I
IT was by accident that Babbitt had his opportunity to
address the S. A. R. E. B.
The S. A. R. E. B., as its members called it, with the universal
passion for mysterious and important-sounding initials,
was the State Association of Real Estate Boards; the organization
of brokers and operators. It was to hold its annual
convention at Monarch, Zenith's chief rival among the cities
of the state. Babbitt was an official delegate; another was
Cecil Rountree, whom Babbitt admired for his picaresque
speculative building, and hated for his social position, for
being present at the smartest dances on Royal Ridge. Rountree
was chairman of the convention program-committee.
Babbitt had growled to him, "Makes me tired the way these
doctors and profs and preachers put on lugs about being `professional
men.' A good realtor has to have more knowledge
and finesse than any of 'em.''
"Right you are! I say: Why don't you put that into a
paper, and give it at the S. A. R. E. B.?'' suggested Rountree.
"Well, if it would help you in making up the program—
Tell you: the way I look at it is this: First place, we ought
to insist that folks call us `realtors' and not `real-estate men.'
Sounds more like a reg'lar profession. Second place— What
is it distinguishes a profession from a mere trade, business,
or occupation? What is it? Why, it's the public service
and the skill, the trained skill, and the knowledge and, uh,
all that, whereas a fellow that merely goes out for the jack,
he never considers the-public service and trained skill and
so on. Now as a professional—''
"Rather! That's perfectly bully! Perfectly corking! Now
you write it in a paper,'' said Rountree, as he rapidly and
firmly moved away.
