CHAPTER XV

by Sinclair Lewis

　　CHAPTER XVHIS march to greatness was not without disastrous stumbling.Fame did not bring the social advancement which the Babbitts deserved.They were not asked to join the Tonawanda Country Club nor invited tothe dances at the Union. Himself, Babbitt fretted, he didn't "care a fathoot for all these highrollers, but the wife would kind of like to beAmong Those Present." He nervously awaited his university class-dinnerand an evening of furious intimacy with such social leaders as CharlesMcKelvey the millionaire contractor, Max Kruger the banker, Irving Tatethe tool-manufacturer, and Adelbert Dobson the fashionable interiordecorator. Theoretically he was their friend, as he had been in college,and when he encountered them they still called him "Georgie," but hedidn't seem to encounter them often, and they never invited him todinner (with champagne and a butler) at their houses on Royal Ridge.All the week before the class-dinner he thought of them. "No reason whywe shouldn't become real chummy now!"IILike all true American diversions and spiritual outpourings, thedinner of the men of the Class of 1896 was thoroughly organized. Thedinner-committee hammered like a sales-corporation. Once a week theysent out reminders:TICKLER NO. 3Old man, are you going to be with us at the livest Friendship Feed thealumni of the good old U have ever known? The alumnae of '08 turned out60% strong. Are we boys going to be beaten by a bunch of skirts? Comeon, fellows, let's work up some real genuine enthusiasm and all boosttogether for the snappiest dinner yet! Elegant eats, short ginger-talks,and memories shared together of the brightest, gladdest days of life.The dinner was held in a private room at the Union Club. The club wasa dingy building, three pretentious old dwellings knocked together, andthe entrance-hall resembled a potato cellar, yet the Babbitt whowas free of the magnificence of the Athletic Club entered withembarrassment. He nodded to the doorman, an ancient proud negro withbrass buttons and a blue tail-coat, and paraded through the hall, tryingto look like a member.Sixty men had come to the dinner. They made islands and eddies inthe hall; they packed the elevator and the corners of the privatedining-room. They tried to be intimate and enthusiastic. They appearedto one another exactly as they had in college--as raw youngsters whosepresent mustaches, baldnesses, paunches, and wrinkles were but jovialdisguises put on for the evening. "You haven't changed a particle!"they marveled. The men whom they could not recall they addressed, "Well,well, great to see you again, old man. What are you--Still doing thesame thing?"Some one was always starting a cheer or a college song, and it wasalways thinning into silence. Despite their resolution to be democraticthey divided into two sets: the men with dress-clothes and the menwithout. Babbitt (extremely in dress-clothes) went from one group to theother. Though he was, almost frankly, out for social conquest, he soughtPaul Riesling first. He found him alone, neat and silent.Paul sighed, "I'm no good at this handshaking and 'well, look who'shere' bunk.""Rats now, Paulibus, loosen up and be a mixer! Finest bunch of boys onearth! Say, you seem kind of glum. What's matter?""Oh, the usual. Run-in with Zilla.""Come on! Let's wade in and forget our troubles."He kept Paul beside him, but worked toward the spot where CharlesMcKelvey stood warming his admirers like a furnace.McKelvey had been the hero of the Class of '96; not only footballcaptain and hammer-thrower but debater, and passable in what the StateUniversity considered scholarship. He had gone on, had captured theconstruction-company once owned by the Dodsworths, best-known pioneerfamily of Zenith. He built state capitols, skyscrapers, railwayterminals. He was a heavy-shouldered, big-chested man, but not sluggish.There was a quiet humor in his eyes, a syrup-smooth quickness in hisspeech, which intimidated politicians and warned reporters; and in hispresence the most intelligent scientist or the most sensitive artistfelt thin-blooded, unworldly, and a little shabby. He was, particularlywhen he was influencing legislatures or hiring labor-spies, very easyand lovable and gorgeous. He was baronial; he was a peer in the rapidlycrystallizing American aristocracy, inferior only to the haughty OldFamilies. (In Zenith, an Old Family is one which came to town before1840.) His power was the greater because he was not hindered byscruples, by either the vice or the virtue of the older Puritantradition.McKelvey was being placidly merry now with the great, the manufacturersand bankers, the land-owners and lawyers and surgeons who had chauffeursand went to Europe. Babbitt squeezed among them. He liked McKelvey'ssmile as much as the social advancement to be had from his favor. If inPaul's company he felt ponderous and protective, with McKelvey he feltslight and adoring.He heard McKelvey say to Max Kruger, the banker, "Yes, we'll put up SirGerald Doak." Babbitt's democratic love for titles became a rich relish."You know, he's one of the biggest iron-men in England, Max. Horriblywell-off.... Why, hello, old Georgie! Say, Max, George Babbitt isgetting fatter than I am!"The chairman shouted, "Take your seats, fellows!""Shall we make a move, Charley?" Babbitt said casually to McKelvey."Right. Hello, Paul! How's the old fiddler? Planning to sit anywherespecial, George? Come on, let's grab some seats. Come on, Max. Georgie,I read about your speeches in the campaign. Bully work!"After that, Babbitt would have followed him through fire. He wasenormously busy during the dinner, now bumblingly cheering Paul, nowapproaching McKelvey with "Hear, you're going to build some piers inBrooklyn," now noting how enviously the failures of the class, sittingby themselves in a weedy group, looked up to him in his association withthe nobility, now warming himself in the Society Talk of McKelvey andMax Kruger. They spoke of a "jungle dance" for which Mona Dodsworthhad decorated her house with thousands of orchids. They spoke, with anexcellent imitation of casualness, of a dinner in Washington atwhich McKelvey had met a Senator, a Balkan princess, and an Englishmajor-general. McKelvey called the princess "Jenny," and let it be knownthat he had danced with her.Babbitt was thrilled, but not so weighted with awe as to be silent. Ifhe was not invited by them to dinner, he was yet accustomed to talkingwith bank-presidents, congressmen, and clubwomen who entertained poets.He was bright and referential with McKelvey:"Say, Charley, juh remember in Junior year how we chartered a sea-goinghack and chased down to Riverdale, to the big show Madame Brown used toput on? Remember how you beat up that hick constabule that tried to runus in, and we pinched the pants-pressing sign and took and hung it onProf. Morrison's door? Oh, gosh, those were the days!"Those, McKelvey agreed, were the days.Babbitt had reached "It isn't the books you study in college but thefriendships you make that counts" when the men at head of the tablebroke into song. He attacked McKelvey:"It's a shame, uh, shame to drift apart because our, uh, businessactivities lie in different fields. I've enjoyed talking over the goodold days. You and Mrs. McKelvey must come to dinner some night."Vaguely, "Yes, indeed--""Like to talk to you about the growth of real estate out beyond yourGrantsville warehouse. I might be able to tip you off to a thing or two,possibly.""Splendid! We must have dinner together, Georgie. Just let me know. Andit will be a great pleasure to have your wife and you at the house,"said McKelvey, much less vaguely.Then the chairman's voice, that prodigious voice which once had rousedthem to cheer defiance at rooters from Ohio or Michigan or Indiana,whooped, "Come on, you wombats! All together in the long yell!" Babbittfelt that life would never be sweeter than now, when he joined with PaulRiesling and the newly recovered hero, McKelvey, in:Baaaaaattle-ax Get an ax, Bal-ax, Get-nax, Who, who? The U.! Hooroo!IIIThe Babbitts invited the McKelveys to dinner, in early December, and theMcKelveys not only accepted but, after changing the date once or twice,actually came.The Babbitts somewhat thoroughly discussed the details of the dinner,from the purchase of a bottle of champagne to the number of saltedalmonds to be placed before each person. Especially did they mention thematter of the other guests. To the last Babbitt held out for givingPaul Riesling the benefit of being with the McKelveys. "Good old Charleywould like Paul and Verg Gunch better than some highfalutin' Willyboy," he insisted, but Mrs. Babbitt interrupted his observations with,"Yes--perhaps--I think I'll try to get some Lynnhaven oysters," andwhen she was quite ready she invited Dr. J. T. Angus, the oculist, and adismally respectable lawyer named Maxwell, with their glittering wives.Neither Angus nor Maxwell belonged to the Elks or to the Athletic Club;neither of them had ever called Babbitt "brother" or asked his opinionson carburetors. The only "human people" whom she invited, Babbittraged, were the Littlefields; and Howard Littlefield at times became sostatistical that Babbitt longed for the refreshment of Gunch's, "Well,old lemon-pie-face, what's the good word?"Immediately after lunch Mrs. Babbitt began to set the table for theseven-thirty dinner to the McKelveys, and Babbitt was, by order, home atfour. But they didn't find anything for him to do, and three times Mrs.Babbitt scolded, "Do please try to keep out of the way!" He stood in thedoor of the garage, his lips drooping, and wished that Littlefield orSam Doppelbrau or somebody would come along and talk to him. He saw Tedsneaking about the corner of the house."What's the matter, old man?" said Babbitt."Is that you, thin, owld one? Gee, Ma certainly is on the warpath!I told her Rone and I would jus' soon not be let in on the fiestato-night, and she bit me. She says I got to take a bath, too. But, say,the Babbitt men will be some lookers to-night! Little Theodore in adress-suit!""The Babbitt men!" Babbitt liked the sound of it. He put his arm aboutthe boy's shoulder. He wished that Paul Riesling had a daughter, so thatTed might marry her. "Yes, your mother is kind of rouncing round, allright," he said, and they laughed together, and sighed together, anddutifully went in to dress.The McKelveys were less than fifteen minutes late.Babbitt hoped that the Doppelbraus would see the McKelveys' limousine,and their uniformed chauffeur, waiting in front.The dinner was well cooked and incredibly plentiful, and Mrs. Babbitthad brought out her grandmother's silver candlesticks. Babbitt workedhard. He was good. He told none of the jokes he wanted to tell. Helistened to the others. He started Maxwell off with a resounding, "Let'shear about your trip to the Yellowstone." He was laudatory, extremelylaudatory. He found opportunities to remark that Dr. Angus was abenefactor to humanity, Maxwell and Howard Littlefield profoundscholars, Charles McKelvey an inspiration to ambitious youth, and Mrs.McKelvey an adornment to the social circles of Zenith, Washington, NewYork, Paris, and numbers of other places.But he could not stir them. It was a dinner without a soul. For noreason that was clear to Babbitt, heaviness was over them and they spokelaboriously and unwillingly.He concentrated on Lucille McKelvey, carefully not looking at herblanched lovely shoulder and the tawny silken bared which supported herfrock."I suppose you'll be going to Europe pretty soon again, won't you?" heinvited."I'd like awfully to run over to Rome for a few weeks.""I suppose you see a lot of pictures and music and curios and everythingthere.""No, what I really go for is: there's a little trattoria on the Viadella Scrofa where you get the best fettuccine in the world.""Oh, I--Yes. That must be nice to try that. Yes."At a quarter to ten McKelvey discovered with profound regret that hiswife had a headache. He said blithely, as Babbitt helped him with hiscoat, "We must lunch together some time, and talk over the old days."When the others had labored out, at half-past ten, Babbitt turned tohis wife, pleading, "Charley said he had a corking time and we mustlunch--said they wanted to have us up to the house for dinner beforelong."She achieved, "Oh, it's just been one of those quiet evenings that areoften so much more enjoyable than noisy parties where everybody talks atonce and doesn't really settle down to-nice quiet enjoyment."But from his cot on the sleeping-porch he heard her weeping, slowly,without hope.IVFor a month they watched the social columns, and waited for a returndinner-invitation.As the hosts of Sir Gerald Doak, the McKelveys were headlined all theweek after the Babbitts' dinner. Zenith ardently received Sir Gerald(who had come to America to buy coal). The newspapers interviewed himon prohibition, Ireland, unemployment, naval aviation, the rate ofexchange, tea-drinking versus whisky-drinking, the psychology ofAmerican women, and daily life as lived by English county families. SirGerald seemed to have heard of all those topics. The McKelveys gave hima Singhalese dinner, and Miss Elnora Pearl Bates, society editor of theAdvocate-Times, rose to her highest lark-note. Babbitt read aloud atbreakfast-table:'Twixt the original and Oriental decorations, the strange and deliciousfood, and the personalities both of the distinguished guests, thecharming hostess and the noted host, never has Zenith seen a morerecherche affair than the Ceylon dinner-dance given last evening by Mr.and Mrs. Charles McKelvey to Sir Gerald Doak. Methought as we--fortunateone!--were privileged to view that fairy and foreign scene, nothing atMonte Carlo or the choicest ambassadorial sets of foreign capitals couldbe more lovely. It is not for nothing that Zenith is in matters socialrapidly becoming known as the choosiest inland city in the country.Though he is too modest to admit it, Lord Doak gives a cachet to oursmart quartier such as it has not received since the ever-memorablevisit of the Earl of Sittingbourne. Not only is he of the Britishpeerage, but he is also, on dit, a leader of the British metalindustries. As he comes from Nottingham, a favorite haunt of Robin Hood,though now, we are informed by Lord Doak, a live modern city of 275,573inhabitants, and important lace as well as other industries, we like tothink that perhaps through his veins runs some of the blood, both virilered and bonny blue, of that earlier lord o' the good greenwood, theroguish Robin.The lovely Mrs. McKelvey never was more fascinating than last eveningin her black net gown relieved by dainty bands of silver and at herexquisite waist a glowing cluster of Aaron Ward roses.Babbitt said bravely, "I hope they don't invite us to meet this LordDoak guy. Darn sight rather just have a nice quiet little dinner withCharley and the Missus."At the Zenith Athletic Club they discussed it amply. "I s'pose we'llhave to call McKelvey 'Lord Chaz' from now on," said Sidney Finkelstein."It beats all get-out," meditated that man of data, Howard Littlefield,"how hard it is for some people to get things straight. Here they callthis fellow 'Lord Doak' when it ought to be 'Sir Gerald.'"Babbitt marvelled, "Is that a fact! Well, well! 'Sir Gerald,' eh? That'swhat you call um, eh? Well, sir, I'm glad to know that."Later he informed his salesmen, "It's funnier 'n a goat the waysome folks that, just because they happen to lay up a big wad, goentertaining famous foreigners, don't have any more idea 'n a rabbit howto address 'em so's to make 'em feel at home!"That evening, as he was driving home, he passed McKelvey's limousineand saw Sir Gerald, a large, ruddy, pop-eyed, Teutonic Englishman whosedribble of yellow mustache gave him an aspect sad and doubtful. Babbittdrove on slowly, oppressed by futility. He had a sudden, unexplained,and horrible conviction that the McKelveys were laughing at him.He betrayed his depression by the violence with which he informed hiswife, "Folks that really tend to business haven't got the time to wasteon a bunch like the McKelveys. This society stuff is like any otherhobby; if you devote yourself to it, you get on. But I like to have achance to visit with you and the children instead of all this idioticchasing round."They did not speak of the McKelveys again.VIt was a shame, at this worried time, to have to think about theOverbrooks.Ed Overbrook was a classmate of Babbitt who had been a failure. He hada large family and a feeble insurance business out in the suburb ofDorchester. He was gray and thin and unimportant. He had always beengray and thin and unimportant. He was the person whom, in any group,you forgot to introduce, then introduced with extra enthusiasm. He hadadmired Babbitt's good-fellowship in college, had admired ever sincehis power in real estate, his beautiful house and wonderful clothes. Itpleased Babbitt, though it bothered him with a sense of responsibility.At the class-dinner he had seen poor Overbrook, in a shiny blue sergebusiness-suit, being diffident in a corner with three other failures.He had gone over and been cordial: "Why, hello, young Ed! I hear you'rewriting all the insurance in Dorchester now. Bully work!"They recalled the good old days when Overbrook used to write poetry.Overbrook embarrassed him by blurting, "Say, Georgie, I hate to thinkof how we been drifting apart. I wish you and Mrs. Babbitt would come todinner some night."Babbitt boomed, "Fine! Sure! Just let me know. And the wife and I wantto have you at the house." He forgot it, but unfortunately Ed Overbrookdid not. Repeatedly he telephoned to Babbitt, inviting him to dinner."Might as well go and get it over," Babbitt groaned to his wife. "Butdon't it simply amaze you the way the poor fish doesn't know the firstthing about social etiquette? Think of him 'phoning me, instead of hiswife sitting down and writing us a regular bid! Well, I guesswe're stuck for it. That's the trouble with all this class-brotherhooptedoodle."He accepted Overbrook's next plaintive invitation, for an evening twoweeks off. A dinner two weeks off, even a family dinner, never seemsso appalling, till the two weeks have astoundingly disappeared andone comes dismayed to the ambushed hour. They had to change the date,because of their own dinner to the McKelveys, but at last they gloomilydrove out to the Overbrooks' house in Dorchester.It was miserable from the beginning. The Overbrooks had dinner atsix-thirty, while the Babbitts never dined before seven. Babbittpermitted himself to be ten minutes late. "Let's make it as short aspossible. I think we'll duck out quick. I'll say I have to be at theoffice extra early to-morrow," he planned.The Overbrook house was depressing. It was the second story of a woodentwo-family dwelling; a place of baby-carriages, old hats hung inthe hall, cabbage-smell, and a Family Bible on the parlor table. EdOverbrook and his wife were as awkward and threadbare as usual, and theother guests were two dreadful families whose names Babbitt never caughtand never desired to catch. But he was touched, and disconcerted, by thetactless way in which Overbrook praised him: "We're mighty proud to haveold George here to-night! Of course you've all read about his speechesand oratory in the papers--and the boy's good-looking, too, eh?--butwhat I always think of is back in college, and what a great old mixer hewas, and one of the best swimmers in the class."Babbitt tried to be jovial; he worked at it; but he could find nothingto interest him in Overbrook's timorousness, the blankness of the otherguests, or the drained stupidity of Mrs. Overbrook, with her spectacles,drab skin, and tight-drawn hair. He told his best Irish story, but itsank like soggy cake. Most bleary moment of all was when Mrs. Overbrook,peering out of her fog of nursing eight children and cooking andscrubbing, tried to be conversational."I suppose you go to Chicago and New York right along, Mr. Babbitt," sheprodded."Well, I get to Chicago fairly often.""It must be awfully interesting. I suppose you take in all thetheaters.""Well, to tell the truth, Mrs. Overbrook, thing that hits me best is agreat big beefsteak at a Dutch restaurant in the Loop!"They had nothing more to say. Babbitt was sorry, but there was nohope; the dinner was a failure. At ten, rousing out of the stupor ofmeaningless talk, he said as cheerily as he could, "'Fraid we got to bestarting, Ed. I've got a fellow coming to see me early to-morrow." AsOverbrook helped him with his coat, Babbitt said, "Nice to rub up on theold days! We must have lunch together, P.D.Q."Mrs. Babbitt sighed, on their drive home, "It was pretty terrible. Buthow Mr. Overbrook does admire you!""Yep. Poor cuss! Seems to think I'm a little tin archangel, and thebest-looking man in Zenith.""Well, you're certainly not that but--Oh, Georgie, you don't suppose wehave to invite them to dinner at our house now, do we?""Ouch! Gaw, I hope not!""See here, now, George! You didn't say anything about it to Mr.Overbrook, did you?""No! Gee! No! Honest, I didn't! Just made a bluff about having him tolunch some time.""Well.... Oh, dear.... I don't want to hurt their feelings. But Idon't see how I could stand another evening like this one. And supposesomebody like Dr. and Mrs. Angus came in when we had the Overbrooksthere, and thought they were friends of ours!"For a week they worried, "We really ought to invite Ed and his wife,poor devils!" But as they never saw the Overbrooks, they forgot them,and after a month or two they said, "That really was the best way, justto let it slide. It wouldn't be kind to THEM to have them here. They'dfeel so out of place and hard-up in our home."They did not speak of the Overbrooks again.