Babbitt
certain relief, after Verona and Kenneth had driven away in a limousine,
he returned to the house, removed the morning coat, sat with his aching
feet up on the davenport, and reflected that his wife and he could have
the living-room to themselves now, and not have to listen to Verona and
Kenneth worrying, in a cultured collegiate manner, about minimum wages
and the Drama League.
But even this sinking into peace was less consoling than his return to
being one of the best-loved men in the Boosters’ Club.
IV
President Willis Ijams began that Boosters’ Club luncheon by standing
quiet and staring at them so unhappily that they feared he was about to
announce the death of a Brother Booster. He spoke slowly then, and
gravely:
“Boys, I have something shocking to reveal to you; something terrible
about one of our own members.”
Several Boosters, including Babbitt, looked disconcerted.
“A knight of the grip, a trusted friend of mine, recently made a trip
up-state, and in a certain town, where a certain Booster spent his
boyhood, he found out something which can no longer be concealed. In
fact, he discovered the inward nature of a man whom we have accepted as
a Real Guy and as one of us. Gentlemen, I cannot trust my voice to say
it, so I have written it down.”
He uncovered a large blackboard and on it, in huge capitals, was the
legend:
George Follansbee Babbitt--oh you Folly!
The Boosters cheered, they laughed, they wept, they threw rolls at
Babbitt, they cried, “Speech, speech! Oh you Folly!”
President Ijams continued:
“That, gentlemen, is the awful thing Georgie Babbitt has been concealing
all these years, when we thought he was just plain George F. Now I want
you to tell us, taking it in turn, what you’ve always supposed the F.
stood for.”
Flivver, they suggested, and Frog-face and Flathead and Farinaceous and
Freezone and Flapdoodle and Foghorn. By the joviality of their insults
Babbitt knew that he had been taken back to their hearts, and happily he
rose.
“Boys, I’ve got to admit it. I’ve never worn a wrist-watch, or parted my
name in the middle, but I will confess to ‘Follansbee.’ My only
justification is that my old dad--though otherwise he was perfectly
sane, and packed an awful wallop when it came to trimming the City
Fellers at checkers--named me after the family doc, old Dr. Ambrose
Follansbee. I apologize, boys. In my next what-d’you-call-it I’ll see to
it that I get named something really practical--something that sounds
swell and yet is good and virile--something, in fact, like that grand
old name so familiar to every household--that bold and almost
overpowering name, Willis Jimjams Ijams!”
He knew by the cheer that he was secure again and popular; he knew that
he would no more endanger his security and popularity by straying from
the Clan of Good Fellows.
V
Henry Thompson dashed into the office, clamoring, “George! Big news!
Jake Offutt says the Traction Bunch are dissatisfied with the way
Sanders, Torrey and Wing handled their last deal, and they’re willing to
dicker with us!”
Babbitt was pleased in the realization that the last scar of his
rebellion was healed, yet as he drove home he was annoyed by such
background thoughts as had never weakened him in his days of belligerent
conformity. He discovered that he actually did not consider the Traction
group quite honest. “Well, he’d carry out one more deal for them, but as
soon as it was practicable, maybe as soon as old Henry Thompson died,
he’d break away from all association from them. He was forty-eight; in
twelve years he’d be sixty; he wanted to leave a clean business to his
grandchildren. Course there was a lot of money in negotiating for the
Traction people, and a fellow had to look at things in a practical way,
only--” He wriggled uncomfortably. He wanted to tell the Traction group
what he thought of them. “Oh, he couldn’t do it, not now. If he offended
them this second time, they would crush him. But--”
He was conscious that his line of progress seemed confused. He wondered
what he would do with his future. He was still young; was he through
with all adventuring? He felt that he had been trapped into the very net
from which he had with such fury escaped and, supremest jest of all,
been made to rejoice in the trapping.
“They’ve licked me; licked me to a finish!” he whimpered.
The house was peaceful, that evening, and he enjoyed a game of pinochle
with his wife. He indignantly told the Tempter that he was content to
do things in the good old-fashioned way. The day after, he went to see
the purchasing-agent of the Street Traction Company and they made plans
for the secret purchase of lots along the Evanston Road. But as he drove
to his office he struggled, “I’m going to run things and figure out
things to suit myself--when I retire.”
VI
Ted had come down from the University for the week-end. Though he no
longer spoke of mechanical engineering and though he was reticent about
his opinion of his instructors, he seemed no more reconciled to college,
and his chief interest was his wireless telephone set.
On Saturday evening he took Eunice Littlefield to a dance at Devon
Woods. Babbitt had a glimpse of her, bouncing in the seat of the car,
brilliant in a scarlet cloak over a frock of thinnest creamy silk. They
two had not returned when the Babbitts went to bed, at half-past eleven.
At a blurred indefinite time of late night Babbitt was awakened by the
ring of the telephone and gloomily crawled down-stairs. Howard
Littlefield was speaking:
“George, Euny isn’t back yet. Is Ted?”
“No--at least his door is open--”
“They ought to be home. Eunice said the dance would be over at midnight.
What’s the name of those people where they’re going?”
“Why, gosh, tell the truth, I don’t know, Howard. It’s some classmate of
Ted’s, out in Devon Woods. Don’t see what we can do. Wait, I’ll skip up
and ask Myra if she knows their name.”
Babbitt turned on the light in Ted’s room. It was a brown boyish room;
disordered dresser, worn books, a high-school pennant, photographs of
basket-ball teams and baseball teams. Ted was decidedly not there.
Mrs. Babbitt, awakened, irritably observed that she certainly did not
know the name of Ted’s host, that it was late, that Howard Littlefield
was but little better than a born fool, and that she was sleepy. But she
remained awake and worrying while Babbitt, on the sleeping-porch,
struggled back into sleep through the incessant soft rain of her
remarks. It was after dawn when he was aroused by her shaking him and
calling “George! George!” in something like horror.
“Wha--wha--what is it?”
“Come here quick and see. Be quiet!”
She led him down the hall to the door of Ted’s room and pushed it gently
open. On the worn brown rug he saw a froth of rose-colored chiffon
lingerie; on the sedate Morris chair a girl’s silver slipper. And on the
pillows were two sleepy heads--Ted’s and Eunice’s.
Ted woke to grin, and to mutter with unconvincing defiance, “Good
morning! Let me introduce my wife--Mrs. Theodore Roosevelt Eunice
Littlefield Babbitt, Esquiress.”
“Good God!” from Babbitt, and from his wife a long wailing, “You’ve gone
and--”
“We got married last evening. Wife! Sit up and say a pretty good morning
to mother-in-law.”
But Eunice hid her shoulders and her charming wild hair under the
pillow.
By nine o’clock the assembly which was gathered about Ted and Eunice in
the living-room included Mr. and Mrs. George Babbitt, Dr. and Mrs.
Howard Littlefield, Mr. and Mrs. Kenneth Escott, Mr. and Mrs. Henry T.
Thompson, and Tinka Babbitt, who was the only pleased member of the
inquisition.
A crackling shower of phrases filled the room:
“At their age--” “Ought to be annulled--” “Never heard of such a thing
in--” “Fault of both of them and--” “Keep it out of the papers--” “Ought
to be packed off to school--” “Do something about it at once, and what I
say is--” “Damn good old-fashioned spanking--”
Worst of them all was Verona. “_Ted!_ Some way _must_ be found to make
you under_stand_ how dreadfully _serious_ this is, instead of standing
_around_ with that silly foolish _smile_ on your face!”
He began to revolt. “Gee whittakers, Rone, you got married yourself,
didn’t you?”
“That’s entirely different.”
“You bet it is! They didn’t have to work on Eu and me with a chain and
tackle to get us to hold hands!”
“Now, young man, we’ll have no more flippancy,” old Henry Thompson
ordered. “You listen to me.”
“You listen to Grandfather!” said Verona.
“Yes, listen to your Grandfather!” said Mrs. Babbitt.
“Ted, you listen to Mr. Thompson!” said Howard Littlefield.
“Oh, for the love o’ Mike, I am listening!” Ted shouted. “But you look
here, all of you! I’m getting sick and tired of being the corpse in this
post mortem! If you want to kill somebody, go kill the preacher that
married us! Why, he stung me five dollars, and all the money I had in
the world was six dollars and two bits. I’m getting just about enough of
being hollered at!”
A new voice, booming, authoritative, dominated the room. It was Babbitt.
“Yuh, there’s too darn many putting in their oar! Rone, you dry up.
Howard and I are still pretty strong, and able to do our own cussing.
Ted, come into the dining-room and we’ll talk this over.”
In the dining-room, the door firmly closed, Babbitt walked to his son,
put both hands on his shoulders. “You’re more or less right. They all
talk too much. Now what do you plan to do, old man?”
“Gosh, dad, are you really going to be human?”
“Well, I-- Remember one time you called us ‘the Babbitt men’ and said we
ought to stick together? I want to. I don’t pretend to think this isn’t
serious. The way the cards are stacked against a young fellow to-day, I
can’t say I approve of early marriages. But you couldn’t have married a
better girl than Eunice; and way I figure it, Littlefield is darn lucky
to get a Babbitt for a son-in-law! But what do you plan to do? Course
you could go right ahead with the U., and when you’d finished--”
“Dad, I can’t stand it any more. Maybe it’s all right for some fellows.
Maybe I’ll want to go back some day. But me, I want to get into
mechanics. I think I’d get to be a good inventor. There’s a fellow that
would give me twenty dollars a week in a factory right now.”
“Well--” Babbitt crossed the floor, slowly, ponderously, seeming a
little old. “I’ve always wanted you to have a college degree.” He
meditatively stamped across the floor again. “But I’ve never-- Now, for
heaven’s sake, don’t repeat this to your mother, or she’d remove what
little hair I’ve got left, but practically, I’ve never done a single
thing I’ve wanted to in my whole life! I don’t know ’s I’ve accomplished
anything except just get along. I figure out I’ve made about a quarter
of an inch out of a possible hundred rods. Well, maybe you’ll carry
things on further. I don’t know. But I do get a kind of sneaking
pleasure out of the fact that you knew what you wanted to do and did it.
Well, those folks in there will try to bully you, and tame you down.
Tell ’em to go to the devil! I’ll back you. Take your factory job, if
you want to. Don’t be scared of the family. No, nor all of Zenith. Nor
of yourself, the way I’ve been. Go ahead, old man! The world is yours!”
Arms about each other’s shoulders, the Babbitt men marched into the
living-room and faced the swooping family.