II
Her card read "Mrs. Daniel Judique.'' Babbitt knew of her
as the widow of a wholesale paper-dealer. She must have
been forty or forty-two but he thought her younger when he
saw her in the office, that afternoon. She had come to inquire
about renting an apartment, and he took her away from the
unskilled girl accountant. He was nervously attracted by
her smartness. She was a slender woman, in a black Swiss
frock dotted with white, a cool-looking graceful frock. A broad
black hat shaded her face. Her eyes were lustrous, her soft
chin of an agreeable plumpness, and her cheeks an even rose.
Babbitt wondered afterward if she was made up, but no man
living knew less of such arts.
She sat revolving her violet parasol. Her voice was appealing
without being coy. "I wonder if you can help me?''
"Be delighted.''
"I've looked everywhere and— I want a little flat, just
a bedroom, or perhaps two, and sitting-room and kitchenette
and bath, but I want one that really has some charm to it, not
these dingy places or these new ones with terrible gaudy chandeliers.
And I can't pay so dreadfully much. My name's
Tanis Judique.''
"I think maybe I've got just the thing for you. Would you
like to chase around and look at it now?''
"Yes. I have a couple of hours.''
In the new Cavendish Apartments, Babbitt had a flat which
he had been holding for Sidney Finkelstein, but at the thought
of driving beside this agreeable woman he threw over his
friend Finkelstein, and with a note of gallantry he proclaimed,
"I'll let you see what I can do!''
He dusted the seat of the car for her, and twice he risked
death in showing off his driving.
"You do know how to handle a car!'' she said.
He liked her voice. There was, he thought, music in it
and a hint of culture, not a bouncing giggle like Louetta Swanson's.
He boasted, "You know, there's a lot of these fellows that
are so scared and drive so slow that they get in everybody's
way. The safest driver is a fellow that knows how to handle
his machine and yet isn't scared to speed up when it's necessary,
don't you think so?''
"Oh, yes!''
"I bet you drive like a wiz.''
"Oh, no—I mean—not really. Of course, we had a car—
I mean, before my husband passed on—and I used to make
believe drive it, but I don't think any woman ever learns to
drive like a man.''
"Well, now, there's some mighty good woman drivers.''
"Oh, of course, these women that try to imitate men, and
play golf and everything, and ruin their complexions and spoil
their hands!''
"That's so. I never did like these mannish females.''
"I mean—of course, I admire them, dreadfully, and I feel
so weak and useless beside them.''
"Oh, rats now! I bet you play the piano like a wiz.''
"Oh, no—I mean—not really.''
"Well, I'll bet you do!'' He glanced at her smooth hands,
her diamond and ruby rings. She caught the glance, snuggled
her hands together with a kittenish curving of slim white
fingers which delighted him, and yearned:
"I do love to play—I mean—I like to drum on the piano,
but I haven't had any real training. Mr. Judique used to
say I would 've been a good pianist if I'd had any training,
but then, I guess he was just flattering me.''
"I'll bet he wasn't! I'll bet you've got temperament.''
"Oh— Do you like music, Mr Babbitt?''
"You bet I do! Only I don't know 's I care so much for
all this classical stuff.''
"Oh, I do! I just love Chopin and all those.''
"Do you, honest? Well, of course, I go to lots of these
highbrow concerts, but I do like a good jazz orchestra, right
up on its toes, with the fellow that plays the bass fiddle spinning
it around and beating it up with the bow.''
"Oh, I know. I do love good dance music. I love to dance,
don't you, Mr. Babbitt?''
"Sure, you bet. Not that I'm very darn good at it, though.''
"Oh, I'm sure you are. You ought to let me teach you. I
can teach anybody to dance.''
"Would you give me a lesson some time?''
"Indeed I would.''
"Better be careful, or I'll be taking you up on that proposition.
I'll be coming up to your flat and making you give me
that lesson.''
"Ye-es.'' She was not offended, but she was non-committal.
He warned himself, "Have some sense now, you chump! Don't
go making a fool of yourself again!'' and with loftiness he
discoursed:
"I wish I could dance like some of these young fellows, but
I'll tell you: I feel it's a man's place to take a full, you might
say, a creative share in the world's work and mold conditions
and have something to show for his life, don't you think so?''
"Oh, I do!''
"And so I have to sacrifice some of the things I might like
to tackle, though I do, by golly, play about as good a game of
golf as the next fellow!''
"Oh, I'm sure you do.... Are you married?''
"Uh—yes.... And, uh, of course official duties I'm the
vice-president of the Boosters' Club, and I'm running one of
the committees of the State Association of Real Estate Boards,
and that means a lot of work and responsibility—and practically
no gratitude for it.''
"Oh, I know! Public men never do get proper credit.''
They looked at each other with a high degree of mutual respect,
and at the Cavendish Apartments he helped her out in
a courtly manner, waved his hand at the house as though he
were presenting it to her, and ponderously ordered the elevator
boy to "hustle and get the keys.'' She stood close to him in
the elevator, and he was stirred but cautious.
It was a pretty flat, of white woodwork and soft blue walls.
Mrs. Judique gushed with pleasure as she agreed to take it,
and as they walked down the hall to the elevator she touched
his sleeve, caroling, "Oh, I'm so glad I went to you! It's such
a privilege to meet a man who really Understands. Oh! The
flats some people have showed me!''
He had a sharp instinctive belief that he could put his arm
around her, but he rebuked himself and with excessive politeness
he saw her to the car, drove her home. All the way back
to his office he raged:
"Glad I had some sense for once.... Curse it, I wish I'd
tried. She's a darling! A corker! A reg'lar charmer! Lovely
eyes and darling lips and that trim waist—never get sloppy,
like some women.... No, no, no! She's a real cultured lady.
One of the brightest little women I've met these many moons.
Understands about Public Topics and— But, darn it, why
didn't I try? . . . Tanis!''
