CHAPTER XXIX

by Sinclair Lewis

　　CHAPTER XXIXITHE assurance of Tanis Judique's friendship fortified Babbitt'sself-approval. At the Athletic Club he became experimental. ThoughVergil Gunch was silent, the others at the Roughnecks' Table came toaccept Babbitt as having, for no visible reason, "turned crank." Theyargued windily with him, and he was cocky, and enjoyed the spectacleof his interesting martyrdom. He even praised Seneca Doane. ProfessorPumphrey said that was carrying a joke too far; but Babbitt argued, "No!Fact! I tell you he's got one of the keenest intellects in the country.Why, Lord Wycombe said that--""Oh, who the hell is Lord Wycombe? What you always lugging him in for?You been touting him for the last six weeks!" protested Orville Jones."George ordered him from Sears-Roebuck. You can get those Englishhigh-muckamucks by mail for two bucks apiece," suggested SidneyFinkelstein."That's all right now! Lord Wycombe, he's one of the biggest intellectsin English political life. As I was saying: Of course I'm conservativemyself, but I appreciate a guy like Senny Doane because--"Vergil Gunch interrupted harshly, "I wonder if you are so conservative?I find I can manage to run my own business without any skunks and redslike Doane in it!"The grimness of Gunch's voice, the hardness of his jaw, disconcertedBabbitt, but he recovered and went on till they looked bored, thenirritated, then as doubtful as Gunch.IIHe thought of Tanis always. With a stir he remembered her every aspect.His arms yearned for her. "I've found her! I've dreamed of her all theseyears and now I've found her!" he exulted. He met her at the moviesin the morning; he drove out to her flat in the late afternoon or onevenings when he was believed to be at the Elks. He knew her financialaffairs and advised her about them, while she lamented her feminineignorance, and praised his masterfulness, and proved to know much moreabout bonds than he did. They had remembrances, and laughter over oldtimes. Once they quarreled, and he raged that she was as "bossy" ashis wife and far more whining when he was inattentive. But that passedsafely.Their high hour was a tramp on a ringing December afternoon, throughsnow-drifted meadows down to the icy Chaloosa River. She was exoticin an astrachan cap and a short beaver coat; she slid on the ice andshouted, and he panted after her, rotund with laughter.... Myra Babbittnever slid on the ice.He was afraid that they would be seen together. In Zenith it isimpossible to lunch with a neighbor's wife without the fact beingknown, before nightfall, in every house in your circle. But Tanis wasbeautifully discreet. However appealingly she might turn to him whenthey were alone, she was gravely detached when they were abroad, and hehoped that she would be taken for a client. Orville Jones once saw thememerging from a movie theater, and Babbitt bumbled, "Let me make you'quainted with Mrs. Judique. Now here's a lady who knows the rightbroker to come to, Orvy!" Mr. Jones, though he was a man censorious ofmorals and of laundry machinery, seemed satisfied.His predominant fear--not from any especial fondness for her but fromthe habit of propriety--was that his wife would learn of the affair. Hewas certain that she knew nothing specific about Tanis, but he was alsocertain that she suspected something indefinite. For years she had beenbored by anything more affectionate than a farewell kiss, yet she washurt by any slackening in his irritable periodic interest, and now hehad no interest; rather, a revulsion. He was completely faithful--toTanis. He was distressed by the sight of his wife's slack plumpness, byher puffs and billows of flesh, by the tattered petticoat which she wasalways meaning and always forgetting to throw away. But he was awarethat she, so long attuned to him, caught all his repulsions. Heelaborately, heavily, jocularly tried to check them. He couldn't.They had a tolerable Christmas. Kenneth Escott was there, admittedlyengaged to Verona. Mrs. Babbitt was tearful and called Kenneth her newson. Babbitt was worried about Ted, because he had ceased complainingof the State University and become suspiciously acquiescent. He wonderedwhat the boy was planning, and was too shy to ask. Himself, Babbittslipped away on Christmas afternoon to take his present, a silvercigarette-box, to Tanis. When he returned Mrs. Babbitt asked, much tooinnocently, "Did you go out for a little fresh air?""Yes, just lil drive," he mumbled.After New Year's his wife proposed, "I heard from my sister to-day,George. She isn't well. I think perhaps I ought to go stay with her fora few weeks."Now, Mrs. Babbitt was not accustomed to leave home during the winterexcept on violently demanding occasions, and only the summer before, shehad been gone for weeks. Nor was Babbitt one of the detachable husbandswho take separations casually He liked to have her there; she lookedafter his clothes; she knew how his steak ought to be cooked; and herclucking made him feel secure. But he could not drum up even a dutiful"Oh, she doesn't really need you, does she?" While he tried to lookregretful, while he felt that his wife was watching him, he was filledwith exultant visions of Tanis."Do you think I'd better go?" she said sharply."You've got to decide, honey; I can't."She turned away, sighing, and his forehead was damp.Till she went, four days later, she was curiously still, he cumbrouslyaffectionate. Her train left at noon. As he saw it grow small beyond thetrain-shed he longed to hurry to Tanis."No, by golly, I won't do that!" he vowed. "I won't go near her for aweek!"But he was at her flat at four.IIIHe who had once controlled or seemed to control his life in a progressunimpassioned but diligent and sane was for that fortnight borne on acurrent of desire and very bad whisky and all the complications ofnew acquaintances, those furious new intimates who demand so much moreattention than old friends. Each morning he gloomily recognized hisidiocies of the evening before. With his head throbbing, his tongue andlips stinging from cigarettes, he incredulously counted the number ofdrinks he had taken, and groaned, "I got to quit!" He had ceased saying,"I WILL quit!" for however resolute he might be at dawn, he could not,for a single evening, check his drift.He had met Tanis's friends; he had, with the ardent haste of theMidnight People, who drink and dance and rattle and are ever afraid tobe silent, been adopted as a member of her group, which they called "TheBunch." He first met them after a day when he had worked particularlyhard and when he hoped to be quiet with Tanis and slowly sip heradmiration.From down the hall he could hear shrieks and the grind of a phonograph.As Tanis opened the door he saw fantastic figures dancing in a haze ofcigarette smoke. The tables and chairs were against the wall."Oh, isn't this dandy!" she gabbled at him. "Carrie Nork had theloveliest idea. She decided it was time for a party, and she 'phoned theBunch and told 'em to gather round. . . . George, this is Carrie.""Carrie" was, in the less desirable aspects of both, at once matronlyand spinsterish. She was perhaps forty; her hair was an unconvincingash-blond; and if her chest was flat, her hips were ponderous. Shegreeted Babbitt with a giggling "Welcome to our little midst! Tanis saysyou're a real sport."He was apparently expected to dance, to be boyish and gay with Carrie,and he did his unforgiving best. He towed her about the room, bumpinginto other couples, into the radiator, into chair-legs cunninglyambushed. As he danced he surveyed the rest of the Bunch: A thin youngwoman who looked capable, conceited, and sarcastic. Another woman whomhe could never quite remember. Three overdressed and slightly effeminateyoung men--soda-fountain clerks, or at least born for that profession.A man of his own age, immovable, self-satisfied, resentful of Babbitt'spresence.When he had finished his dutiful dance Tanis took him aside and begged,"Dear, wouldn't you like to do something for me? I'm all out of booze,and the Bunch want to celebrate. Couldn't you just skip down to HealeyHanson's and get some?""Sure," he said, trying not to sound sullen."I'll tell you: I'll get Minnie Sonntag to drive down with you." Taniswas pointing to the thin, sarcastic young woman.Miss Sonntag greeted him with an astringent "How d'you do, Mr. Babbitt.Tanis tells me you're a very prominent man, and I'm honored by beingallowed to drive with you. Of course I'm not accustomed to associatingwith society people like you, so I don't know how to act in such exaltedcircles!"Thus Miss Sonntag talked all the way down to Healey Hanson's. To herjibes he wanted to reply "Oh, go to the devil!" but he never quitenerved himself to that reasonable comment. He was resenting theexistence of the whole Bunch. He had heard Tanis speak of "darlingCarrie" and "Min Sonntag--she's so clever--you'll adore her," butthey had never been real to him. He had pictured Tanis as living in arose-tinted vacuum, waiting for him, free of all the complications of aFloral Heights.When they returned he had to endure the patronage of the youngsoda-clerks. They were as damply friendly as Miss Sonntag was drylyhostile. They called him "Old Georgie" and shouted, "Come on now, sport;shake a leg" . . . boys in belted coats, pimply boys, as young as Tedand as flabby as chorus-men, but powerful to dance and to mind thephonograph and smoke cigarettes and patronize Tanis. He tried to be oneof them; he cried "Good work, Pete!" but his voice creaked.Tanis apparently enjoyed the companionship of the dancing darlings; shebridled to their bland flirtation and casually kissed them at the endof each dance. Babbitt hated her, for the moment. He saw her asmiddle-aged. He studied the wrinkles in the softness of her throat, theslack flesh beneath her chin. The taut muscles of her youth were looseand drooping. Between dances she sat in the largest chair, waving hercigarette, summoning her callow admirers to come and talk to her. ("Shethinks she's a blooming queen!" growled Babbitt.) She chanted to MissSonntag, "Isn't my little studio sweet?" ("Studio, rats! It's a plainold-maid-and-chow-dog flat! Oh, God, I wish I was home! I wonder if Ican't make a getaway now?")His vision grew blurred, however, as he applied himself to HealeyHanson's raw but vigorous whisky. He blended with the Bunch. He beganto rejoice that Carrie Nork and Pete, the most nearly intelligent of thenimble youths, seemed to like him; and it was enormously important towin over the surly older man, who proved to be a railway clerk namedFulton Bemis.The conversation of the Bunch was exclamatory, high-colored, full ofreferences to people whom Babbitt did not know. Apparently they thoughtvery comfortably of themselves. They were the Bunch, wise and beautifuland amusing; they were Bohemians and urbanites, accustomed to all theluxuries of Zenith: dance-halls, movie-theaters, and roadhouses; andin a cynical superiority to people who were "slow" or "tightwad" theycackled:"Oh, Pete, did I tell you what that dub of a cashier said when I came inlate yesterday? Oh, it was per-fect-ly priceless!""Oh, but wasn't T. D. stewed! Say, he was simply ossified! What didGladys say to him?""Think of the nerve of Bob Bickerstaff trying to get us to come to hishouse! Say, the nerve of him! Can you beat it for nerve? Some nerve Icall it!""Did you notice how Dotty was dancing? Gee, wasn't she the limit!"Babbitt was to be heard sonorously agreeing with the once-hated MissMinnie Sonntag that persons who let a night go by without dancing tojazz music were crabs, pikers, and poor fish; and he roared "You bet!"when Mrs. Carrie Nork gurgled, "Don't you love to sit on the floor? It'sso Bohemian!" He began to think extremely well of the Bunch. When hementioned his friends Sir Gerald Doak, Lord Wycombe, William WashingtonEathorne, and Chum Frink, he was proud of their condescending interest.He got so thoroughly into the jocund spirit that he didn't much mindseeing Tanis drooping against the shoulder of the youngest and milkiestof the young men, and he himself desired to hold Carrie Nork's pulpyhand, and dropped it only because Tanis looked angry.When he went home, at two, he was fully a member of the Bunch, andall the week thereafter he was bound by the exceedingly straitenedconventions, the exceedingly wearing demands, of their life of pleasureand freedom. He had to go to their parties; he was involved in theagitation when everybody telephoned to everybody else that she hadn'tmeant what she'd said when she'd said that, and anyway, why was Petegoing around saying she'd said it?Never was a Family more insistent on learning one another's movementsthan were the Bunch. All of them volubly knew, or indignantly desiredto know, where all the others had been every minute of the week. Babbittfound himself explaining to Carrie or Fulton Bemis just what he hadbeen doing that he should not have joined them till ten o'clock, andapologizing for having gone to dinner with a business acquaintance.Every member of the Bunch was expected to telephone to every othermember at least once a week. "Why haven't you called me up?" Babbittwas asked accusingly, not only by Tanis and Carrie but presently by newancient friends, Jennie and Capitolina and Toots.If for a moment he had seen Tanis as withering and sentimental, he lostthat impression at Carrie Nork's dance. Mrs. Nork had a large house anda small husband. To her party came all of the Bunch, perhaps thirty-fiveof them when they were completely mobilized. Babbitt, under the nameof "Old Georgie," was now a pioneer of the Bunch, since each month itchanged half its membership and he who could recall the prehistoric daysof a fortnight ago, before Mrs. Absolom, the food-demonstrator, hadgone to Indianapolis, and Mac had "got sore at" Minnie, was a venerableleader and able to condescend to new Petes and Minnies and Gladyses.At Carrie's, Tanis did not have to work at being hostess. She wasdignified and sure, a clear fine figure in the black chiffon frock hehad always loved; and in the wider spaces of that ugly house Babbitt wasable to sit quietly with her. He repented of his first revulsion, moonedat her feet, and happily drove her home. Next day he bought a violentyellow tie, to make himself young for her. He knew, a little sadly, thathe could not make himself beautiful; he beheld himself as heavy, hintingof fatness, but he danced, he dressed, he chattered, to be as young asshe was . . . as young as she seemed to be.IVAs all converts, whether to a religion, love, or gardening, find as bymagic that though hitherto these hobbies have not seemed to exist, nowthe whole world is filled with their fury, so, once he was convertedto dissipation, Babbitt discovered agreeable opportunities for iteverywhere.He had a new view of his sporting neighbor, Sam Doppelbrau. TheDoppelbraus were respectable people, industrious people, prosperouspeople, whose ideal of happiness was an eternal cabaret. Their life wasdominated by suburban bacchanalia of alcohol, nicotine, gasoline, andkisses. They and their set worked capably all the week, and all weeklooked forward to Saturday night, when they would, as they expressedit, "throw a party;" and the thrown party grew noisier and noisier up toSunday dawn, and usually included an extremely rapid motor expedition tonowhere in particular.One evening when Tanis was at the theater, Babbitt found himself beinglively with the Doppelbraus, pledging friendship with men whom hehad for years privily denounced to Mrs. Babbitt as a "rotten bunch oftin-horns that I wouldn't go out with, rot if they were the last peopleon earth." That evening he had sulkily come home and poked about infront of the house, chipping off the walk the ice-clots, like fossilfootprints, made by the steps of passers-by during the recent snow.Howard Littlefield came up snuffling."Still a widower, George?""Yump. Cold again to-night.""What do you hear from the wife?""She's feeling fine, but her sister is still pretty sick.""Say, better come in and have dinner with us to-night, George.""Oh--oh, thanks. Have to go out."Suddenly he could not endure Littlefield's recitals of the moreinteresting statistics about totally uninteresting problems. He scrapedat the walk and grunted.Sam Doppelbrau appeared."Evenin', Babbitt. Working hard?""Yuh, lil exercise.""Cold enough for you to-night?""Well, just about.""Still a widower?""Uh-huh.""Say, Babbitt, while she's away--I know you don't care much forbooze-fights, but the Missus and I'd be awfully glad if you could comein some night. Think you could stand a good cocktail for once?""Stand it? Young fella, I bet old Uncle George can mix the best cocktailin these United States!""Hurray! That's the way to talk! Look here: There's some folks comingto the house to-night, Louetta Swanson and some other live ones, and I'mgoing to open up a bottle of pre-war gin, and maybe we'll dance a while.Why don't you drop in and jazz it up a little, just for a change?""Well--What time they coming?"He was at Sam Doppelbrau's at nine. It was the third time he had enteredthe house. By ten he was calling Mr. Doppelbrau "Sam, old hoss."At eleven they all drove out to the Old Farm Inn. Babbitt sat in theback of Doppelbrau's car with Louetta Swanson. Once he had timorouslytried to make love to her. Now he did not try; he merely made love; andLouetta dropped her head on his shoulder, told him what a nagger Eddiewas, and accepted Babbitt as a decent and well-trained libertine.With the assistance of Tanis's Bunch, the Doppelbraus, and othercompanions in forgetfulness, there was not an evening for two weeks whenhe did not return home late and shaky. With his other faculties blurredhe yet had the motorist's gift of being able to drive when he couldscarce walk; of slowing down at corners and allowing for approachingcars. He came wambling into the house. If Verona and Kenneth Escott wereabout, he got past them with a hasty greeting, horribly aware of theirlevel young glances, and hid himself up-stairs. He found when he cameinto the warm house that he was hazier than he had believed. His headwhirled. He dared not lie down. He tried to soak out the alcohol in ahot bath. For the moment his head was clearer but when he moved aboutthe bathroom his calculations of distance were wrong, so that he draggeddown the towels, and knocked over the soap-dish with a clatter which, hefeared, would betray him to the children. Chilly in his dressing-gown hetried to read the evening paper. He could follow every word; he seemedto take in the sense of things; but a minute afterward he could not havetold what he had been reading. When he went to bed his brain flew incircles, and he hastily sat up, struggling for self-control. At lasthe was able to lie still, feeling only a little sick and dizzy--andenormously ashamed. To hide his "condition" from his own children!To have danced and shouted with people whom he despised! To havesaid foolish things, sung idiotic songs, tried to kiss silly girls!Incredulously he remembered that he had by his roaring familiarity withthem laid himself open to the patronizing of youths whom he would havekicked out of his office; that by dancing too ardently he had exposedhimself to rebukes from the rattiest of withering women. As it camerelentlessly back to him he snarled, "I hate myself! God how I hatemyself!" But, he raged, "I'm through! No more! Had enough, plenty!"He was even surer about it the morning after, when he was trying to begrave and paternal with his daughters at breakfast. At noontime he wasless sure. He did not deny that he had been a fool; he saw it almostas clearly as at midnight; but anything, he struggled, was better thangoing back to a life of barren heartiness. At four he wanted a drink. Hekept a whisky flask in his desk now, and after two minutes of battle hehad his drink. Three drinks later he began to see the Bunch as tenderand amusing friends, and by six he was with them . . . and the tale wasto be told all over.Each morning his head ached a little less. A bad head for drinks hadbeen his safeguard, but the safeguard was crumbling. Presently hecould be drunk at dawn, yet not feel particularly wretched in hisconscience--or in his stomach--when he awoke at eight. No regret, nodesire to escape the toil of keeping up with the arduous merriment ofthe Bunch, was so great as his feeling of social inferiority when hefailed to keep up. To be the "livest" of them was as much his ambitionnow as it had been to excel at making money, at playing golf, atmotor-driving, at oratory, at climbing to the McKelvey set. Butoccasionally he failed.He found that Pete and the other young men considered the Bunch tooausterely polite and the Carrie who merely kissed behind doors tooembarrassingly monogamic. As Babbitt sneaked from Floral Heights downto the Bunch, so the young gallants sneaked from the proprieties of theBunch off to "times" with bouncing young women whom they picked upin department stores and at hotel coatrooms. Once Babbitt tried toaccompany them. There was a motor car, a bottle of whisky, and for hima grubby shrieking cash-girl from Parcher and Stein's. He sat beside herand worried. He was apparently expected to "jolly her along," but whenshe sang out, "Hey, leggo, quit crushing me cootie-garage," he did notquite know how to go on. They sat in the back room of a saloon, andBabbitt had a headache, was confused by their new slang looked at thembenevolently, wanted to go home, and had a drink--a good many drinks.Two evenings after, Fulton Bemis, the surly older man of the Bunch, tookBabbitt aside and grunted, "Look here, it's none of my business, and Godknows I always lap up my share of the hootch, but don't you think youbetter watch yourself? You're one of these enthusiastic chumps thatalways overdo things. D' you realize you're throwing in the booze asfast as you can, and you eat one cigarette right after another? Bettercut it out for a while."Babbitt tearfully said that good old Fult was a prince, and yes, hecertainly would cut it out, and thereafter he lighted a cigarette andtook a drink and had a terrific quarrel with Tanis when she caught himbeing affectionate with Carrie Nork.Next morning he hated himself that he should have sunk into a positionwhere a fifteenth-rater like Fulton Bemis could rebuke him. He perceivedthat, since he was making love to every woman possible, Tanis was nolonger his one pure star, and he wondered whether she had ever beenanything more to him than A Woman. And if Bemis had spoken to him, wereother people talking about him? He suspiciously watched the men at theAthletic Club that noon. It seemed to him that they were uneasy. Theyhad been talking about him then? He was angry. He became belligerent.He not only defended Seneca Doane but even made fun of the Y. M. C. A,Vergil Gunch was rather brief in his answers.Afterward Babbitt was not angry. He was afraid. He did not go to thenext lunch of the Boosters' Club but hid in a cheap restaurant, and,while he munched a ham-and-egg sandwich and sipped coffee from a cup onthe arm of his chair, he worried.Four days later, when the Bunch were having one of their best parties,Babbitt drove them to the skating-rink which had been laid out on theChaloosa River. After a thaw the streets had frozen in smooth ice. Downthose wide endless streets the wind rattled between the rows of woodenhouses, and the whole Bellevue district seemed a frontier town. Evenwith skid chains on all four wheels, Babbitt was afraid of sliding, andwhen he came to the long slide of a hill he crawled down, both brakeson. Slewing round a corner came a less cautious car. It skidded, italmost raked them with its rear fenders. In relief at their escape theBunch--Tanis, Minnie Sonntag, Pete, Fulton Bemis--shouted "Oh, baby,"and waved their hands to the agitated other driver. Then Babbitt sawProfessor Pumphrey laboriously crawling up hill, afoot, Staring owlishlyat the revelers. He was sure that Pumphrey recognized him and saw Taniskiss him as she crowed, "You're such a good driver!"At lunch next day he probed Pumphrey with "Out last night with mybrother and some friends of his. Gosh, what driving! Slippery 's glass.Thought I saw you hiking up the Bellevue Avenue Hill.""No, I wasn't--I didn't see you," said Pumphrey, hastily, ratherguiltily.Perhaps two days afterward Babbitt took Tanis to lunch at the HotelThornleigh. She who had seemed well content to wait for him at her flathad begun to hint with melancholy smiles that he must think but littleof her if he never introduced her to his friends, if he was unwilling tobe seen with her except at the movies. He thought of taking her to the"ladies' annex" of the Athletic Club, but that was too dangerous. Hewould have to introduce her and, oh, people might misunderstand and--Hecompromised on the Thornleigh.She was unusually smart, all in black: small black tricorne hat, shortblack caracul coat, loose and swinging, and austere high-necked blackvelvet frock at a time when most street costumes were like eveninggowns. Perhaps she was too smart. Every one in the gold and oakrestaurant of the Thornleigh was staring at her as Babbitt followed herto a table. He uneasily hoped that the head-waiter would give them adiscreet place behind a pillar, but they were stationed on the centeraisle. Tanis seemed not to notice her admirers; she smiled at Babbittwith a lavish "Oh, isn't this nice! What a peppy-looking orchestra!"Babbitt had difficulty in being lavish in return, for two tables away hesaw Vergil Gunch. All through the meal Gunch watched them, while Babbittwatched himself being watched and lugubriously tried to keep fromspoiling Tanis's gaiety. "I felt like a spree to-day," she rippled. "Ilove the Thornleigh, don't you? It's so live and yet so--so refined."He made talk about the Thornleigh, the service, the food, the people herecognized in the restaurant, all but Vergil Gunch. There did notseem to be anything else to talk of. He smiled conscientiously at herfluttering jests; he agreed with her that Minnie Sonntag was "so hard toget along with," and young Pete "such a silly lazy kid, really just nogood at all." But he himself had nothing to say. He considered tellingher his worries about Gunch, but--"oh, gosh, it was too much work to gointo the whole thing and explain about Verg and everything."He was relieved when he put Tanis on a trolley; he was cheerful in thefamiliar simplicities of his office.At four o'clock Vergil Gunch called on him.Babbitt was agitated, but Gunch began in a friendly way:"How's the boy? Say, some of us are getting up a scheme we'd kind oflike to have you come in on.""Fine, Verg. Shoot.""You know during the war we had the Undesirable Element, the Reds andwalking delegates and just the plain common grouches, dead to rights,and so did we for quite a while after the war, but folks forget aboutthe danger and that gives these cranks a chance to begin workingunderground again, especially a lot of these parlor socialists. Well,it's up to the folks that do a little sound thinking to make a consciouseffort to keep bucking these fellows. Some guy back East has organizeda society called the Good Citizens' League for just that purpose. Ofcourse the Chamber of Commerce and the American Legion and so on doa fine work in keeping the decent people in the saddle, but they'redevoted to so many other causes that they can't attend to this oneproblem properly. But the Good Citizens' League, the G. C. L., theystick right to it. Oh, the G. C. L. has to have some other ostensiblepurposes--frinstance here in Zenith I think it ought to support thepark-extension project and the City Planning Committee--and then, too,it should have a social aspect, being made up of the best people--havedances and so on, especially as one of the best ways it can put thekibosh on cranks is to apply this social boycott business to folks bigenough so you can't reach 'em otherwise. Then if that don't work, the G.C. L. can finally send a little delegation around to inform folks thatget too flip that they got to conform to decent standards and quitshooting off their mouths so free. Don't it sound like the organizationcould do a great work? We've already got some of the strongest men intown, and of course we want you in. How about it?"Babbitt was uncomfortable. He felt a compulsion back to all thestandards he had so vaguely yet so desperately been fleeing. He fumbled:"I suppose you'd especially light on fellows like Seneca Doane and tryto make 'em--""You bet your sweet life we would! Look here, old Georgie: I've neverfor one moment believed you meant it when you've defended Doane, and thestrikers and so on, at the Club. I knew you were simply kidding thosepoor galoots like Sid Finkelstein.... At least I certainly hope you werekidding!""Oh, well--sure--Course you might say--" Babbitt was conscious of howfeeble he sounded, conscious of Gunch's mature and relentless eye."Gosh, you know where I stand! I'm no labor agitator! I'm a businessman, first, last, and all the time! But--but honestly, I don't thinkDoane means so badly, and you got to remember he's an old friend ofmine.""George, when it comes right down to a struggle between decency and thesecurity of our homes on the one hand, and red ruin and those lazydogs plotting for free beer on the other, you got to give up even oldfriendships. 'He that is not with me is against me.'""Ye-es, I suppose--""How about it? Going to join us in the Good Citizens' League?""I'll have to think it over, Verg.""All right, just as you say." Babbitt was relieved to be let off soeasily, but Gunch went on: "George, I don't know what's come over you;none of us do; and we've talked a lot about you. For a while we figuredout you'd been upset by what happened to poor Riesling, and we forgaveyou for any fool thing you said, but that's old stuff now, George, andwe can't make out what's got into you. Personally, I've always defendedyou, but I must say it's getting too much for me. All the boys at theAthletic Club and the Boosters' are sore, the way you go on deliberatelytouting Doane and his bunch of hell-hounds, and talking about beingliberal--which means being wishy-washy--and even saying this preacherguy Ingram isn't a professional free-love artist. And then the way youbeen carrying on personally! Joe Pumphrey says he saw you out the othernight with a gang of totties, all stewed to the gills, and here to-daycoming right into the Thornleigh with a--well, she may be all right anda perfect lady, but she certainly did look like a pretty gay skirt fora fellow with his wife out of town to be taking to lunch. Didn't lookwell. What the devil has come over you, George?""Strikes me there's a lot of fellows that know more about my personalbusiness than I do myself!""Now don't go getting sore at me because I come out flatfooted like afriend and say what I think instead of tattling behind your back, theway a whole lot of 'em do. I tell you George, you got a position in thecommunity, and the community expects you to live up to it. And--Betterthink over joining the Good Citizens' League. See you about it later."He was gone.That evening Babbitt dined alone. He saw all the Clan of Good Fellowspeering through the restaurant window, spying on him. Fear sat besidehim, and he told himself that to-night he would not go to Tanis's flat;and he did not go . . . till late.