CHAPTER XIX Babbitt | ||
V
At the Regency Hotel cigar-counter he fell to talking with a salesman of pianos, and they dined together. Babbitt was filled with friendliness and well-being. He enjoyed the gorgeousness of the dining-room: the chandeliers, the looped brocade curtains, the portraits of French kings against panels of gilded oak. He enjoyed the crowd: pretty women, good solid fellows who were "liberal spenders.''
He gasped. He stared, and turned away, and stared again. Three tables off, with a doubtful sort of woman, a woman at once coy and withered, was Paul Riesling, and Paul was supposed to be in Akron, selling tar-roofing. The woman was tapping his hand, mooning at him and giggling. Babbitt felt that he had encountered something involved and harmful. Paul
He touched Paul's shoulder, and cried, "Well, when did you hit town?''
Paul glared up at him, face hardening. "Oh, hello, George. Thought you'd gone back to Zenith.'' He did not introduce his companion. Babbitt peeped at her. She was a flabbily pretty, weakly flirtatious woman of forty-two or three, in an atrocious flowery hat. Her rouging was thorough but unskilful.
"Where you staying, Paulibus?''
The woman turned, yawned, examined her nails. She seemed accustomed to not being introduced.
Paul grumbled, "Campbell Inn, on the South Side.''
"Alone?'' It sounded insinuating.
"Yes! Unfortunately!'' Furiously Paul turned toward the woman, smiling with a fondness sickening to Babbitt. "May! Want to introduce you. Mrs. Arnold, this is my old-acquaintance, George Babbitt.''
"Pleasmeech,'' growled Babbitt, while she gurgled, "Oh, I'm very pleased to meet any friend of Mr. Riesling's, I'm sure.''
Babbitt demanded, "Be back there later this evening, Paul? I'll drop down and see you.''
"No, better— We better lunch together to-morrow.''
"All right, but I'll see you to-night, too, Paul. I'll go down to your hotel, and I'll wait for you!''
CHAPTER XIX Babbitt | ||