V
Though it was Paul who had seemed overwrought, Babbitt
who had been the protecting big brother, Paul became clear-eyed
and merry, while Babbitt sank into irritability. He uncovered
layer on layer of hidden weariness. At first he had
played nimble jester to Paul and for him sought amusements;
by the end of the week Paul was nurse, and Babbitt accepted
favors with the condescension one always shows a patient
nurse.
The day before their families arrived, the women guests at
the hotel bubbled, "Oh, isn't it nice! You must be so excited;''
and the proprieties compelled Babbitt and Paul to look excited.
But they went to bed early and grumpy.
When Myra appeared she said at once, "Now, we want
you boys to go on playing around just as if we weren't here.''
The first evening, he stayed out for poker with the guides,
and she said in placid merriment, "My! You're a regular
bad one!'' The second evening, she groaned sleepily, "Good
heavens, are you going to be out every single night?'' The
third evening, he didn't play poker.
He was tired now in every cell. "Funny! Vacation doesn't
seem to have done me a bit of good,'' he lamented. "Paul's
frisky as a colt, but I swear, I'm crankier and nervouser than
when I came up here.''
He had three weeks of Maine. At the end of the second week
he began to feel calm, and interested in life. He planned an
expedition to climb Sachem Mountain, and wanted to camp
overnight at Box Car Pond. He was curiously weak, yet cheerful,
as though he had cleansed his veins of poisonous energy and
was filling them with wholesome blood.
He ceased to be irritated by Ted's infatuation with a waitress
(his seventh tragic affair this year); he played catch
with Ted, and with pride taught him to cast a fly in the
pine-shadowed silence of Skowtuit Pond.
At the end he sighed, "Hang it, I'm just beginning to enjoy
my vacation. But, well, I feel a lot better. And it's going to
be one great year! Maybe the Real Estate Board will elect
me president, instead of some fuzzy old-fashioned faker like
Chan Mott.''
On the way home, whenever he went into the smoking-compartment
he felt guilty at deserting his wife and angry at
being expected to feel guilty, but each time he triumphed,
"Oh, this is going to be a great year, a great old year!''
