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
was talking with the rapt eagerness of a man who is telling his
troubles. He was concentrated on the woman's faded eyes.
Once he held her hand and once, blind to the other guests,
he puckered his lips as though he was pretending to kiss her.
Babbitt had so strong an impulse to go to Paul that he could
feel his body uncoiling, his shoulders moving, but he felt,
desperately, that he must be diplomatic, and not till he saw
Paul paying the check did he bluster to the piano-salesman,
"By golly-friend of mine over there—'scuse me second—just
say hello to him.''
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!''
