CHAPTER XXXII

by Sinclair Lewis

　　ICAROL was on the back porch, tightening a bolt on the baby's go-cart,this Sunday afternoon. Through an open window of the Bogart house sheheard a screeching, heard Mrs. Bogart's haggish voice:" . . . did too, and there's no use your denying it no you don't, you marchyourself right straight out of the house . . . never in my life heard ofsuch . . . never had nobody talk to me like . . . walk in the ways of sinand nastiness . . . leave your clothes here, and heaven knows that's morethan you deserve . . . any of your lip or I'll call the policeman."The voice of the other interlocutor Carol did not catch, nor, thoughMrs. Bogart was proclaiming that he was her confidant and presentassistant, did she catch the voice of Mrs. Bogart's God."Another row with Cy," Carol inferred.She trundled the go-cart down the back steps and tentatively wheeled itacross the yard, proud of her repairs. She heard steps on the sidewalk.She saw not Cy Bogart but Fern Mullins, carrying a suit-case, hurryingup the street with her head low. The widow, standing on the porch withbuttery arms akimbo, yammered after the fleeing girl:"And don't you dare show your face on this block again. You can send thedrayman for your trunk. My house has been contaminated long enough. Whythe Lord should afflict me----"Fern was gone. The righteous widow glared, banged into the house, cameout poking at her bonnet, marched away. By this time Carol was staringin a manner not visibly to be distinguished from the window-peeping ofthe rest of Gopher Prairie. She saw Mrs. Bogart enter the Howland house,then the Casses'. Not till suppertime did she reach the Kennicotts. Thedoctor answered her ring, and greeted her, "Well, well? how's the goodneighbor?"The good neighbor charged into the living-room, waving the most unctuousof black kid gloves and delightedly sputtering:"You may well ask how I am! I really do wonder how I could go throughthe awful scenes of this day--and the impudence I took from that woman'stongue, that ought to be cut out----""Whoa! Whoa! Hold up!" roared Kennicott. "Who's the hussy, SisterBogart? Sit down and take it cool and tell us about it.""I can't sit down, I must hurry home, but I couldn't devote myself to myown selfish cares till I'd warned you, and heaven knows I don't expectany thanks for trying to warn the town against her, there's always somuch evil in the world that folks simply won't see or appreciate yourtrying to safeguard them----And forcing herself in here to get in withyou and Carrie, many 's the time I've seen her doing it, and, thankheaven, she was found out in time before she could do any more harm, itsimply breaks my heart and prostrates me to think what she may have donealready, even if some of us that understand and know about things----""Whoa-up! Who are you talking about?""She's talking about Fern Mullins," Carol put in, not pleasantly."Huh?"Kennicott was incredulous."I certainly am!" flourished Mrs. Bogart, "and good and thankful youmay be that I found her out in time, before she could get YOU intosomething, Carol, because even if you are my neighbor and Will's wifeand a cultured lady, let me tell you right now, Carol Kennicott, thatyou ain't always as respectful to--you ain't as reverent--you don'tstick by the good old ways like they was laid down for us by God in theBible, and while of course there ain't a bit of harm in having a goodlaugh, and I know there ain't any real wickedness in you, yet just thesame you don't fear God and hate the transgressors of his commandmentslike you ought to, and you may be thankful I found out this serpent Inourished in my bosom--and oh yes! oh yes indeed! my lady must havetwo eggs every morning for breakfast, and eggs sixty cents a dozen, andwa'n't satisfied with one, like most folks--what did she care how muchthey cost or if a person couldn't make hardly nothing on her board androom, in fact I just took her in out of charity and I might have knownfrom the kind of stockings and clothes that she sneaked into my house inher trunk----"Before they got her story she had five more minutes of obscenewallowing. The gutter comedy turned into high tragedy, with Nemesisin black kid gloves. The actual story was simple, depressing, andunimportant. As to details Mrs. Bogart was indefinite, and angry thatshe should be questioned.Fern Mullins and Cy had, the evening before, driven alone to abarn-dance in the country. (Carol brought out the admission that Fernhad tried to get a chaperon.) At the dance Cy had kissed Fern--sheconfessed that. Cy had obtained a pint of whisky; he said that he didn'tremember where he had got it; Mrs. Bogart implied that Fern had givenit to him; Fern herself insisted that he had stolen it from a farmer'sovercoat--which, Mrs. Bogart raged, was obviously a lie. He had becomesoggily drunk. Fern had driven him home; deposited him, retching andwabbling, on the Bogart porch.Never before had her boy been drunk, shrieked Mrs. Bogart. WhenKennicott grunted, she owned, "Well, maybe once or twice I've smelledlicker on his breath." She also, with an air of being only tooscrupulously exact, granted that sometimes he did not come home tillmorning. But he couldn't ever have been drunk, for he always hadthe best excuses: the other boys had tempted him to go down the lakespearing pickerel by torchlight, or he had been out in a "machine thatran out of gas." Anyway, never before had her boy fallen into the handsof a "designing woman.""What do you suppose Miss Mullins could design to do with him?" insistedCarol.Mrs. Bogart was puzzled, gave it up, went on. This morning, when she hadfaced both of them, Cy had manfully confessed that all of the blame wason Fern, because the teacher--his own teacher--had dared him to take adrink. Fern had tried to deny it."Then," gabbled Mrs. Bogart, "then that woman had the impudence tosay to me, 'What purpose could I have in wanting the filthy pup to getdrunk?' That's just what she called him--pup. 'I'll have no such nastylanguage in my house,' I says, 'and you pretending and pulling the woolover people's eyes and making them think you're educated and fit to bea teacher and look out for young people's morals--you're worse 'n anystreet-walker!' I says. I let her have it good. I wa'n't going to flinchfrom my bounden duty and let her think that decent folks had to standfor her vile talk. 'Purpose?' I says, 'Purpose? I'll tell you whatpurpose you had! Ain't I seen you making up to everything in pantsthat'd waste time and pay attention to your impert'nence? Ain't I seenyou showing off your legs with them short skirts of yours, tryingto make out like you was so girlish and la-de-da, running along thestreet?'"Carol was very sick at this version of Fern's eager youth, but she wassicker as Mrs. Bogart hinted that no one could tell what had happenedbetween Fern and Cy before the drive home. Without exactly describingthe scene, by her power of lustful imagination the woman suggested darkcountry places apart from the lanterns and rude fiddling and bangingdance-steps in the barn, then madness and harsh hateful conquest. Carolwas too sick to interrupt. It was Kennicott who cried, "Oh, for God'ssake quit it! You haven't any idea what happened. You haven't given us asingle proof yet that Fern is anything but a rattle-brained youngster.""I haven't, eh? Well, what do you say to this? I come straight out andI says to her, 'Did you or did you not taste the whisky Cy had?' and shesays, 'I think I did take one sip--Cy made me,' she said. She owned upto that much, so you can imagine----""Does that prove her a prostitute?" asked Carol."Carrie! Don't you never use a word like that again!" wailed theoutraged Puritan."Well, does it prove her to be a bad woman, that she took a taste ofwhisky? I've done it myself!""That's different. Not that I approve your doing it. What do theScriptures tell us? 'Strong drink is a mocker'! But that's entirelydifferent from a teacher drinking with one of her own pupils.""Yes, it does sound bad. Fern was silly, undoubtedly. But as a matterof fact she's only a year or two older than Cy and probably a good manyyears younger in experience of vice.""That's--not--true! She is plenty old enough to corrupt him!"The job of corrupting Cy was done by your sinless town, five yearsago!"Mrs. Bogart did not rage in return. Suddenly she was hopeless. Her headdrooped. She patted her black kid gloves, picked at a thread of herfaded brown skirt, and sighed, "He's a good boy, and awful affectionateif you treat him right. Some thinks he's terrible wild, but that'sbecause he's young. And he's so brave and truthful--why, he was one ofthe first in town that wanted to enlist for the war, and I had to speakreal sharp to him to keep him from running away. I didn't want him toget into no bad influences round these camps--and then," Mrs. Bogartrose from her pitifulness, recovered her pace, "then I go and bring intomy own house a woman that's worse, when all's said and done, than anybad woman he could have met. You say this Mullins woman is too youngand inexperienced to corrupt Cy. Well then, she's too young andinexperienced to teach him, too, one or t'other, you can't have yourcake and eat it! So it don't make no difference which reason they fireher for, and that's practically almost what I said to the school-board.""Have you been telling this story to the members of the school-board?""I certainly have! Every one of 'em! And their wives I says to them,''Tain't my affair to decide what you should or should not do with yourteachers,' I says, 'and I ain't presuming to dictate in any way, shape,manner, or form. I just want to know,' I says, 'whether you're goingto go on record as keeping here in our schools, among a lot of innocentboys and girls, a woman that drinks, smokes, curses, uses bad language,and does such dreadful things as I wouldn't lay tongue to but you knowwhat I mean,' I says, 'and if so, I'll just see to it that the townlearns about it.' And that's what I told Professor Mott, too, beingsuperintendent--and he's a righteous man, not going autoing on theSabbath like the school-board members. And the professor as much asadmitted he was suspicious of the Mullins woman himself."IIKennicott was less shocked and much less frightened than Carol, and morearticulate in his description of Mrs. Bogart, when she had gone.Maud Dyer telephoned to Carol and, after a rather improbable questionabout cooking lima beans with bacon, demanded, "Have you heard thescandal about this Miss Mullins and Cy Bogart?""I'm sure it's a lie.""Oh, probably is." Maud's manner indicated that the falsity of the storywas an insignificant flaw in its general delightfulness.Carol crept to her room, sat with hands curled tight together as shelistened to a plague of voices. She could hear the town yelping with it,every soul of them, gleeful at new details, panting to win importance byhaving details of their own to add. How well they would make up for whatthey had been afraid to do by imagining it in another! They who hadnot been entirely afraid (but merely careful and sneaky), all thebarber-shop roues and millinery-parlor mondaines, how archly theywere giggling (this second--she could hear them at it); with whatself-commendation they were cackling their suavest wit: "You can't tellME she ain't a gay bird; I'm wise!"And not one man in town to carry out their pioneer tradition of superband contemptuous cursing, not one to verify the myth that their "roughchivalry" and "rugged virtues" were more generous than the pettyscandal-picking of older lands, not one dramatic frontiersman tothunder, with fantastic and fictional oaths, "What are you hintingat? What are you snickering at? What facts have you? What are theseunheard-of sins you condemn so much--and like so well?"No one to say it. Not Kennicott nor Guy Pollock nor Champ Perry.Erik? Possibly. He would sputter uneasy protest.She suddenly wondered what subterranean connection her interest in Erikhad with this affair. Wasn't it because they had been prevented by hercaste from bounding on her own trail that they were howling at Fern?IIIBefore supper she found, by half a dozen telephone calls, that Fern hadfled to the Minniemashie House. She hastened there, trying not to beself-conscious about the people who looked at her on the street. Theclerk said indifferently that he "guessed" Miss Mullins was up in Room37, and left Carol to find the way. She hunted along the stale-smellingcorridors with their wallpaper of cerise daisies and poison-greenrosettes, streaked in white spots from spilled water, their frayed redand yellow matting, and rows of pine doors painted a sickly blue. Shecould not find the number. In the darkness at the end of a corridor shehad to feel the aluminum figures on the door-panels. She was startledonce by a man's voice: "Yep? Whadyuh want?" and fled. When she reachedthe right door she stood listening. She made out a long sobbing. Therewas no answer till her third knock; then an alarmed "Who is it? Goaway!"Her hatred of the town turned resolute as she pushed open the door.Yesterday she had seen Fern Mullins in boots and tweed skirt andcanary-yellow sweater, fleet and self-possessed. Now she lay acrossthe bed, in crumpled lavender cotton and shabby pumps, very feminine,utterly cowed. She lifted her head in stupid terror. Her hair was intousled strings and her face was sallow, creased. Her eyes were a blurfrom weeping."I didn't! I didn't!" was all she would say at first, and she repeatedit while Carol kissed her cheek, stroked her hair, bathed her forehead.She rested then, while Carol looked about the room--the welcome tostrangers, the sanctuary of hospitable Main Street, the lucrativeproperty of Kennicott's friend, Jackson Elder. It smelled of old linenand decaying carpet and ancient tobacco smoke. The bed was rickety,with a thin knotty mattress; the sand-colored walls were scratched andgouged; in every corner, under everything, were fluffy dust and cigarashes; on the tilted wash-stand was a nicked and squatty pitcher; theonly chair was a grim straight object of spotty varnish; but there wasan altogether splendid gilt and rose cuspidor.She did not try to draw out Fern's story; Fern insisted on telling it.She had gone to the party, not quite liking Cy but willing to endure himfor the sake of dancing, of escaping from Mrs. Bogart's flow of moralcomments, of relaxing after the first strained weeks of teaching. Cy"promised to be good." He was, on the way out. There were a few workmenfrom Gopher Prairie at the dance, with many young farm-people. Halfa dozen squatters from a degenerate colony in a brush-hidden hollow,planters of potatoes, suspected thieves, came in noisily drunk. They allpounded the floor of the barn in old-fashioned square dances, swingingtheir partners, skipping, laughing, under the incantations of DelSnafflin the barber, who fiddled and called the figures. Cy had twodrinks from pocket-flasks. Fern saw him fumbling among the overcoatspiled on the feedbox at the far end of the barn; soon after she heard afarmer declaring that some one had stolen his bottle. She taxed Cy withthe theft; he chuckled, "Oh, it's just a joke; I'm going to give itback." He demanded that she take a drink. Unless she did, he wouldn'treturn the bottle."I just brushed my lips with it, and gave it back to him," moaned Fern.She sat up, glared at Carol. "Did you ever take a drink?""I have. A few. I'd love to have one right now! This contact withrighteousness has about done me up!"Fern could laugh then. "So would I! I don't suppose I've had five drinksin my life, but if I meet just one more Bogart and Son----Well, I didn'treally touch that bottle--horrible raw whisky--though I'd have lovedsome wine. I felt so jolly. The barn was almost like a stage scene--thehigh rafters, and the dark stalls, and tin lanterns swinging, and asilage-cutter up at the end like some mysterious kind of machine. AndI'd been having lots of fun dancing with the nicest young farmer, sostrong and nice, and awfully intelligent. But I got uneasy when I sawhow Cy was. So I doubt if I touched two drops of the beastly stuff. Doyou suppose God is punishing me for even wanting wine?""My dear, Mrs. Bogart's god may be--Main Street's god. But all thecourageous intelligent people are fighting him . . . though he slay us."Fern danced again with the young farmer; she forgot Cy while she wastalking with a girl who had taken the University agricultural course.Cy could not have returned the bottle; he came staggering towardher--taking time to make himself offensive to every girl on the wayand to dance a jig. She insisted on their returning. Cy went with her,chuckling and jigging. He kissed her, outside the door. . . . "Andto think I used to think it was interesting to have men kiss you ata dance!". . . She ignored the kiss, in the need of getting him homebefore he started a fight. A farmer helped her harness the buggy, whileCy snored in the seat. He awoke before they set out; all the way home healternately slept and tried to make love to her."I'm almost as strong as he is. I managed to keep him away while Idrove--such a rickety buggy. I didn't feel like a girl; I felt like ascrubwoman--no, I guess I was too scared to have any feelings at all. Itwas terribly dark. I got home, somehow. But it was hard, the time I hadto get out, and it was quite muddy, to read a sign-post--I lit matchesthat I took from Cy's coat pocket, and he followed me--he fell offthe buggy step into the mud, and got up and tried to make love to me,and----I was scared. But I hit him. Quite hard. And got in, and so heran after the buggy, crying like a baby, and I let him in again, andright away again he was trying----But no matter. I got him home. Up onthe porch. Mrs. Bogart was waiting up. . . ."You know, it was funny; all the time she was--oh, talking to me--and Cywas being terribly sick--I just kept thinking, 'I've still got to drivethe buggy down to the livery stable. I wonder if the livery man will beawake?' But I got through somehow. I took the buggy down to the stable,and got to my room. I locked my door, but Mrs. Bogart kept sayingthings, outside the door. Stood out there saying things about me,dreadful things, and rattling the knob. And all the while I could hearCy in the back yard-being sick. I don't think I'll ever marry any man.And then today----"She drove me right out of the house. She wouldn't listen to me, allmorning. Just to Cy. I suppose he's over his headache now. Even atbreakfast he thought the whole thing was a grand joke. I suppose rightthis minute he's going around town boasting about his 'conquest.' Youunderstand--oh, DON'T you understand? I DID keep him away! But I don'tsee how I can face my school. They say country towns are fine forbringing up boys in, but----I can't believe this is me, lying here andsaying this. I don't BELIEVE what happened last night."Oh. This was curious: When I took off my dress last night--it was adarling dress, I loved it so, but of course the mud had spoiled it. Icried over it and----No matter. But my white silk stockings were alltorn, and the strange thing is, I don't know whether I caught my legsin the briers when I got out to look at the sign-post, or whether Cyscratched me when I was fighting him off."IVSam Clark was president of the school-board. When Carol told him Fern'sstory Sam looked sympathetic and neighborly, and Mrs. Clark sat bycooing, "Oh, isn't that too bad." Carol was interrupted only when Mrs.Clark begged, "Dear, don't speak so bitter about 'pious' people. There'slots of sincere practising Christians that are real tolerant. Like theChamp Perrys.""Yes. I know. Unfortunately there are enough kindly people in thechurches to keep them going."When Carol had finished, Mrs. Clark breathed, "Poor girl; I don't doubther story a bit," and Sam rumbled, "Yuh, sure. Miss Mullins is young andreckless, but everybody in town, except Ma Bogart, knows what Cy is. ButMiss Mullins was a fool to go with him.""But not wicked enough to pay for it with disgrace?""N-no, but----" Sam avoided verdicts, clung to the entrancing horrorsof the story. "Ma Bogart cussed her out all morning, did she? Jumped herneck, eh? Ma certainly is one hell-cat.""Yes, you know how she is; so vicious.""Oh no, her best style ain't her viciousness. What she pulls in ourstore is to come in smiling with Christian Fortitude and keep a clerkbusy for one hour while she picks out half a dozen fourpenny nails. Iremember one time----""Sam!" Carol was uneasy. "You'll fight for Fern, won't you? When Mrs.Bogart came to see you did she make definite charges?""Well, yes, you might say she did.""But the school-board won't act on them?""Guess we'll more or less have to.""But you'll exonerate Fern?""I'll do what I can for the girl personally, but you know what the boardis. There's Reverend Zitterel; Sister Bogart about half runs his church,so of course he'll take her say-so; and Ezra Stowbody, as a banker hehas to be all hell for morality and purity. Might 's well admit it,Carrie; I'm afraid there'll be a majority of the board against her. Notthat any of us would believe a word Cy said, not if he swore it on astack of Bibles, but still, after all this gossip, Miss Mullins wouldn'thardly be the party to chaperon our basket-ball team when it went out oftown to play other high schools, would she!""Perhaps not, but couldn't some one else?""Why, that's one of the things she was hired for." Sam sounded stubborn."Do you realize that this isn't just a matter of a job, and hiring andfiring; that it's actually sending a splendid girl out with a beastlystain on her, giving all the other Bogarts in the world a chance at her?That's what will happen if you discharge her."Sam moved uncomfortably, looked at his wife, scratched his head, sighed,said nothing."Won't you fight for her on the board? If you lose, won't you, andwhoever agrees with you, make a minority report?""No reports made in a case like this. Our rule is to just decide thething and announce the final decision, whether it's unanimous or not.""Rules! Against a girl's future! Dear God! Rules of a school-board! Sam!Won't you stand by Fern, and threaten to resign from the board if theytry to discharge her?"Rather testy, tired of so many subtleties, he complained, "Well, I'll dowhat I can, but I'll have to wait till the board meets."And "I'll do what I can," together with the secret admission "Ofcourse you and I know what Ma Bogart is," was all Carol could getfrom Superintendent George Edwin Mott, Ezra Stowbody, the Reverend Mr.Zitterel or any other member of the school-board.Afterward she wondered whether Mr. Zitterel could have been referringto herself when he observed, "There's too much license in high placesin this town, though, and the wages of sin is death--or anyway, bein'fired." The holy leer with which the priest said it remained in hermind.She was at the hotel before eight next morning. Fern longed to go toschool, to face the tittering, but she was too shaky. Carol read toher all day and, by reassuring her, convinced her own self that theschool-board would be just. She was less sure of it that evening when,at the motion pictures, she heard Mrs. Gougerling exclaim to Mrs.Howland, "She may be so innocent and all, and I suppose she probably is,but still, if she drank a whole bottle of whisky at that dance, the wayeverybody says she did, she may have forgotten she was so innocent! Hee,hee, hee!" Maud Dyer, leaning back from her seat, put in, "That's whatI've said all along. I don't want to roast anybody, but have you noticedthe way she looks at men?""When will they have me on the scaffold?" Carol speculated.Nat Hicks stopped the Kennicotts on their way home. Carol hated him forhis manner of assuming that they two had a mysterious understanding.Without quite winking he seemed to wink at her as he gurgled, "What doyou folks think about this Mullins woman? I'm not strait-laced, but Itell you we got to have decent women in our schools. D' you know what Iheard? They say whatever she may of done afterwards, this Mullins dametook two quarts of whisky to the dance with her, and got stewed beforeCy did! Some tank, that wren! Ha, ha, ha!""Rats, I don't believe it," Kennicott muttered.He got Carol away before she was able to speak.She saw Erik passing the house, late, alone, and she stared after him,longing for the lively bitterness of the things he would say about thetown. Kennicott had nothing for her but "Oh, course, ev'body likes ajuicy story, but they don't intend to be mean."She went up to bed proving to herself that the members of theschool-board were superior men.It was Tuesday afternoon before she learned that the board had metat ten in the morning and voted to "accept Miss Fern Mullins'sresignation." Sam Clark telephoned the news to her. "We're not makingany charges. We're just letting her resign. Would you like to drop overto the hotel and ask her to write the resignation, now we've acceptedit? Glad I could get the board to put it that way. It's thanks to you.""But can't you see that the town will take this as proof of thecharges?""We're--not--making--no--charges--whatever!" Sam was obviously findingit hard to be patient.Fern left town that evening.Carol went with her to the train. The two girls elbowed through a silentlip-licking crowd. Carol tried to stare them down but in face ofthe impishness of the boys and the bovine gaping of the men, she wasembarrassed. Fern did not glance at them. Carol felt her arm tremble,though she was tearless, listless, plodding. She squeezed Carol's hand,said something unintelligible, stumbled up into the vestibule.Carol remembered that Miles Bjornstam had also taken a train. What wouldbe the scene at the station when she herself took departure?She walked up-town behind two strangers.One of them was giggling, "See that good-looking wench that got on here?The swell kid with the small black hat? She's some charmer! I was hereyesterday, before my jump to Ojibway Falls, and I heard all abouther. Seems she was a teacher, but she certainly was a high-roller--Oboy!--high, wide, and fancy! Her and couple of other skirts bought awhole case of whisky and went on a tear, and one night, darned if thisbunch of cradle-robbers didn't get hold of some young kids, just smallboys, and they all got lit up like a White Way, and went out to aroughneck dance, and they say----"The narrator turned, saw a woman near and, not being a common person nora coarse workman but a clever salesman and a householder, loweredhis voice for the rest of the tale. During it the other man laughedhoarsely.Carol turned off on a side-street.She passed Cy Bogart. He was humorously narrating some achievement to agroup which included Nat Hicks, Del Snafflin, Bert Tybee the bartender,and A. Tennyson O'Hearn the shyster lawyer. They were men far older thanCy but they accepted him as one of their own, and encouraged him to goon.It was a week before she received from Fern a letter of which this was apart:. . . & of course my family did not really believe the story but asthey were sure I must have done something wrong they just lecturedme generally, in fact jawed me till I have gone to live at a boardinghouse. The teachers' agencies must know the story, man at one almostslammed the door in my face when I went to ask about a job, & at anotherthe woman in charge was beastly. Don't know what I will do. Don't seemto feel very well. May marry a fellow that's in love with me but he's sostupid that he makes me SCREAM.Dear Mrs. Kennicott you were the only one that believed me. I guess it'sa joke on me, I was such a simp, I felt quite heroic while I was drivingthe buggy back that night & keeping Cy away from me. I guess I expectedthe people in Gopher Prairie to admire me. I did use to be admired formy athletics at the U.--just five months ago.