tanis and the fellows at the club and everybody. I'mgoing to run my own life!"IIIn this mood he was particularly objectionable at the Boosters' Clublunch next day. They were addressed by a congressman who had justreturned from an exhaustive three-months study of the finances,ethnology, political systems, linguistic divisions, mineral resources,and agriculture of Germany, France, Great Britain, Italy, Austria,Czechoslovakia, Jugoslavia, and Bulgaria. He told them all aboutthose subjects, together with three funny stories about Europeanmisconceptions of America and some spirited words on the necessity ofkeeping ignorant foreigners out of America."Say, that was a mighty informative talk. Real he-stuff," said SidneyFinkelstein.But the disaffected Babbitt grumbled, "Four-flusher! Bunch of hotair! And what's the matter with the immigrants? Gosh, they aren'tall ignorant, and I got a hunch we're all descended from immigrantsourselves.""Oh, you make me tired!" said Mr. Finkelstein.Babbitt was aware that Dr. A. I. Dilling was sternly listening fromacross the table. Dr. Dilling was one of the most important men in theBoosters'. He was not a physician but a surgeon, a more romantic andsounding occupation. He was an intense large man with a boiling of blackhair and a thick black mustache. The newspapers often chronicled hisoperations; he was professor of surgery in the State University; he wentto dinner at the very best houses on Royal Ridge; and he was said to beworth several hundred thousand dollars. It was dismaying to Babbitt tohave such a person glower at him. He hastily praised the congressman'swit, to Sidney Finkelstein, but for Dr. Dilling's benefit.IIIThat afternoon three men shouldered into Babbitt's office with the airof a Vigilante committee in frontier days. They were large, resolute,big-jawed men, and they were all high lords in the land of Zenith--Dr.Dilling the surgeon, Charles McKelvey the contractor, and, mostdismaying of all, the white-bearded Colonel Rutherford Snow, owner ofthe Advocate-Times. In their whelming presence Babbitt felt small andinsignificant."Well, well, great pleasure, have chairs, what c'n I do for you?" hebabbled.They neither sat nor offered observations on the weather."Babbitt," said Colonel Snow, "we've come from the Good Citizens'League. We've decided we want you to join. Vergil Gunch says you don'tcare to, but I think we can show you a new light. The League is going tocombine with the Chamber of Commerce in a campaign for the Open Shop, soit's time for you to put your name down."In his embarrassment Babbitt could not recall his reasons for notwishing to join the League, if indeed he had ever definitely known them,but he was passionately certain that he did not wish to join, and at thethought of their forcing him he felt a stirring of anger against eventhese princes of commerce."Sorry, Colonel, have to think it over a little," he mumbled.McKelvey snarled, "That means you're not going to join, George?"Something black and unfamiliar and ferocious spoke from Babbitt: "Now,you look here, Charley! I'm damned if I'm going to be bullied intojoining anything, not even by you plutes!""We're not bullying anybody," Dr. Dilling began, but Colonel Snow thrusthim aside with, "Certainly we are! We don't mind a little bullying, ifit's necessary. Babbitt, the G.C.L. has been talking about you a gooddeal. You're supposed to be a sensible, clean, responsible man; youalways have been; but here lately, for God knows what reason, I hearfrom all sorts of sources that you're running around with a loosecrowd, and what's a whole lot worse, you've actually been advocating andsupporting some of the most dangerous elements in town, like this fellowDoane.""Colonel, that strikes me as my private business.""Possibly, but we want to have an understanding. You've stood in,you and your father-in-law, with some of the most substantial andforward-looking interests in town, like my friends of the StreetTraction Company, and my papers have given you a lot of boosts. Well,you can't expect the decent citizens to go on aiding you if you intendto side with precisely the people who are trying to undermine us."Babbitt was frightened, but he had an agonized instinct that if heyielded in this he would yield in everything. He protested:"You're exaggerating, Colonel. I believe in being broad-mindedand liberal, but, of course, I'm just as much agin the cranks andblatherskites and labor unions and so on as you are. But fact is, Ibelong to so many organizations now that I can't do 'em justice, and Iwant to think it over before I decide about coming into the G.C.L."Colonel Snow condescended, "Oh, no, I'm not exaggerating! Why the doctorhere heard you cussing out and defaming one of the finest types ofRepublican congressmen, just this noon! And you have entirely the wrongidea about 'thinking over joining.' We're not begging you to join theG.C.L.--we're permitting you to join. I'm not sure, my boy, but whatif you put it off it'll be too late. I'm not sure we'll want you then.Better think quick--better think quick!"The three Vigilantes, formidable in their righteousness, stared at himin a taut silence. Babbitt waited through. He thought nothing at all,he merely waited, while in his echoing head buzzed, "I don't want tojoin--I don't want to join--I don't want to.""All right. Sorry for you!" said Colonel Snow, and the three menabruptly turned their beefy backs.IVAs Babbitt went out to his car that evening he saw Vergil Gunch comingdown the block. He raised his hand in salutation, but Gunch ignored itand crossed the street. He was certain that Gunch had seen him. He drovehome in sharp discomfort.His wife attacked at once: "Georgie dear, Muriel Frink was in thisafternoon, and she says that Chum says the committee of this GoodCitizens' League especially asked you to join and you wouldn't. Don'tyou think it would be better? You know all the nicest people belong, andthe League stands for--""I know what the League stands for! It stands for the suppression offree speech and free thought and everything else! I don't propose tobe bullied and rushed into joining anything, and it isn't a question ofwhether it's a good league or a bad league or what the hell kind of aleague it is; it's just a question of my refusing to be told I got to--""But dear, if you don't join, people might criticize you.""Let 'em criticize!""But I mean NICE people!""Rats, I--Matter of fact, this whole League is just a fad. It's likeall these other organizations that start off with such a rush and let onthey're going to change the whole works, and pretty soon they peter outand everybody forgets all about 'em!""But if it's THE fad now, don't you think you--""No, I don't! Oh, Myra, please quit nagging me about it. I'm sick ofhearing about the confounded G.C.L. I almost wish I'd joined it whenVerg first came around, and got it over. And maybe I'd 've come into-day if the committee hadn't tried to bullyrag me, but, by God, aslong as I'm a free-born independent American cit--""Now, George, you're talking exactly like the German furnace-man.""Oh, I am, am I! Then, I won't talk at all!"He longed, that evening, to see Tanis Judique, to be strengthened byher sympathy. When all the family were up-stairs he got as far astelephoning to her apartment-house, but he was agitated about it andwhen the janitor answered he blurted, "Nev' mind--I'll call later," andhung up the receiver.VIf Babbitt had not been certain about Vergil Gunch's avoiding him, therecould be little doubt about William Washington Eathorne, next morning.When Babbitt was driving down to the office he overtook Eathorne's car,with the great banker sitting in anemic solemnity behind his chauffeur.Babbitt waved and cried, "Mornin'!" Eathorne looked at him deliberately,hesitated, and gave him a nod more contemptuous than a direct cut.Babbitt's partner and father-in-law came in at ten:"George, what's this I hear about some song and dance you gave ColonelSnow about not wanting to join the G.C.L.? What the dickens you tryingto do? Wreck the firm? You don't suppose these Big Guns will stand yourbucking them and springing all this 'liberal' poppycock you been gettingoff lately, do you?""Oh, rats, Henry T., you been reading bum fiction. There ain't any sucha thing as these plots to keep folks from being liberal. This is a freecountry. A man can do anything he wants to.""Course th' ain't any plots. Who said they was? Only if folks get anidea you're scatter-brained and unstable, you don't suppose they'll wantto do business with you, do you? One little rumor about your being acrank would do more to ruin this business than all the plots and stuffthat these fool story-writers could think up in a month of Sundays."That afternoon, when the old reliable Conrad Lyte, the merry miser,Conrad Lyte, appeared, and Babbitt suggested his buying a parcel of landin the new residential section of Dorchester, Lyte said hastily, toohastily, "No, no, don't want to go into anything new just now."A week later Babbitt learned, through Henry Thompson, that the officialsof the Street Traction Company were planning another real-estate coup,and that Sanders, Torrey and Wing, not the Babbitt-Thompson Company,were to handle it for them. "I figure that Jake Offutt is kind ofleery about the way folks are talking about you. Of course Jake is arock-ribbed old die-hard, and he probably advised the Traction fellowsto get some other broker. George, you got to do something!" trembledThompson.And, in a rush, Babbitt agreed. All nonsense the way people misjudgedhim, but still--He determined to join the Good Citizens' League thenext time he was asked, and in furious resignation he waited. He wasn'tasked. They ignored him. He did not have the courage to go to the Leagueand beg in, and he took refuge in a shaky boast that he had "gottenaway with bucking the whole city. Nobody could dictate to him how he wasgoing to think and act!"He was jarred as by nothing else when the paragon of stenographers, MissMcGoun, suddenly left him, though her reasons were excellent--she neededa rest, her sister was sick, she might not do any more work for sixmonths. He was uncomfortable with her successor, Miss Havstad. WhatMiss Havstad's given name was, no one in the office ever knew. It seemedimprobable that she had a given name, a lover, a powder-puff, or adigestion. She was so impersonal, this slight, pale, industrious Swede,that it was vulgar to think of her as going to an ordinary home to eathash. She was a perfectly oiled and enameled machine, and she ought,each evening, to have been dusted off and shut in her desk beside hertoo-slim, too-frail pencil points. She took dictation swiftly, hertyping was perfect, but Babbitt became jumpy when he tried to work withher. She made him feel puffy, and at his best-beloved daily jokes shelooked gently inquiring. He longed for Miss McGoun's return, and thoughtof writing to her.Then he heard that Miss McGoun had, a week after leaving him, gone overto his dangerous competitors, Sanders, Torrey and Wing.He was not merely annoyed; he was frightened. "Why did she quit, then?"he worried. "Did she have a hunch my business is going on the rocks? Andit was Sanders got the Street Traction deal. Rats--sinking ship!"Gray fear loomed always by him now. He watched Fritz Weilinger, theyoung salesman, and wondered if he too would leave. Daily he fanciedslights. He noted that he was not asked to speak at the annual Chamberof Commerce dinner. When Orville Jones gave a large poker party and hewas not invited, he was certain that he had been snubbed. He was afraidto go to lunch at the Athletic Club, and afraid not to go. He believedthat he was spied on; that when he left the table they whispered abouthim. Everywhere he heard the rustling whispers: in the offices ofclients, in the bank when he made a deposit, in his own office, in hisown home. Interminably he wondered what They were saying of him. All daylong in imaginary conversations he caught them marveling, "Babbitt?Why, say, he's a regular anarchist! You got to admire the fellow for hisnerve, the way he turned liberal and, by golly, just absolutely runs hislife to suit himself, but say, he's dangerous, that's what he is, andhe's got to be shown up."He was so twitchy that when he rounded a corner and chanced on twoacquaintances talking--whispering--his heart leaped, and he stalkedby like an embarrassed schoolboy. When he saw his neighbors HowardLittlefield and Orville Jones together, he peered at them, went indoorsto escape their spying, and was miserably certain that they had beenwhispering--plotting--whispering.Through all his fear ran defiance. He felt stubborn. Sometimes hedecided that he had been a very devil of a fellow, as bold as SenecaDoane; sometimes he planned to call on Doane and tell him what arevolutionist he was, and never got beyond the planning. But just asoften, when he heard the soft whispers enveloping him he wailed, "GoodLord, what have I done? Just played with the Bunch, and called downClarence Drum about being such a high-and-mighty sodger. Never catch MEcriticizing people and trying to make them accept MY ideas!"He could not stand the strain. Before long he admitted that he wouldlike to flee back to the security of conformity, provided there was adecent and creditable way to return. But, stubbornly, he would not beforced back; he would not, he swore, "eat dirt."Only in spirited engagements with his wife did these turbulent fearsrise to the surface. She complained that he seemed nervous, thatshe couldn't understand why he did not want to "drop in at theLittlefields'" for the evening. He tried, but he could not express toher the nebulous facts of his rebellion and punishment. And, with Pauland Tanis lost, he had no one to whom he could talk. "Good Lord, Tinkais the only real friend I have, these days," he sighed, and he clung tothe child, played floor-games with her all evening.He considered going to see Paul in prison, but, though he had a palecurt note from him every week, he thought of Paul as dead. It was Tanisfor whom he was longing."I thought I was so smart and independent, cutting Tanis out, and I needher, Lord how I need her!" he raged. "Myra simply can't understand. Allshe sees in life is getting along by being just like other folks. ButTanis, she'd tell me I was all right."Then he broke, and one evening, late, he did run to Tanis. He had notdared to hope for it, but she was in, and alone. Only she wasn't Tanis.She was a courteous, brow-lifting, ice-armored woman who looked likeTanis. She said, "Yes, George, what is it?" in even and uninterestedtones, and he crept away, whipped.His first comfort was from Ted and Eunice Littlefield.They danced in one evening when Ted was home from the university, andTed chuckled, "What's this I hear from Euny, dad? She says her dad saysyou raised Cain by boosting old Seneca Doane. Hot dog! Give 'em fits!Stir 'em up! This old burg is asleep!" Eunice plumped down on Babbitt'slap, kissed him, nestled her bobbed hair against his chin, and crowed;"I think you're lots nicer than Howard. Why is it," confidentially,"that Howard is such an old grouch? The man has a good heart, andhonestly, he's awfully bright, but he never will learn to step on thegas, after all the training I've given him. Don't you think we could dosomething with him, dearest?""Why, Eunice, that isn't a nice way to speak of your papa," Babbittobserved, in the best Floral Heights manner, but he was happy forthe first time in weeks. He pictured himself as the veteran liberalstrengthened by the loyalty of the young generation. They went out torifle the ice-box. Babbitt gloated, "If your mother caught us at this,we'd certainly get our come-uppance!" and Eunice became maternal,scrambled a terrifying number of eggs for them, kissed Babbitt on theear, and in the voice of a brooding abbess marveled, "It beats the devilwhy feminists like me still go on nursing these men!"Thus stimulated, Babbitt was reckless when he encountered SheldonSmeeth, educational director of the Y.M.C.A. and choir-leader of theChatham Road Church. With one of his damp hands Smeeth imprisonedBabbitt's thick paw while he chanted, "Brother Babbitt, we haven't seenyou at church very often lately. I know you're busy with a multitudeof details, but you mustn't forget your dear friends at the old churchhome."Babbitt shook off the affectionate clasp--Sheldy liked to hold hands fora long time--and snarled, "Well, I guess you fellows can run the showwithout me. Sorry, Smeeth; got to beat it. G'day."But afterward he winced, "If that white worm had the nerve to try todrag me back to the Old Church Home, then the holy outfit must have beendoing a lot of talking about me, too."He heard them whispering--whispering--Dr. John Jennison Drew,Cholmondeley Frink, even William Washington Eathorne. The independenceseeped out of him and he walked the streets alone, afraid of men'scynical eyes and the incessant hiss of whispering.