CHAPTER VI

by Sinclair Lewis

　　CHAPTER VIIHE forgot Paul Riesling in an afternoon of not unagreeable details.After a return to his office, which seemed to have staggered on withouthim, he drove a "prospect" out to view a four-flat tenement in theLinton district. He was inspired by the customer's admiration of the newcigar-lighter. Thrice its novelty made him use it, and thrice he hurledhalf-smoked cigarettes from the car, protesting, "I GOT to quit smokingso blame much!"Their ample discussion of every detail of the cigar-lighter led themto speak of electric flat-irons and bed-warmers. Babbitt apologized forbeing so shabbily old-fashioned as still to use a hot-water bottle, andhe announced that he would have the sleeping-porch wired at once. He hadenormous and poetic admiration, though very little understanding, of allmechanical devices. They were his symbols of truth and beauty. Regardingeach new intricate mechanism--metal lathe, two-jet carburetor, machinegun, oxyacetylene welder--he learned one good realistic-sounding phrase,and used it over and over, with a delightful feeling of being technicaland initiated.The customer joined him in the worship of machinery, and they camebuoyantly up to the tenement and began that examination of plastic slateroof, kalamein doors, and seven-eighths-inch blind-nailed flooring,began those diplomacies of hurt surprise and readiness to be persuadedto do something they had already decided to do, which would some dayresult in a sale.On the way back Babbitt picked up his partner and father-in-law, HenryT. Thompson, at his kitchen-cabinet works, and they drove through SouthZenith, a high-colored, banging, exciting region: new factories ofhollow tile with gigantic wire-glass windows, surly old red-brickfactories stained with tar, high-perched water-tanks, big red truckslike locomotives, and, on a score of hectic side-tracks, far-wanderingfreight-cars from the New York Central and apple orchards, the GreatNorthern and wheat-plateaus, the Southern Pacific and orange groves.They talked to the secretary of the Zenith Foundry Company aboutan interesting artistic project--a cast-iron fence for Linden LaneCemetery. They drove on to the Zeeco Motor Company and interviewedthe sales-manager, Noel Ryland, about a discount on a Zeeco car forThompson. Babbitt and Ryland were fellow-members of the Boosters' Club,and no Booster felt right if he bought anything from another Boosterwithout receiving a discount. But Henry Thompson growled, "Oh, t' hellwith 'em! I'm not going to crawl around mooching discounts, notfrom nobody." It was one of the differences between Thompson, theold-fashioned, lean Yankee, rugged, traditional, stage type ofAmerican business man, and Babbitt, the plump, smooth, efficient,up-to-the-minute and otherwise perfected modern. Whenever Thompsontwanged, "Put your John Hancock on that line," Babbitt was as muchamused by the antiquated provincialism as any proper Englishman by anyAmerican. He knew himself to be of a breeding altogether more estheticand sensitive than Thompson's. He was a college graduate, he playedgolf, he often smoked cigarettes instead of cigars, and when he wentto Chicago he took a room with a private bath. "The whole thing is," heexplained to Paul Riesling, "these old codgers lack the subtlety thatyou got to have to-day."This advance in civilization could be carried too far, Babbittperceived. Noel Ryland, sales-manager of the Zeeco, was a frivolousgraduate of Princeton, while Babbitt was a sound and standard ware fromthat great department-store, the State University. Ryland wore spats,he wrote long letters about City Planning and Community Singing, and,though he was a Booster, he was known to carry in his pocket smallvolumes of poetry in a foreign language. All this was going too far.Henry Thompson was the extreme of insularity, and Noel Ryland theextreme of frothiness, while between them, supporting the state,defending the evangelical churches and domestic brightness and soundbusiness, were Babbitt and his friends.With this just estimate of himself--and with the promise of a discounton Thompson's car--he returned to his office in triumph.But as he went through the corridor of the Reeves Building he sighed,"Poor old Paul! I got to--Oh, damn Noel Ryland! Damn Charley McKelvey!Just because they make more money than I do, they think they're sosuperior. I wouldn't be found dead in their stuffy old Union Club!I--Somehow, to-day, I don't feel like going back to work. Oh well--"IIHe answered telephone calls, he read the four o'clock mail, he signedhis morning's letters, he talked to a tenant about repairs, he foughtwith Stanley Graff.Young Graff, the outside salesman, was always hinting that he deservedan increase of commission, and to-day he complained, "I think I oughtto get a bonus if I put through the Heiler sale. I'm chasing around andworking on it every single evening, almost."Babbitt frequently remarked to his wife that it was better to "con youroffice-help along and keep 'em happy 'stead of jumping on 'em and poking'em up--get more work out of 'em that way," but this unexampled lack ofappreciation hurt him, and he turned on Graff:"Look here, Stan; let's get this clear. You've got an idea somehow thatit's you that do all the selling. Where d' you get that stuff? Whered' you think you'd be if it wasn't for our capital behind you, and ourlists of properties, and all the prospects we find for you? All you gotto do is follow up our tips and close the deal. The hall-porter couldsell Babbitt-Thompson listings! You say you're engaged to a girl, buthave to put in your evenings chasing after buyers. Well, why the devilshouldn't you? What do you want to do? Sit around holding her hand? Letme tell you, Stan, if your girl is worth her salt, she'll be glad toknow you're out hustling, making some money to furnish the home-nest,instead of doing the lovey-dovey. The kind of fellow that kicks aboutworking overtime, that wants to spend his evenings reading trashy novelsor spooning and exchanging a lot of nonsense and foolishness with somegirl, he ain't the kind of upstanding, energetic young man, with afuture--and with Vision!--that we want here. How about it? What's yourIdeal, anyway? Do you want to make money and be a responsible memberof the community, or do you want to be a loafer, with no Inspiration orPep?"Graff was not so amenable to Vision and Ideals as usual. "You bet Iwant to make money! That's why I want that bonus! Honest, Mr. Babbitt,I don't want to get fresh, but this Heiler house is a terror. Nobody'llfall for it. The flooring is rotten and the walls are full of cracks.""That's exactly what I mean! To a salesman with a love for hisprofession, it's hard problems like that that inspire him to do hisbest. Besides, Stan--Matter o' fact, Thompson and I are against bonuses,as a matter of principle. We like you, and we want to help you so youcan get married, but we can't be unfair to the others on the staff.If we start giving you bonuses, don't you see we're going to hurtthe feeling and be unjust to Penniman and Laylock? Right's right, anddiscrimination is unfair, and there ain't going to be any of it in thisoffice! Don't get the idea, Stan, that because during the war salesmenwere hard to hire, now, when there's a lot of men out of work, therearen't a slew of bright young fellows that would be glad to step inand enjoy your opportunities, and not act as if Thompson and I were hisenemies and not do any work except for bonuses. How about it, heh? Howabout it?""Oh--well--gee--of course--" sighed Graff, as he went out, crabwise.Babbitt did not often squabble with his employees. He liked to like thepeople about him; he was dismayed when they did not like him. It wasonly when they attacked the sacred purse that he was frightened intofury, but then, being a man given to oratory and high principles,he enjoyed the sound of his own vocabulary and the warmth of his ownvirtue. Today he had so passionately indulged in self-approval that hewondered whether he had been entirely just:"After all, Stan isn't a boy any more. Oughtn't to call him so hard. Butrats, got to haul folks over the coals now and then for their own good.Unpleasant duty, but--I wonder if Stan is sore? What's he saying toMcGoun out there?"So chill a wind of hatred blew from the outer office that the normalcomfort of his evening home-going was ruined. He was distressed bylosing that approval of his employees to which an executive is alwaysslave. Ordinarily he left the office with a thousand enjoyable fussydirections to the effect that there would undoubtedly be important tasksto-morrow, and Miss McGoun and Miss Bannigan would do well to be thereearly, and for heaven's sake remind him to call up Conrad Lyte soon 'she came in. To-night he departed with feigned and apologetic liveliness.He was as afraid of his still-faced clerks--of the eyes focused on him,Miss McGoun staring with head lifted from her typing, Miss Banniganlooking over her ledger, Mat Penniman craning around at his desk in thedark alcove, Stanley Graff sullenly expressionless--as a parvenu beforethe bleak propriety of his butler. He hated to expose his back to theirlaughter, and in his effort to be casually merry he stammered and wasraucously friendly and oozed wretchedly out of the door.But he forgot his misery when he saw from Smith Street the charms ofFloral Heights; the roofs of red tile and green slate, the shining newsun-parlors, and the stainless walls.IIIHe stopped to inform Howard Littlefield, his scholarly neighbor, thatthough the day had been springlike the evening might be cold. He went into shout "Where are you?" at his wife, with no very definite desire toknow where she was. He examined the lawn to see whether the furnace-manhad raked it properly. With some satisfaction and a good deal ofdiscussion of the matter with Mrs. Babbitt, Ted, and Howard Littlefield,he concluded that the furnace-man had not raked it properly. He cut twotufts of wild grass with his wife's largest dressmaking-scissors; heinformed Ted that it was all nonsense having a furnace-man--"bighusky fellow like you ought to do all the work around the house;" andprivately he meditated that it was agreeable to have it known throughoutthe neighborhood that he was so prosperous that his son never workedaround the house.He stood on the sleeping-porch and did his day's exercises: arms outsidewise for two minutes, up for two minutes, while he muttered, "Oughttake more exercise; keep in shape;" then went in to see whether hiscollar needed changing before dinner. As usual it apparently did not.The Lettish-Croat maid, a powerful woman, beat the dinner-gong.The roast of beef, roasted potatoes, and string beans were excellentthis evening and, after an adequate sketch of the day's progressiveweather-states, his four-hundred-and-fifty-dollar fee, his lunch withPaul Riesling, and the proven merits of the new cigar-lighter, he wasmoved to a benign, "Sort o' thinking about buyin, a new car. Don'tbelieve we'll get one till next year, but still we might."Verona, the older daughter, cried, "Oh, Dad, if you do, why don't youget a sedan? That would be perfectly slick! A closed car is so much morecomfy than an open one.""Well now, I don't know about that. I kind of like an open car. You getmore fresh air that way.""Oh, shoot, that's just because you never tried a sedan. Let's get one.It's got a lot more class," said Ted."A closed car does keep the clothes nicer," from Mrs. Babbitt; "Youdon't get your hair blown all to pieces," from Verona; "It's a lotsportier," from Ted; and from Tinka, the youngest, "Oh, let's have asedan! Mary Ellen's father has got one." Ted wound up, "Oh, everybody'sgot a closed car now, except us!"Babbitt faced them: "I guess you got nothing very terrible to complainabout! Anyway, I don't keep a car just to enable you children to looklike millionaires! And I like an open car, so you can put the top downon summer evenings and go out for a drive and get some good fresh air.Besides--A closed car costs more money.""Aw, gee whiz, if the Doppelbraus can afford a closed car, I guess wecan!" prodded Ted."Humph! I make eight thousand a year to his seven! But I don't blow itall in and waste it and throw it around, the way he does! Don't believein this business of going and spending a whole lot of money to show offand--"They went, with ardor and some thoroughness, into the matters ofstreamline bodies, hill-climbing power, wire wheels, chrome steel,ignition systems, and body colors. It was much more than a study oftransportation. It was an aspiration for knightly rank. In the city ofZenith, in the barbarous twentieth century, a family's motor indicatedits social rank as precisely as the grades of the peerage determinedthe rank of an English family--indeed, more precisely, considering theopinion of old county families upon newly created brewery barons andwoolen-mill viscounts. The details of precedence were never officiallydetermined. There was no court to decide whether the second son of aPierce Arrow limousine should go in to dinner before the first son of aBuick roadster, but of their respective social importance there was nodoubt; and where Babbitt as a boy had aspired to the presidency, hisson Ted aspired to a Packard twin-six and an established position in themotored gentry.The favor which Babbitt had won from his family by speaking of a new carevaporated as they realized that he didn't intend to buy one this year.Ted lamented, "Oh, punk! The old boat looks as if it'd had fleas andbeen scratching its varnish off." Mrs. Babbitt said abstractedly,"Snoway talkcher father." Babbitt raged, "If you're too much of ahigh-class gentleman, and you belong to the bon ton and so on, why, youneedn't take the car out this evening." Ted explained, "I didn't mean--"and dinner dragged on with normal domestic delight to the inevitablepoint at which Babbitt protested, "Come, come now, we can't sit here allevening. Give the girl a chance to clear away the table."He was fretting, "What a family! I don't know how we all get toscrapping this way. Like to go off some place and be able to hear myselfthink.... Paul ... Maine ... Wear old pants, and loaf, and cuss." Hesaid cautiously to his wife, "I've been in correspondence with a man inNew York--wants me to see him about a real-estate trade--may not comeoff till summer. Hope it doesn't break just when we and the Rieslingsget ready to go to Maine. Be a shame if we couldn't make the trip theretogether. Well, no use worrying now."Verona escaped, immediately after dinner, with no discussion save anautomatic "Why don't you ever stay home?" from Babbitt.In the living-room, in a corner of the davenport, Ted settled down tohis Home Study; plain geometry, Cicero, and the agonizing metaphors ofComus."I don't see why they give us this old-fashioned junk by Milton andShakespeare and Wordsworth and all these has-beens," he protested. "Oh,I guess I could stand it to see a show by Shakespeare, if they had swellscenery and put on a lot of dog, but to sit down in cold blood and READ'em--These teachers--how do they get that way?"Mrs. Babbitt, darning socks, speculated, "Yes, I wonder why. Of course Idon't want to fly in the face of the professors and everybody, but I dothink there's things in Shakespeare--not that I read him much, but whenI was young the girls used to show me passages that weren't, really,they weren't at all nice."Babbitt looked up irritably from the comic strips in the EveningAdvocate. They composed his favorite literature and art, theseillustrated chronicles in which Mr. Mutt hit Mr. Jeff with a rotten egg,and Mother corrected Father's vulgarisms by means of a rolling-pin. Withthe solemn face of a devotee, breathing heavily through his openmouth, he plodded nightly through every picture, and during the ritehe detested interruptions. Furthermore, he felt that on the subject ofShakespeare he wasn't really an authority. Neither the Advocate-Times,the Evening Advocate, nor the Bulletin of the Zenith Chamber of Commercehad ever had an editorial on the matter, and until one of them hadspoken he found it hard to form an original opinion. But even at riskof floundering in strange bogs, he could not keep out of an opencontroversy."I'll tell you why you have to study Shakespeare and those. It's becausethey're required for college entrance, and that's all there is to it!Personally, I don't see myself why they stuck 'em into an up-to-datehigh-school system like we have in this state. Be a good deal better ifyou took Business English, and learned how to write an ad, or lettersthat would pull. But there it is, and there's no tall, argument, ordiscussion about it! Trouble with you, Ted, is you always want to dosomething different! If you're going to law-school--and you are!--Inever had a chance to, but I'll see that you do--why, you'll want to layin all the English and Latin you can get.""Oh punk. I don't see what's the use of law-school--or even finishinghigh school. I don't want to go to college 'specially. Honest, there'slot of fellows that have graduated from colleges that don't beginto make as much money as fellows that went to work early. Old ShimmyPeters, that teaches Latin in the High, he's a what-is-it from Columbiaand he sits up all night reading a lot of greasy books and he's alwaysspieling about the 'value of languages,' and the poor soak doesn't makebut eighteen hundred a year, and no traveling salesman would think ofworking for that. I know what I'd like to do. I'd like to be an aviator,or own a corking big garage, or else--a fellow was telling me about ityesterday--I'd like to be one of these fellows that the Standard OilCompany sends out to China, and you live in a compound and don't have todo any work, and you get to see the world and pagodas and the ocean andeverything! And then I could take up correspondence-courses. That'sthe real stuff! You don't have to recite to some frosty-faced olddame that's trying to show off to the principal, and you can study anysubject you want to. Just listen to these! I clipped out the ads of someswell courses."He snatched from the back of his geometry half a hundred advertisementsof those home-study courses which the energy and foresight of Americancommerce have contributed to the science of education. The firstdisplayed the portrait of a young man with a pure brow, an iron jaw,silk socks, and hair like patent leather. Standing with one hand in histrousers-pocket and the other extended with chiding forefinger, he wasbewitching an audience of men with gray beards, paunches, bald heads,and every other sign of wisdom and prosperity. Above the picture wasan inspiring educational symbol--no antiquated lamp or torch or owl ofMinerva, but a row of dollar signs. The text ran: $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ $ POWER AND PROSPERITY IN PUBLIC SPEAKING A Yarn Told at the Club Who do you think I ran into the other evening at the De Luxe Restaurant?Why, old Freddy Durkee, that used to be a dead or-alive shipping clerkin my old place--Mr. Mouse-Man we used to laughingly call the dearfellow. One time he was so timid he was plumb scared of the Super, andnever got credit for the dandy work he did. Him at the De Luxe! And ifhe wasn't ordering a tony feed with all the "fixings" from celery tonuts! And instead of being embarrassed by the waiters, like he used tobe at the little dump where we lunched in Old Lang Syne, he was bossingthem around like he was a millionaire!I cautiously asked him what he was doing. Freddy laughed and said, "Say,old chum, I guess you're wondering what's come over me. You'll be gladto know I'm now Assistant Super at the old shop, and right on the HighRoad to Prosperity and Domination, and I look forward with confidenceto a twelve-cylinder car, and the wife is making things hum in the bestsociety and the kiddies getting a first-class education." - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - WHAT WE TEACH YOU How to address your lodge. How to give toasts. How to tell dialect stories. How to propose to a lady. How to entertain banquets. How to make convincing selling-talks. How to build big vocabulary. How to create a strong personality. How to become a rational, powerful and original thinker. How to be a MASTER MAN! - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - PROF. W. F. PEET author of the Shortcut Course in Public-Speaking, is easily the foremostfigure in practical literature, psychology & oratory. A graduate of someof our leading universities, lecturer, extensive traveler, author ofbooks, poetry, etc., a man with the unique PERSONALITY OF THE MASTERMINDS, he is ready to give YOU all the secrets of his culture andhammering Force, in a few easy lessons that will not interfere withother occupations. --------------------------------"Here's how it happened. I ran across an ad of a course that claimedto teach people how to talk easily and on their feet, how to answercomplaints, how to lay a proposition before the Boss, how to hit abank for a loan, how to hold a big audience spellbound with wit, humor,anecdote, inspiration, etc. It was compiled by the Master Orator, Prof.Waldo F. Peet. I was skeptical, too, but I wrote (JUST ON A POSTCARD,with name and address) to the publisher for the lessons--sent On Trial,money back if you are not absolutely satisfied. There were eight simplelessons in plain language anybody could understand, and I studied themjust a few hours a night, then started practising on the wife. Soonfound I could talk right up to the Super and get due credit for all thegood work I did. They began to appreciate me and advance me fast, andsay, old doggo, what do you think they're paying me now? $6,500 peryear! And say, I find I can keep a big audience fascinated, speaking onany topic. As a friend, old boy, I advise you to send for circular (noobligation) and valuable free Art Picture to:-- SHORTCUT EDUCATIONAL PUB. CO. Desk WA Sandpit, Iowa. ARE YOU A 100 PERCENTER OR A 10 PERCENTER?" Babbitt was again without a canon which would enable him to speak withauthority. Nothing in motoring or real estate had indicated what a SolidCitizen and Regular Fellow ought to think about culture by mail. Hebegan with hesitation:"Well--sounds as if it covered the ground. It certainly is a fine thingto be able to orate. I've sometimes thought I had a little talent thatway myself, and I know darn well that one reason why a fourflushing oldback-number like Chan Mott can get away with it in real estate is justbecause he can make a good talk, even when he hasn't got a doggone thingto say! And it certainly is pretty cute the way they get out all thesecourses on various topics and subjects nowadays. I'll tell you, though:No need to blow in a lot of good money on this stuff when you can geta first-rate course in eloquence and English and all that right inyour own school--and one of the biggest school buildings in the entirecountry!""That's so," said Mrs. Babbitt comfortably, while Ted complained:"Yuh, but Dad, they just teach a lot of old junk that isn't anypractical use--except the manual training and typewriting and basketballand dancing--and in these correspondence-courses, gee, you can get allkinds of stuff that would come in handy. Say, listen to this one:'CAN YOU PLAY A MAN'S PART?'If you are walking with your mother, sister or best girl and someone passes a slighting remark or uses improper language, won't you beashamed if you can't take her part? Well, can you?'We teach boxing and self-defense by mail. Many pupils have writtensaying that after a few lessons they've outboxed bigger and heavieropponents. The lessons start with simple movements practised before yourmirror--holding out your hand for a coin, the breast-stroke in swimming,etc. Before you realize it you are striking scientifically, ducking,guarding and feinting, just as if you had a real opponent before you.'""Oh, baby, maybe I wouldn't like that!" Ted chanted. "I'll tell theworld! Gosh, I'd like to take one fellow I know in school that's alwaysshooting off his mouth, and catch him alone--""Nonsense! The idea! Most useless thing I ever heard of!" Babbittfulminated."Well, just suppose I was walking with Mama or Rone, and somebody passeda slighting remark or used improper language. What would I do?""Why, you'd probably bust the record for the hundred-yard dash!""I WOULD not! I'd stand right up to any mucker that passed a slightingremark on MY sister and I'd show him--""Look here, young Dempsey! If I ever catch you fighting I'll whale theeverlasting daylights out of you--and I'll do it without practisingholding out my hand for a coin before the mirror, too!""Why, Ted dear," Mrs. Babbitt said placidly, "it's not at all nice, yourtalking of fighting this way!""Well, gosh almighty, that's a fine way to appreciate--And then supposeI was walking with YOU, Ma, and somebody passed a slighting remark--""Nobody's going to pass no slighting remarks on nobody," Babbittobserved, "not if they stay home and study their geometry and mindtheir own affairs instead of hanging around a lot of poolrooms andsoda-fountains and places where nobody's got any business to be!""But gooooooosh, Dad, if they DID!"Mrs. Babbitt chirped, "Well, if they did, I wouldn't do them the honorof paying any attention to them! Besides, they never do. You always hearabout these women that get followed and insulted and all, but I don'tbelieve a word of it, or it's their own fault, the way some women lookat a person. I certainly never 've been insulted by--""Aw shoot. Mother, just suppose you WERE sometime! Just SUPPOSE! Can'tyou suppose something? Can't you imagine things?""Certainly I can imagine things! The idea!""Certainly your mother can imagine things--and suppose things! Thinkyou're the only member of this household that's got an imagination?"Babbitt demanded. "But what's the use of a lot of supposing? Supposingnever gets you anywhere. No sense supposing when there's a lot of realfacts to take into considera--""Look here, Dad. Suppose--I mean, just--just suppose you were in youroffice and some rival real-estate man--""Realtor!""--some realtor that you hated came in--""I don't hate any realtor.""But suppose you DID!""I don't intend to suppose anything of the kind! There's plenty offellows in my profession that stoop and hate their competitors, but ifyou were a little older and understood business, instead of always goingto the movies and running around with a lot of fool girls with theirdresses up to their knees and powdered and painted and rouged and Godknows what all as if they were chorus-girls, then you'd know--andyou'd suppose--that if there's any one thing that I stand for in thereal-estate circles of Zenith, it is that we ought to always speakof each other only in the friendliest terms and institute a spirit ofbrotherhood and cooperation, and so I certainly can't suppose and Ican't imagine my hating any realtor, not even that dirty, fourflushingsociety sneak, Cecil Rountree!""But--""And there's no If, And or But about it! But if I WERE going to lambastesomebody, I wouldn't require any fancy ducks or swimming-strokes beforea mirror, or any of these doodads and flipflops! Suppose you were outsome place and a fellow called you vile names. Think you'd want to boxand jump around like a dancing-master? You'd just lay him out cold (atleast I certainly hope any son of mine would!) and then you'd dust offyour hands and go on about your business, and that's all there is to it,and you aren't going to have any boxing-lessons by mail, either!""Well but--Yes--I just wanted to show how many different kinds ofcorrespondence-courses there are, instead of all the camembert theyteach us in the High.""But I thought they taught boxing in the school gymnasium.""That's different. They stick you up there and some big stiff amuseshimself pounding the stuffin's out of you before you have a chance tolearn. Hunka! Not any! But anyway--Listen to some of these others."The advertisements were truly philanthropic. One of them bore therousing headline: "Money! Money!! Money!!!" The second announced that"Mr. P. R., formerly making only eighteen a week in a barber shop,writes to us that since taking our course he is now pulling down $5,000as an Osteo-vitalic Physician;" and the third that "Miss J. L., recentlya wrapper in a store, is now getting Ten Real Dollars a day teaching ourHindu System of Vibratory Breathing and Mental Control."Ted had collected fifty or sixty announcements, from annualreference-books, from Sunday School periodicals, fiction-magazines,and journals of discussion. One benefactor implored, "Don't be aWallflower--Be More Popular and Make More Money--YOU Can Ukulele or SingYourself into Society! By the secret principles of a Newly DiscoveredSystem of Music Teaching, any one--man, lady or child--can, withouttiresome exercises, special training or long drawn out study, andwithout waste of time, money or energy, learn to play by note,piano, banjo, cornet, clarinet, saxophone, violin or drum, and learnsight-singing."The next, under the wistful appeal "Finger Print Detectives Wanted--BigIncomes!" confided: "YOU red-blooded men and women--this is thePROFESSION you have been looking for. There's MONEY in it, BIG money,and that rapid change of scene, that entrancing and compelling interestand fascination, which your active mind and adventurous spirit crave.Think of being the chief figure and directing factor in solving strangemysteries and baffling crimes. This wonderful profession brings you intocontact with influential men on the basis of equality, and often callsupon you to travel everywhere, maybe to distant lands--all expensespaid. NO SPECIAL EDUCATION REQUIRED.""Oh, boy! I guess that wins the fire-brick necklace! Wouldn't it beswell to travel everywhere and nab some famous crook!" whooped Ted."Well, I don't think much of that. Doggone likely to get hurt. Still,that music-study stunt might be pretty fair, though. There's no reasonwhy, if efficiency-experts put their minds to it the way they have torouting products in a factory, they couldn't figure out some scheme soa person wouldn't have to monkey with all this practising and exercisesthat you get in music." Babbitt was impressed, and he had a delightfulparental feeling that they two, the men of the family, understood eachother.He listened to the notices of mail-box universities which taughtShort-story Writing and Improving the Memory, Motion-picture-actingand Developing the Soul-power, Banking and Spanish, Chiropody andPhotography, Electrical Engineering and Window-trimming, Poultry-raisingand Chemistry."Well--well--" Babbitt sought for adequate expression of his admiration."I'm a son of a gun! I knew this correspondence-school business hadbecome a mighty profitable game--makes suburban real-estate looklike two cents!--but I didn't realize it'd got to be such a reg'larkey-industry! Must rank right up with groceries and movies. Alwaysfigured somebody'd come along with the brains to not leave education toa lot of bookworms and impractical theorists but make a big thing out ofit. Yes, I can see how a lot of these courses might interest you. I mustask the fellows at the Athletic if they ever realized--But same time,Ted, you know how advertisers, I means some advertisers, exaggerate. Idon't know as they'd be able to jam you through these courses as fast asthey claim they can.""Oh sure, Dad; of course." Ted had the immense and joyful maturity of aboy who is respectfully listened to by his elders. Babbitt concentratedon him with grateful affection:"I can see what an influence these courses might have on the wholeeducational works. Course I'd never admit it publicly--fellow likemyself, a State U. graduate, it's only decent and patriotic for him toblow his horn and boost the Alma Mater--but smatter of fact, there'sa whole lot of valuable time lost even at the U., studying poetry andFrench and subjects that never brought in anybody a cent. I don't knowbut what maybe these correspondence-courses might prove to be one of themost important American inventions."Trouble with a lot of folks is: they're so blame material; they don'tsee the spiritual and mental side of American supremacy; they think thatinventions like the telephone and the areoplane and wireless--no,that was a Wop invention, but anyway: they think these mechanicalimprovements are all that we stand for; whereas to a real thinker, hesees that spiritual and, uh, dominating movements like Efficiency, andRotarianism, and Prohibition, and Democracy are what compose our deepestand truest wealth. And maybe this new principle in education-at-home maybe another--may be another factor. I tell you, Ted, we've got to haveVision--""I think those correspondence-courses are terrible!"The philosophers gasped. It was Mrs. Babbitt who had made this discordin their spiritual harmony, and one of Mrs. Babbitt's virtues was that,except during dinner-parties, when she was transformed into a raginghostess, she took care of the house and didn't bother the males bythinking. She went on firmly:"It sounds awful to me, the way they coax those poor young folksto think they're learning something, and nobody 'round to help themand--You two learn so quick, but me, I always was slow. But just thesame--"Babbitt attended to her: "Nonsense! Get just as much, studying athome. You don't think a fellow learns any more because he blows in hisfather's hard-earned money and sits around in Morris chairs in a swellHarvard dormitory with pictures and shields and table-covers and thosedoodads, do you? I tell you, I'm a college man--I KNOW! There is oneobjection you might make though. I certainly do protest against anyeffort to get a lot of fellows out of barber shops and factories intothe professions. They're too crowded already, and what'll we do forworkmen if all those fellows go and get educated?"Ted was leaning back, smoking a cigarette without reproof. He was, forthe moment, sharing the high thin air of Babbitt's speculation as thoughhe were Paul Riesling or even Dr. Howard Littlefield. He hinted:"Well, what do you think then, Dad? Wouldn't it be a good idea if Icould go off to China or some peppy place, and study engineering orsomething by mail?""No, and I'll tell you why, son. I've found out it's a mighty nice thingto be able to say you're a B.A. Some client that doesn't know what youare and thinks you're just a plug business man, he gets to shooting offhis mouth about economics or literature or foreign trade conditions, andyou just ease in something like, 'When I was in college--course I gotmy B.A. in sociology and all that junk--' Oh, it puts an awful crimp intheir style! But there wouldn't be any class to saying 'I got the degreeof Stamp-licker from the Bezuzus Mail-order University!' You see--Mydad was a pretty good old coot, but he never had much style to him, andI had to work darn hard to earn my way through college. Well, it's beenworth it, to be able to associate with the finest gentlemen in Zenith,at the clubs and so on, and I wouldn't want you to drop out of thegentlemen class--the class that are just as red-blooded as the CommonPeople but still have power and personality. It would kind of hurt me ifyou did that, old man!""I know, Dad! Sure! All right. I'll stick to it. Say! Gosh! Gee whiz! Iforgot all about those kids I was going to take to the chorus rehearsal.I'll have to duck!""But you haven't done all your home-work.""Do it first thing in the morning.""Well--"Six times in the past sixty days Babbitt had stormed, "You will not 'doit first thing in the morning'! You'll do it right now!" but to-night hesaid, "Well, better hustle," and his smile was the rare shy radiance hekept for Paul Riesling.IV"Ted's a good boy," he said to Mrs. Babbitt."Oh, he is!""Who's these girls he's going to pick up? Are they nice decent girls?""I don't know. Oh dear, Ted never tells me anything any more. I don'tunderstand what's come over the children of this generation. I usedto have to tell Papa and Mama everything, but seems like the childrento-day have just slipped away from all control.""I hope they're decent girls. Course Ted's no longer a kid, and Iwouldn't want him to, uh, get mixed up and everything.""George: I wonder if you oughtn't to take him aside and tell himabout--Things!" She blushed and lowered her eyes."Well, I don't know. Way I figure it, Myra, no sense suggesting a lotof Things to a boy's mind. Think up enough devilment by himself. ButI wonder--It's kind of a hard question. Wonder what Littlefield thinksabout it?""Course Papa agrees with you. He says all this--Instruction is--He says'tisn't decent.""Oh, he does, does he! Well, let me tell you that whatever Henry T.Thompson thinks--about morals, I mean, though course you can't beat theold duffer--""Why, what a way to talk of Papa!""--simply can't beat him at getting in on the ground floor of a deal,but let me tell you whenever he springs any ideas about higher thingsand education, then I know I think just the opposite. You may not regardme as any great brain-shark, but believe me, I'm a regular collegepresident, compared with Henry T.! Yes sir, by golly, I'm going to takeTed aside and tell him why I lead a strictly moral life.""Oh, will you? When?""When? When? What's the use of trying to pin me down to When and Why andWhere and How and When? That's the trouble with women, that's why theydon't make high-class executives; they haven't any sense of diplomacy.When the proper opportunity and occasion arises so it just comesin natural, why then I'll have a friendly little talk with himand--and--Was that Tinka hollering up-stairs? She ought to been asleep,long ago."He prowled through the living-room, and stood in the sun-parlor, thatglass-walled room of wicker chairs and swinging couch in which theyloafed on Sunday afternoons. Outside only the lights of Doppelbrau'shouse and the dim presence of Babbitt's favorite elm broke the softnessof April night."Good visit with the boy. Getting over feeling cranky, way I did thismorning. And restless. Though, by golly, I will have a few days alonewith Paul in Maine! . . . That devil Zilla! . . . But . . . Ted's allright. Whole family all right. And good business. Not many fellows makefour hundred and fifty bucks, practically half of a thousand dollarseasy as I did to-day! Maybe when we all get to rowing it's just as muchmy fault as it is theirs. Oughtn't to get grouchy like I do. But--WishI'd been a pioneer, same as my grand-dad. But then, wouldn't have ahouse like this. I--Oh, gosh, I DON'T KNOW!"He thought moodily of Paul Riesling, of their youth together, of thegirls they had known.When Babbitt had graduated from the State University, twenty-four yearsago, he had intended to be a lawyer. He had been a ponderous debater incollege; he felt that he was an orator; he saw himself becoming governorof the state. While he read law he worked as a real-estate salesman. Hesaved money, lived in a boarding-house, supped on poached egg on hash.The lively Paul Riesling (who was certainly going off to Europe to studyviolin, next month or next year) was his refuge till Paul was bespelledby Zilla Colbeck, who laughed and danced and drew men after her plumpand gaily wagging finger.Babbitt's evenings were barren then, and he found comfort only in Paul'ssecond cousin, Myra Thompson, a sleek and gentle girl who showed hercapacity by agreeing with the ardent young Babbitt that of course he wasgoing to be governor some day. Where Zilla mocked him as a country boy,Myra said indignantly that he was ever so much solider than the youngdandies who had been born in the great city of Zenith--an ancientsettlement in 1897, one hundred and five years old, with two hundredthousand population, the queen and wonder of all the state and, to theCatawba boy, George Babbitt, so vast and thunderous and luxurious thathe was flattered to know a girl ennobled by birth in Zenith.Of love there was no talk between them. He knew that if he was tostudy law he could not marry for years; and Myra was distinctly a NiceGirl--one didn't kiss her, one didn't "think about her that way at all"unless one was going to marry her. But she was a dependable companion.She was always ready to go skating, walking; always content to hear hisdiscourses on the great things he was going to do, the distressed poorwhom he would defend against the Unjust Rich, the speeches he wouldmake at Banquets, the inexactitudes of popular thought which he wouldcorrect.One evening when he was weary and soft-minded, he saw that she had beenweeping. She had been left out of a party given by Zilla. Somehow herhead was on his shoulder and he was kissing away the tears--and sheraised her head to say trustingly, "Now that we're engaged, shall we bemarried soon or shall we wait?"Engaged? It was his first hint of it. His affection for this browntender woman thing went cold and fearful, but he could not hurt her,could not abuse her trust. He mumbled something about waiting, andescaped. He walked for an hour, trying to find a way of telling her thatit was a mistake. Often, in the month after, he got near to telling her,but it was pleasant to have a girl in his arms, and less and less couldhe insult her by blurting that he didn't love her. He himself had nodoubt. The evening before his marriage was an agony, and the morningwild with the desire to flee.She made him what is known as a Good Wife. She was loyal, industrious,and at rare times merry. She passed from a feeble disgust at theircloser relations into what promised to be ardent affection, but itdrooped into bored routine. Yet she existed only for him and for thechildren, and she was as sorry, as worried as himself, when he gave upthe law and trudged on in a rut of listing real estate."Poor kid, she hasn't had much better time than I have," Babbittreflected, standing in the dark sun-parlor. "But--I wish I could 've hada whirl at law and politics. Seen what I could do. Well--Maybe I've mademore money as it is."He returned to the living-room but before he settled down he smoothedhis wife's hair, and she glanced up, happy and somewhat surprised.