CHAPTER XXIII

by Sinclair Lewis

　　CHAPTER XXIIIIHE was busy, from March to June. He kept himself from the bewildermentof thinking. His wife and the neighbors were generous. Every evening heplayed bridge or attended the movies, and the days were blank of faceand silent.In June, Mrs. Babbitt and Tinka went East, to stay with relatives, andBabbitt was free to do--he was not quite sure what.All day long after their departure he thought of the emancipated housein which he could, if he desired, go mad and curse the gods withouthaving to keep up a husbandly front. He considered, "I could have areg'lar party to-night; stay out till two and not do any explainingafterwards. Cheers!" He telephoned to Vergil Gunch, to Eddie Swanson.Both of them were engaged for the evening, and suddenly he was bored byhaving to take so much trouble to be riotous.He was silent at dinner, unusually kindly to Ted and Verona, hesitatingbut not disapproving when Verona stated her opinion of Kenneth Escott'sopinion of Dr. John Jennison Drew's opinion of the opinions of theevolutionists. Ted was working in a garage through the summer vacation,and he related his daily triumphs: how he had found a cracked ball-race,what he had said to the Old Grouch, what he had said to the foremanabout the future of wireless telephony.Ted and Verona went to a dance after dinner. Even the maid was out.Rarely had Babbitt been alone in the house for an entire evening. He wasrestless. He vaguely wanted something more diverting than the newspapercomic strips to read. He ambled up to Verona's room, sat on her maidenlyblue and white bed, humming and grunting in a solid-citizen manner as heexamined her books: Conrad's "Rescue," a volume strangely named "Figuresof Earth," poetry (quite irregular poetry, Babbitt thought) by VachelLindsay, and essays by H. L. Mencken--highly improper essays, making funof the church and all the decencies. He liked none of the books. In themhe felt a spirit of rebellion against niceness and solid-citizenship.These authors--and he supposed they were famous ones, too--did not seemto care about telling a good story which would enable a fellow to forgethis troubles. He sighed. He noted a book, "The Three Black Pennies,"by Joseph Hergesheimer. Ah, that was something like it! It would be anadventure story, maybe about counterfeiting--detectives sneaking up onthe old house at night. He tucked the book under his arm, he clumpeddown-stairs and solemnly began to read, under the piano-lamp:"A twilight like blue dust sifted into the shallow fold of the thicklywooded hills. It was early October, but a crisping frost had alreadystamped the maple trees with gold, the Spanish oaks were hung withpatches of wine red, the sumach was brilliant in the darkeningunderbrush. A pattern of wild geese, flying low and unconcerned abovethe hills, wavered against the serene ashen evening. Howat Penny,standing in the comparative clearing of a road, decided that theshifting regular flight would not come close enough for a shot.... Hehad no intention of hunting the geese. With the drooping of dayhis keenness had evaporated; an habitual indifference strengthened,permeating him...."There it was again: discontent with the good common ways. Babbitt laiddown the book and listened to the stillness. The inner doors of thehouse were open. He heard from the kitchen the steady drip of therefrigerator, a rhythm demanding and disquieting. He roamed to thewindow. The summer evening was foggy and, seen through the wirescreen, the street lamps were crosses of pale fire. The whole world wasabnormal. While he brooded, Verona and Ted came in and went up tobed. Silence thickened in the sleeping house. He put on his hat, hisrespectable derby, lighted a cigar, and walked up and down before thehouse, a portly, worthy, unimaginative figure, humming "Silver Threadsamong the Gold." He casually considered, "Might call up Paul." Then heremembered. He saw Paul in a jailbird's uniform, but while he agonizedhe didn't believe the tale. It was part of the unreality of thisfog-enchanted evening.If she were here Myra would be hinting, "Isn't it late, Georgie?" Hetramped in forlorn and unwanted freedom. Fog hid the house now. Theworld was uncreated, a chaos without turmoil or desire.Through the mist came a man at so feverish a pace that he seemed todance with fury as he entered the orb of glow from a street-lamp. Ateach step he brandished his stick and brought it down with a crash. Hisglasses on their broad pretentious ribbon banged against his stomach.Babbitt incredulously saw that it was Chum Frink.Frink stopped, focused his vision, and spoke with gravity:"There's another fool. George Babbitt. Lives for rentinghowshes--houses. Know who I am? I'm traitor to poetry. I'm drunk. I'mtalking too much. I don't care. Know what I could 've been? I could 'vebeen a Gene Field or a James Whitcomb Riley. Maybe a Stevenson.I could 've. Whimsies. 'Magination. Lissen. Lissen to this. Justmade it up: Glittering summery meadowy noise Of beetles and bums and respectable boys. Hear that? Whimzh--whimsy. I made that up. I don't know what it means!Beginning good verse. Chile's Garden Verses. And whadi write? Tripe!Cheer-up poems. All tripe! Could have written--Too late!"He darted on with an alarming plunge, seeming always to pitch forwardyet never quite falling. Babbitt would have been no more astonishedand no less had a ghost skipped out of the fog carrying his head.He accepted Frink with vast apathy; he grunted, "Poor boob!" andstraightway forgot him.He plodded into the house, deliberately went to the refrigerator andrifled it. When Mrs. Babbitt was at home, this was one of the majorhousehold crimes. He stood before the covered laundry tubs, eating achicken leg and half a saucer of raspberry jelly, and grumbling over aclammy cold boiled potato. He was thinking. It was coming to him thatperhaps all life as he knew it and vigorously practised it was futile;that heaven as portrayed by the Reverend Dr. John Jennison Drew wasneither probable nor very interesting; that he hadn't much pleasure outof making money; that it was of doubtful worth to rear children merelythat they might rear children who would rear children. What was it allabout? What did he want?He blundered into the living-room, lay on the davenport, hands behindhis head.What did he want? Wealth? Social position? Travel? Servants? Yes, butonly incidentally."I give it up," he sighed.But he did know that he wanted the presence of Paul Riesling; and fromthat he stumbled into the admission that he wanted the fairy girl--inthe flesh. If there had been a woman whom he loved, he would have fledto her, humbled his forehead on her knees.He thought of his stenographer, Miss McGoun. He thought of the prettiestof the manicure girls at the Hotel Thornleigh barber shop. As he fellasleep on the davenport he felt that he had found something in life, andthat he had made a terrifying, thrilling break with everything that wasdecent and normal.IIHe had forgotten, next morning, that he was a conscious rebel, but hewas irritable in the office and at the eleven o'clock drive of telephonecalls and visitors he did something he had often desired and neverdared: he left the office without excuses to those stave-drivers hisemployees, and went to the movies. He enjoyed the right to be alone. Hecame out with a vicious determination to do what he pleased.As he approached the Roughnecks' Table at the club, everybody laughed."Well, here's the millionaire!" said Sidney Finkelstein."Yes, I saw him in his Locomobile!" said Professor Pumphrey."Gosh, it must be great to be a smart guy like Georgie!" moaned VergilGunch. "He's probably stolen all of Dorchester. I'd hate to leave a poorlittle defenseless piece of property lying around where he could get hishooks on it!"They had, Babbitt perceived, "something on him." Also, they "had theirkidding clothes on." Ordinarily he would have been delighted at thehonor implied in being chaffed, but he was suddenly touchy. He grunted,"Yuh, sure; maybe I'll take you guys on as office boys!" He wasimpatient as the jest elaborately rolled on to its denouement."Of course he may have been meeting a girl," they said, and "No, I thinkhe was waiting for his old roommate, Sir Jerusalem Doak."He exploded, "Oh, spring it, spring it, you boneheads! What's the greatjoke?""Hurray! George is peeved!" snickered Sidney Finkelstein, while a grinwent round the table. Gunch revealed the shocking truth: He had seenBabbitt coming out of a motion-picture theater--at noon!They kept it up. With a hundred variations, a hundred guffaws, they saidthat he had gone to the movies during business-hours. He didn't so muchmind Gunch, but he was annoyed by Sidney Finkelstein, that brisk, lean,red-headed explainer of jokes. He was bothered, too, by the lump of icein his glass of water. It was too large; it spun round and burned hisnose when he tried to drink. He raged that Finkelstein was like thatlump of ice. But he won through; he kept up his banter till they grewtired of the superlative jest and turned to the great problems of theday.He reflected, "What's the matter with me to-day? Seems like I've got anawful grouch. Only they talk so darn much. But I better steer carefuland keep my mouth shut."As they lighted their cigars he mumbled, "Got to get back," and on achorus of "If you WILL go spending your mornings with lady ushers at themovies!" he escaped. He heard them giggling. He was embarrassed. Whilehe was most bombastically agreeing with the coat-man that the weatherwas warm, he was conscious that he was longing to run childishly withhis troubles to the comfort of the fairy child.IIIHe kept Miss McGoun after he had finished dictating. He searched for atopic which would warm her office impersonality into friendliness."Where you going on your vacation?" he purred."I think I'll go up-state to a farm do you want me to have the Siddonslease copied this afternoon?""Oh, no hurry about it.... I suppose you have a great time when you getaway from us cranks in the office."She rose and gathered her pencils. "Oh, nobody's cranky here I think Ican get it copied after I do the letters."She was gone. Babbitt utterly repudiated the view that he had beentrying to discover how approachable was Miss McGoun. "Course! knew therewas nothing doing!" he said.IVEddie Swanson, the motor-car agent who lived across the street fromBabbitt, was giving a Sunday supper. His wife Louetta, young Louetta wholoved jazz in music and in clothes and laughter, was at her wildest. Shecried, "We'll have a real party!" as she received the guests. Babbitthad uneasily felt that to many men she might be alluring; now headmitted that to himself she was overwhelmingly alluring. Mrs. Babbitthad never quite approved of Louetta; Babbitt was glad that she was nothere this evening.He insisted on helping Louetta in the kitchen: taking the chickencroquettes from the warming-oven, the lettuce sandwiches from theice-box. He held her hand, once, and she depressingly didn't notice it.She caroled, "You're a good little mother's-helper, Georgie. Now trot inwith the tray and leave it on the side-table."He wished that Eddie Swanson would give them cocktails; that Louettawould have one. He wanted--Oh, he wanted to be one of these Bohemiansyou read about. Studio parties. Wild lovely girls who were independent.Not necessarily bad. Certainly not! But not tame, like Floral Heights.How he'd ever stood it all these years--Eddie did not give them cocktails. True, they supped with mirth, andwith several repetitions by Orville Jones of "Any time Louetta wants tocome sit on my lap I'll tell this sandwich to beat it!" but theywere respectable, as befitted Sunday evening. Babbitt had discreetlypreempted a place beside Louetta on the piano bench. While he talkedabout motors, while he listened with a fixed smile to her account of thefilm she had seen last Wednesday, while he hoped that she would hurry upand finish her description of the plot, the beauty of the leading man,and the luxury of the setting, he studied her. Slim waist girdledwith raw silk, strong brows, ardent eyes, hair parted above a broadforehead--she meant youth to him and a charm which saddened. He thoughtof how valiant a companion she would be on a long motor tour, exploringmountains, picnicking in a pine grove high above a valley. Her frailnesstouched him; he was angry at Eddie Swanson for the incessant familybickering. All at once he identified Louetta with the fairy girl. Hewas startled by the conviction that they had always had a romanticattraction for each other."I suppose you're leading a simply terrible life, now you're a widower,"she said."You bet! I'm a bad little fellow and proud of it. Some evening you slipEddie some dope in his coffee and sneak across the road and I'll showyou how to mix a cocktail," he roared."Well, now, I might do it! You never can tell!""Well, whenever you're ready, you just hang a towel out of the atticwindow and I'll jump for the gin!"Every one giggled at this naughtiness. In a pleased way Eddie Swansonstated that he would have a physician analyze his coffee daily. Theothers were diverted to a discussion of the more agreeable recentmurders, but Babbitt drew Louetta back to personal things:"That's the prettiest dress I ever saw in my life.""Do you honestly like it?""Like it? Why, say, I'm going to have Kenneth Escott put a piece in thepaper saying that the swellest dressed woman in the U. S. is Mrs. E.Louetta Swanson.""Now, you stop teasing me!" But she beamed. "Let's dance a little.George, you've got to dance with me."Even as he protested, "Oh, you know what a rotten dancer I am!" he waslumbering to his feet."I'll teach you. I can teach anybody."Her eyes were moist, her voice was jagged with excitement. He wasconvinced that he had won her. He clasped her, conscious of her smoothwarmth, and solemnly he circled in a heavy version of the one-step. Hebumped into only one or two people. "Gosh, I'm not doing so bad; hittin''em up like a regular stage dancer!" he gloated; and she answeredbusily, "Yes--yes--I told you I could teach anybody--DON'T TAKE SUCHLONG STEPS!"For a moment he was robbed of confidence; with fearful concentrationhe sought to keep time to the music. But he was enveloped again by herenchantment. "She's got to like me; I'll make her!" he vowed. He triedto kiss the lock beside her ear. She mechanically moved her head toavoid it, and mechanically she murmured, "Don't!"For a moment he hated her, but after the moment he was as urgent asever. He danced with Mrs. Orville Jones, but he watched Louetta swoopingdown the length of the room with her husband. "Careful! You're gettingfoolish!" he cautioned himself, the while he hopped and bent his solidknees in dalliance with Mrs. Jones, and to that worthy lady rumbled,"Gee, it's hot!" Without reason, he thought of Paul in that shadowyplace where men never dance. "I'm crazy to-night; better go home," heworried, but he left Mrs. Jones and dashed to Louetta's lovely side,demanding, "The next is mine.""Oh, I'm so hot; I'm not going to dance this one.""Then," boldly, "come out and sit on the porch and get all nice andcool.""Well--"In the tender darkness, with the clamor in the house behind them, heresolutely took her hand. She squeezed his once, then relaxed."Louetta! I think you're the nicest thing I know!""Well, I think you're very nice.""Do you? You got to like me! I'm so lonely!""Oh, you'll be all right when your wife comes home.""No, I'm always lonely."She clasped her hands under her chin, so that he dared not touch her. Hesighed:"When I feel punk and--" He was about to bring in the tragedy of Paul,but that was too sacred even for the diplomacy of love. "--when I gettired out at the office and everything, I like to look across the streetand think of you. Do you know I dreamed of you, one time!""Was it a nice dream?""Lovely!""Oh, well, they say dreams go by opposites! Now I must run in."She was on her feet."Oh, don't go in yet! Please, Louetta!""Yes, I must. Have to look out for my guests.""Let 'em look out for 'emselves!""I couldn't do that." She carelessly tapped his shoulder and slippedaway.But after two minutes of shamed and childish longing to sneak home hewas snorting, "Certainly I wasn't trying to get chummy with her! Knewthere was nothing doing, all the time!" and he ambled in to dance withMrs. Orville Jones, and to avoid Louetta, virtuously and conspicuously.