CHAPTER XI

by Sinclair Lewis

　　CHAPTER XIITHEY had four hours in New York between trains. The one thing Babbittwished to see was the Pennsylvania Hotel, which had been built since hislast visit. He stared up at it, muttering, "Twenty-two hundred rooms andtwenty-two hundred baths! That's got everything in the world beat. Lord,their turnover must be--well, suppose price of rooms is four to eightdollars a day, and I suppose maybe some ten and--four times twenty-twohundred-say six times twenty-two hundred--well, anyway, with restaurantsand everything, say summers between eight and fifteen thousand a day.Every day! I never thought I'd see a thing like that! Some town! Ofcourse the average fellow in Zenith has got more Individual Initiativethan the fourflushers here, but I got to hand it to New York. Yes, sir,town, you're all right--some ways. Well, old Paulski, I guess we'veseen everything that's worth while. How'll we kill the rest of the time?Movie?"But Paul desired to see a liner. "Always wanted to go to Europe--and, bythunder, I will, too, some day before I past out," he sighed.From a rough wharf on the North River they stared at the stern ofthe Aquitania and her stacks and wireless antenna lifted above thedock-house which shut her in."By golly," Babbitt droned, "wouldn't be so bad to go over to theOld Country and take a squint at all these ruins, and the place whereShakespeare was born. And think of being able to order a drink wheneveryou wanted one! Just range up to a bar and holler out loud, 'Gimme acocktail, and darn the police!' Not bad at all. What juh like to see,over there, Paulibus?"Paul did not answer. Babbitt turned. Paul was standing with clenchedfists, head drooping, staring at the liner as in terror. His thin body,seen against the summer-glaring planks of the wharf, was childishlymeager.Again, "What would you hit for on the other side, Paul?"Scowling at the steamer, his breast heaving, Paul whispered, "Oh, myGod!" While Babbitt watched him anxiously he snapped, "Come on, let'sget out of this," and hastened down the wharf, not looking back."That's funny," considered Babbitt. "The boy didn't care for seeing theocean boats after all. I thought he'd be interested in 'em."IIThough he exulted, and made sage speculations about locomotivehorse-power, as their train climbed the Maine mountain-ridge and fromthe summit he looked down the shining way among the pines; though heremarked, "Well, by golly!" when he discovered that the station atKatadumcook, the end of the line, was an aged freight-car; Babbitt'smoment of impassioned release came when they sat on a tiny wharf on LakeSunasquam, awaiting the launch from the hotel. A raft had floated downthe lake; between the logs and the shore, the water was transparent,thin-looking, flashing with minnows. A guide in black felt hat withtrout-flies in the band, and flannel shirt of a peculiarly daring blue,sat on a log and whittled and was silent. A dog, a good countrydog, black and woolly gray, a dog rich in leisure and in meditation,scratched and grunted and slept. The thick sunlight was lavish on thebright water, on the rim of gold-green balsam boughs, the silver birchesand tropic ferns, and across the lake it burned on the sturdy shouldersof the mountains. Over everything was a holy peace.Silent, they loafed on the edge of the wharf, swinging their legs abovethe water. The immense tenderness of the place sank into Babbitt, andhe murmured, "I'd just like to sit here--the rest of my life--andwhittle--and sit. And never hear a typewriter. Or Stan Graff fussing inthe 'phone. Or Rone and Ted scrapping. Just sit. Gosh!"He patted Paul's shoulder. "How does it strike you, old snoozer?""Oh, it's darn good, Georgie. There's something sort of eternal aboutit."For once, Babbitt understood him.IIITheir launch rounded the bend; at the head of the lake, under a mountainslope, they saw the little central dining-shack of their hotel and thecrescent of squat log cottages which served as bedrooms. They landed,and endured the critical examination of the habitues who had been at thehotel for a whole week. In their cottage, with its high stone fireplace,they hastened, as Babbitt expressed it, to "get into some regularhe-togs." They came out; Paul in an old gray suit and soft white shirt;Babbitt in khaki shirt and vast and flapping khaki trousers. It wasexcessively new khaki; his rimless spectacles belonged to a city office;and his face was not tanned but a city pink. He made a discordant noisein the place. But with infinite satisfaction he slapped his legs andcrowed, "Say, this is getting back home, eh?"They stood on the wharf before the hotel. He winked at Paul and drewfrom his back pocket a plug of chewing-tobacco, a vulgarism forbiddenin the Babbitt home. He took a chew, beaming and wagging his head ashe tugged at it. "Um! Um! Maybe I haven't been hungry for a wad ofeating-tobacco! Have some?"They looked at each other in a grin of understanding. Paul took theplug, gnawed at it. They stood quiet, their jaws working. They solemnlyspat, one after the other, into the placid water. They stretchedvoluptuously, with lifted arms and arched backs. From beyond themountains came the shuffling sound of a far-off train. A trout leaped,and fell back in a silver circle. They sighed together.IVThey had a week before their families came. Each evening they planned toget up early and fish before breakfast. Each morning they lay abed tillthe breakfast-bell, pleasantly conscious that there were no efficientwives to rouse them. The mornings were cold; the fire was kindly as theydressed.Paul was distressingly clean, but Babbitt reveled in a good sounddirtiness, in not having to shave till his spirit was moved to it. Hetreasured every grease spot and fish-scale on his new khaki trousers.All morning they fished unenergetically, or tramped the dim andaqueous-lighted trails among rank ferns and moss sprinkled with crimsonbells. They slept all afternoon, and till midnight played stud-pokerwith the guides. Poker was a serious business to the guides. They didnot gossip; they shuffled the thick greasy cards with a deft ferocitymenacing to the "sports;" and Joe Paradise, king of guides, wassarcastic to loiterers who halted the game even to scratch.At midnight, as Paul and he blundered to their cottage over the pungentwet grass, and pine-roots confusing in the darkness, Babbitt rejoicedthat he did not have to explain to his wife where he had been allevening.They did not talk much. The nervous loquacity and opinionation of theZenith Athletic Club dropped from them. But when they did talk theyslipped into the naive intimacy of college days. Once they drew theircanoe up to the bank of Sunasquam Water, a stream walled in by the densegreen of the hardhack. The sun roared on the green jungle but in theshade was sleepy peace, and the water was golden and rippling. Babbittdrew his hand through the cool flood, and mused:"We never thought we'd come to Maine together!""No. We've never done anything the way we thought we would. I expectedto live in Germany with my granddad's people, and study the fiddle.""That's so. And remember how I wanted to be a lawyer and go intopolitics? I still think I might have made a go of it. I've kind of gotthe gift of the gab--anyway, I can think on my feet, and make some kindof a spiel on most anything, and of course that's the thing you need inpolitics. By golly, Ted's going to law-school, even if I didn't! Well--Iguess it's worked out all right. Myra's been a fine wife. And Zillameans well, Paulibus.""Yes. Up here, I figure out all sorts of plans to keep her amused. Ikind of feel life is going to be different, now that we're getting agood rest and can go back and start over again.""I hope so, old boy." Shyly: "Say, gosh, it's been awful nice to sitaround and loaf and gamble and act regular, with you along, you oldhorse-thief!""Well, you know what it means to me, Georgie. Saved my life."The shame of emotion overpowered them; they cursed a little, to provethey were good rough fellows; and in a mellow silence, Babbitt whistlingwhile Paul hummed, they paddled back to the hotel.VThough it was Paul who had seemed overwrought, Babbitt who had been theprotecting big brother, Paul became clear-eyed and merry, while Babbittsank into irritability. He uncovered layer on layer of hidden weariness.At first he had played nimble jester to Paul and for him soughtamusements; by the end of the week Paul was nurse, and Babbitt acceptedfavors with the condescension one always shows a patient nurse.The day before their families arrived, the women guests at thehotel bubbled, "Oh, isn't it nice! You must be so excited;" and theproprieties compelled Babbitt and Paul to look excited. But they went tobed early and grumpy.When Myra appeared she said at once, "Now, we want you boys to go onplaying around just as if we weren't here."The first evening, he stayed out for poker with the guides, and she saidin placid merriment, "My! You're a regular bad one!" The second evening,she groaned sleepily, "Good heavens, are you going to be out everysingle night?" The third evening, he didn't play poker.He was tired now in every cell. "Funny! Vacation doesn't seem to havedone me a bit of good," he lamented. "Paul's frisky as a colt, but Iswear, I'm crankier and nervouser than when I came up here."He had three weeks of Maine. At the end of the second week he began tofeel calm, and interested in life. He planned an expedition to climbSachem Mountain, and wanted to camp overnight at Box Car Pond. He wascuriously weak, yet cheerful, as though he had cleansed his veins ofpoisonous energy and was filling them with wholesome blood.He ceased to be irritated by Ted's infatuation with a waitress (hisseventh tragic affair this year); he played catch with Ted, and withpride taught him to cast a fly in the pine-shadowed silence of SkowtuitPond.At the end he sighed, "Hang it, I'm just beginning to enjoy my vacation.But, well, I feel a lot better. And it's going to be one great year!Maybe the Real Estate Board will elect me president, instead of somefuzzy old-fashioned faker like Chan Mott."On the way home, whenever he went into the smoking-compartment he feltguilty at deserting his wife and angry at being expected to feel guilty,but each time he triumphed, "Oh, this is going to be a great year, agreat old year!"