Babbit (55 page)

  
T
HE Good
Citizens' League had spread through the country, but nowhere was it
so effective and well esteemed as in cities of the type of Zenith,
commercial cities of a few hundred thousand inhabitants, most of
which - though not all - lay inland, against a background of
cornfields and mines and of small towns which depended upon them
for mortgage-loans, table-manners, art, social philosophy and
millinery.

  To the League belonged most of the prosperous
citizens of Zenith. They were not all of the kind who called
themselves "Regular Guys." Besides these hearty fellows, these
salesmen of prosperity, there were the aristocrats, that is, the
men who were richer or had been rich for more generations: the
presidents of banks and of factories, the land-owners, the
corporation lawyers, the fashionable doctors, and the few young-old
men who worked not at all but, reluctantly remaining in Zenith,
collected luster-ware and first editions as though they were back
in Paris. All of them agreed that the working-classes must be kept
in their place; and all of them perceived that American Democracy
did not imply any equality of wealth, but did demand a wholesome
sameness of thought, dress, painting, morals, and vocabulary.

  In this they were like the ruling-class of any other
country, particularly of Great Britain, but they differed in being
more vigorous and in actually trying to produce the accepted
standards which all classes, everywhere, desire, but usually
despair of realizing.

  The longest struggle of the Good Citizens' League
was against the Open Shop - which was secretly a struggle against
all union labor. Accompanying it was an Americanization Movement,
with evening classes in English and history and economics, and
daily articles in the newspapers, so that newly arrived foreigners
might learn that the true-blue and one hundred per cent. American
way of settling labor-troubles was for workmen to trust and love
their employers.

  The League was more than generous in approving other
organizations which agreed with its aims. It helped the Y.M. C.A.
to raise a two-hundred-thousand-dollar fund for a new building.
Babbitt, Vergil Gunch, Sidney Finkelstein, and even Charles
McKelvey told the spectators at movie theaters how great an
influence for manly Christianity the "good old Y." had been in
their own lives; and the hoar and mighty Colonel Rutherford Snow,
owner of the Advocate-Times, was photographed clasping the hand of
Sheldon Smeeth of the Y.M.C.A. It is true that afterward, when
Smeeth lisped, "You must come to one of our prayer-meetings," the
ferocious Colonel bellowed, "What the hell would I do that for?
I've got a bar of my own," but this did not appear in the public
prints.

  The League was of value to the American Legion at a
time when certain of the lesser and looser newspapers were
criticizing that organization of veterans of the Great War. One
evening a number of young men raided the Zenith Socialist
Headquarters, burned its records, beat the office staff, and
agreeably dumped desks out of the window. All of the newspapers
save the Advocate-Times and the Evening Advocate attributed this
valuable but perhaps hasty direct-action to the American Legion.
Then a flying squadron from the Good Citizens' League called on the
unfair papers and explained that no ex-soldier could possibly do
such a thing, and the editors saw the light, and retained their
advertising. When Zenith's lone Conscientious Objector came home
from prison and was righteously run out of town, the newspapers
referred to the perpetrators as an "unidentified mob."

  II

  In all the activities and triumphs of the Good
Citizens' League Babbitt took part, and completely won back to
self-respect, placidity, and the affection of his friends. But he
began to protest, "Gosh, I've done my share in cleaning up the
city. I want to tend to business. Think I'll just kind of slacken
up on this G.C.L. stuff now."

  He had returned to the church as he had returned to
the Boosters' Club. He had even endured the lavish greeting which
Sheldon Smeeth gave him. He was worried lest during his late
discontent he had imperiled his salvation. He was not quite sure
there was a Heaven to be attained, but Dr. John Jennison Drew said
there was, and Babbitt was not going to take a chance.

  One evening when he was walking past Dr. Drew's
parsonage he impulsively went in and found the pastor in his
study.

  "Jus' minute - getting 'phone call," said Dr. Drew
in businesslike tones, then, aggressively, to the telephone: "'Lo -
'lo! This Berkey and Hannis? Reverend Drew speaking. Where the
dickens is the proof for next Sunday's calendar? Huh? Y' ought to
have it here. Well, I can't help it if they're ALL sick! I got to
have it to-night. Get an A.D.T. boy and shoot it up here
quick."

  He turned, without slackening his briskness. "Well,
Brother Babbitt, what c'n I do for you?"

  "I just wanted to ask - Tell you how it is, dominie:
Here a while ago I guess I got kind of slack. Took a few drinks and
so on. What I wanted to ask is: How is it if a fellow cuts that all
out and comes back to his senses? Does it sort of, well, you might
say, does it score against him in the long run?"

  The Reverend Dr. Drew was suddenly interested. "And,
uh, brother - the other things, too? Women?"

  "No, practically, you might say, practically not at
all."

  "Don't hesitate to tell me, brother! That's what I'm
here for. Been going on joy-rides? Squeezing girls in cars?" The
reverend eyes glistened.

  "No - no - "

  "Well, I'll tell you. I've got a deputation from the
Don't Make Prohibition a Joke Association coming to see me in a
quarter of an hour, and one from the Anti-Birth-Control Union at a
quarter of ten." He busily glanced at his watch. "But I can take
five minutes off and pray with you. Kneel right down by your chair,
brother. Don't be ashamed to seek the guidance of God."

  Babbitt's scalp itched and he longed to flee, but
Dr. Drew had already flopped down beside his desk-chair and his
voice had changed from rasping efficiency to an unctuous
familiarity with sin and with the Almighty. Babbitt also knelt,
while Drew gloated:

  "O Lord, thou seest our brother here, who has been
led astray by manifold temptations. O Heavenly Father, make his
heart to be pure, as pure as a little child's. Oh, let him know
again the joy of a manly courage to abstain from evil - "

  Sheldon Smeeth came frolicking into the study. At
the sight of the two men he smirked, forgivingly patted Babbitt on
the shoulder, and knelt beside him, his arm about him, while he
authorized Dr. Drew's imprecations with moans of "Yes, Lord! Help
our brother, Lord!"

  Though he was trying to keep his eyes closed,
Babbitt squinted between his fingers and saw the pastor glance at
his watch as he concluded with a triumphant, "And let him never be
afraid to come to Us for counsel and tender care, and let him know
that the church can lead him as a little lamb."

  Dr. Drew sprang up, rolled his eyes in the general
direction of Heaven, chucked his watch into his pocket, and
demanded, "Has the deputation come yet, Sheldy?"

  "Yep, right outside," Sheldy answered, with equal
liveliness; then, caressingly, to Babbitt, "Brother, if it would
help, I'd love to go into the next room and pray with you while Dr.
Drew is receiving the brothers from the Don't Make Prohibition a
Joke Association."

  "No - no thanks - can't take the time!" yelped
Babbitt, rushing toward the door.

  Thereafter he was often seen at the Chatham Road
Presbyterian Church, but it is recorded that he avoided shaking
hands with the pastor at the door.

  III

  If his moral fiber had been so weakened by rebellion
that he was not quite dependable in the more rigorous campaigns of
the Good Citizens' League nor quite appreciative of the church, yet
there was no doubt of the joy with which Babbitt returned to the
pleasures of his home and of the Athletic Club, the Boosters, the
Elks.

  Verona and Kenneth Escott were eventually and
hesitatingly married. For the wedding Babbitt was dressed as
carefully as was Verona; he was crammed into the morning-coat he
wore to teas thrice a year; and with a 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: