I
BABBITT'S preparations for leaving the office to its feeble self
during the hour and a half of his lunch-period were somewhat
less elaborate than the plans for a general European war.
He fretted to Miss McGoun, "What time you going to
lunch? Well, make sure Miss Bannigan is in then. Explain
to her that if Wiedenfeldt calls up, she's to tell him I'm already
having the title traced. And oh, b' the way, remind
me to-morrow to have Penniman trace it. Now if anybody
comes in looking for a cheap house, remember we got to shove
that Bangor Road place off onto somebody. If you need me,
I'll be at the Athletic Club. And—uh— And—uh— I'll
be back by two.''
He dusted the cigar-ashes off his vest. He placed a difficult
unanswered letter on the pile of unfinished work, that he might
not fail to attend to it that afternoon. (For three noons, now,
he had placed the same letter on the unfinished pile.) He
scrawled on a sheet of yellow backing-paper the memorandum:
"See abt apt h drs,'' which gave him an agreeable feeling of
having already seen about the apartment-house doors.
He discovered that he was smoking another cigar. He threw
it away, protesting, "Darn it, I thought you'd quit this darn
smoking!'' He courageously returned the cigar-box to the
correspondence-file, locked it up, hid the key in a more difficult
place, and raged, "Ought to take care of myself. And
need more exercise—walk to the club, every single noon—just
what I'll do—every noon-cut out this motoring all the time.''
The resolution made him feel exemplary. Immediately after
it he decided that this noon it was too late to walk.
It took but little more time to start his car and edge it into
the traffic than it would have taken to walk the three and
a half blocks to the club.
