34. CHAPTER XXXIV
I
THE Good Citizens' League had spread through the country,
but nowhere was it so effective and well esteemed as in cities
of the type of Zenith, commercial cities of a few hundred thousand
inhabitants, most of which—though not all—lay inland,
against a background of cornfields and mines and of small
towns which depended upon them for mortgage-loans, table-manners,
art, social philosophy and millinery.
To the League belonged most of the prosperous citizens of
Zenith. They were not all of the kind who called themselves
"Regular Guys.'' Besides these hearty fellows, these salesmen
of prosperity, there were the aristocrats, that is, the men who
were richer or had been rich for more generations: the presidents
of banks and of factories, the land-owners, the corporation
lawyers, the fashionable doctors, and the few young-old
men who worked not at all but, reluctantly remaining in Zenith,
collected luster-ware and first editions as though they
were back in Paris. All of them agreed that the working-classes
must be kept in their place; and all of them perceived
that American Democracy did not imply any equality of wealth,
but did demand a wholesome sameness of thought, dress, painting,
morals, and vocabulary.
In this they were like the ruling-class of any other country,
particularly of Great Britain, but they differed in being more
vigorous and in actually trying to produce the accepted standards
which all classes, everywhere, desire, but usually despair
of realizing.
The longest struggle of the Good Citizens' League was
against the Open Shop—which was secretly a struggle against
all union labor. Accompanying it was an Americanization
Movement, with evening classes in English and history and
economics, and daily articles in the newspapers, so that newly
arrived foreigners might learn that the true-blue and one hundred
per cent. American way of settling labor-troubles was for
workmen to trust and love their employers.
The League was more than generous in approving other
organizations which agreed with its aims. It helped the Y.M.
C.A. to raise a two-hundred-thousand-dollar fund for a new
building. Babbitt, Vergil Gunch, Sidney Finkelstein, and even
Charles McKelvey told the spectators at movie theaters how
great an influence for manly Christianity the "good old Y.'' had
been in their own lives; and the hoar and mighty Colonel Rutherford
Snow, owner of the Advocate-Times, was photographed
clasping the hand of Sheldon Smeeth of the Y.M.C.A. It is
true that afterward, when Smeeth lisped, "You must come to
one of our prayer-meetings,'' the ferocious Colonel bellowed,
"What the hell would I do that for? I've got a bar of my
own,'' but this did not appear in the public prints.
The League was of value to the American Legion at a time
when certain of the lesser and looser newspapers were criticizing
that organization of veterans of the Great War. One evening
a number of young men raided the Zenith Socialist Headquarters,
burned its records, beat the office staff, and agreeably
dumped desks out of the window. All of the newspapers save
the Advocate-Times and the Evening Advocate attributed this
valuable but perhaps hasty direct-action to the American Legion.
Then a flying squadron from the Good Citizens' League
called on the unfair papers and explained that no ex-soldier
could possibly do such a thing, and the editors saw the light,
and retained their advertising. When Zenith's lone Conscientious
Objector came home from prison and was righteously
run out of town, the newspapers referred to the perpetrators
as an "unidentified mob.''
II
In all the activities and triumphs of the Good Citizens'
League Babbitt took part, and completely won back to self-respect,
placidity, and the affection of his friends. But he
began to protest, "Gosh, I've done my share in cleaning up
the city. I want to tend to business. Think I'll just kind of
slacken up on this G.C.L. stuff now.''
He had returned to the church as he had returned to the
Boosters' Club. He had even endured the lavish greeting
which Sheldon Smeeth gave him. He was worried lest during
his late discontent he had imperiled his salvation. He was
not quite sure there was a Heaven to be attained, but Dr.
John Jennison Drew said there was, and Babbitt was not
going to take a chance.
One evening when he was walking past Dr. Drew's parsonage
he impulsively went in and found the pastor in his study.
"Jus' minute—getting 'phone call,'' said Dr. Drew in
business-like tones, then, aggressively, to the telephone: " 'Lo—
'lo! This Berkey and Hannis? Reverend Drew speaking.
Where the dickens is the proof for next Sunday's calendar?
Huh? Y' ought to have it here. Well, I can't help it if they're
all sick! I got to have it to-night. Get an A.D.T.
boy and
shoot it up here quick.''
He turned, without slackening his briskness. "Well, Brother
Babbitt, what c'n I do for you?''
"I just wanted to ask— Tell you how it is, dominie: Here
a while ago I guess I got kind of slack. Took a few drinks
and so on. What I wanted to ask is: How is it if a fellow
cuts that all out and comes back to his senses? Does it sort
of, well, you might say, does it score against him in the long
run?''
The Reverend Dr. Drew was suddenly interested. "And, uh,
brother—the other things, too? Women?''
"No, practically, you might say, practically not at all.''
"Don't hesitate to tell me, brother! That's what I'm here
for. Been going on joy-rides? Squeezing girls in cars?'' The
reverend eyes glistened.
"No—no—''
"Well, I'll tell you. I've got a deputation from the Don't
Make Prohibition a Joke Association coming to see me in a
quarter of an hour, and one from the Anti-Birth-Control Union
at a quarter of ten.'' He busily glanced at his watch. "But
I can take five minutes off and pray with you. Kneel right
down by your chair, brother. Don't be ashamed to seek the
guidance of God.''
Babbitt's scalp itched and he longed to flee, but Dr. Drew
had already flopped down beside his desk-chair and his voice
had changed from rasping efficiency to an unctuous familiarity
with sin and with the Almighty. Babbitt also knelt, while
Drew gloated:
"O Lord, thou seest our brother here, who has been led
astray by manifold temptations. O Heavenly Father, make
his heart to be pure, as pure as a little child's. Oh, let him
know again the joy of a manly courage to abstain from evil—''
Sheldon Smeeth came frolicking into the study. At the
sight of the two men he smirked, forgivingly patted Babbitt
on the shoulder, and knelt beside him, his arm about him, while
he authorized Dr. Drew's imprecations with moans of "Yes,
Lord! Help our brother, Lord!''
Though he was trying to keep his eyes closed, Babbitt
squinted between his fingers and saw the pastor glance at his
watch as he concluded with a triumphant, "And let him never
be afraid to come to Us for counsel and tender care, and let
him know that the church can lead him as a little lamb.''
Dr. Drew sprang up, rolled his eyes in the general direction
of Heaven, chucked his watch into his pocket, and demanded,
"Has the deputation come yet, Sheldy?''
"Yep, right outside,'' Sheldy answered, with equal liveliness;
then, caressingly, to Babbitt, "Brother, if it would help, I'd
love to go into the next room and pray with you while Dr.
Drew is receiving the brothers from the Don't Make Prohibition
a Joke Association.''
"No—no thanks—can't take the time!'' yelped Babbitt,
rushing toward the door.
Thereafter he was often seen at the Chatham Road Presbyterian
Church, but it is recorded that he avoided shaking hands
with the pastor at the door.
III
If his moral fiber had been so weakened by rebellion that he
was not quite dependable in the more rigorous campaigns of
the Good Citizens' League nor quite appreciative of the church,
yet there was no doubt of the joy with which Babbitt returned
to the pleasures of his home and of the Athletic Club, the
Boosters, the Elks.
Verona and Kenneth Escott were eventually and hesitatingly
married. For the wedding Babbitt was dressed as carefully as
was Verona; he was crammed into the morning-coat he wore
to teas thrice a year; and with a certain relief, after Verona
and Kenneth had driven away in a limousine, he returned to
the house, removed the morning coat, sat with his aching feet
up on the davenport, and reflected that his wife and he could
have the living-room to themselves now, and not have to listen
to Verona and Kenneth worrying, in a cultured collegiate manner,
about minimum wages and the Drama League.
But even this sinking into peace was less consoling than his
return to being one of the best-loved men in the Boosters' Club.
IV
President Willis Ijams began that Boosters' Club luncheon
by standing quiet and staring at them so unhappily that they
feared he was about to announce the death of a Brother
Booster. He spoke slowly then, and gravely:
"Boys, I have something shocking to reveal to you; something
terrible about one of our own members.''
Several Boosters, including Babbitt, looked disconcerted.
"A knight of the grip, a trusted friend of mine, recently
made a trip up-state, and in a certain town, where a certain
Booster spent his boyhood, he found out something which can
no longer be concealed. In fact, he discovered the inward
nature of a man whom we have accepted as a Real Guy and as
one of us. Gentlemen, I cannot trust my voice to say it, so
I have written it down.''
He uncovered a large blackboard and on it, in huge capitals,
was the legend:
George Follansbee Babbitt—oh you Folly!
The Boosters cheered, they laughed, they wept, they threw
rolls at Babbitt, they cried, "Speech, speech! Oh you Folly!''
President Ijams continued:
"That, gentlemen, is the awful thing Georgie Babbitt has
been concealing all these years, when we thought he was just
plain George F. Now I want you to tell us, taking it in turn,
what you've always supposed the F. stood for.''
Flivver, they suggested, and Frog-face and Flathead and
Farinaceous and Freezone and Flapdoodle and Foghorn. By
the joviality of their insults Babbitt knew that he had been
taken back to their hearts, and happily he rose.
"Boys, I've got to admit it. I've never worn a wrist-watch,
or parted my name in the middle, but I will confess to `Follansbee.'
My only justification is that my old dad—though
otherwise he was perfectly sane, and packed an awful wallop
when it came to trimming the City Fellers at checkers—named
me after the family doc, old Dr. Ambrose Follansbee. I apologize,
boys. In my next what-d'you-call-it I'll see to it that
I get named something really practical—something that sounds
swell and yet is good and virile—something, in fact, like that
grand old name so familiar to every household—that bold and
almost overpowering name, Willis Jimjams Ijams!''
He knew by the cheer that he was secure again and popular;
he knew that he would no more endanger his security and
popularity by straying from the Clan of Good Fellows.
V
Henry Thompson dashed into the office, clamoring, "George!
Big news! Jake Offutt says the Traction Bunch are dissatisfied
with the way Sanders, Torrey and Wing handled their last
deal, and they're willing to dicker with us!''
Babbitt was pleased in the realization that the last scar
of his rebellion was healed, yet as he drove home he was annoyed
by such background thoughts as had never weakened
him in his days of belligerent conformity. He discovered that
he actually did not consider the Traction group quite honest.
"Well, he'd carry out one more deal for them, but as soon as
it was practicable, maybe as soon as old Henry Thompson died,
he'd break away from all association from them. He was
forty-eight; in twelve years he'd be sixty; he wanted to leave
a clean business to his grandchildren. Course there was a
lot of money in negotiating for the Traction people, and a fellow
had to look at things in a practical way, only—'' He
wriggled uncomfortably. He wanted to tell the Traction group
what he thought of them. "Oh, he couldn't do it, not now.
If he offended them this second time, they would crush him.
But—''
He was conscious that his line of progress seemed confused.
He wondered what he would do with his future. He was still
young; was he through with all adventuring? He felt that
he had been trapped into the very net from which he had with
such fury escaped and, supremest jest of all, been made to
rejoice in the trapping.
"They've licked me; licked me to a finish!'' he whimpered.
The house was peaceful, that evening, and he enjoyed a
game of pinochle with his wife. He indignantly told the
Tempter that he was content to do things in the good old
fashioned way. The day after, he went to see the purchasing-agent
of the Street Traction Company and they made plans
for the secret purchase of lots along the Evanston Road. But
as he drove to his office he struggled, "I'm going to run things
and figure out things to suit myself—when I retire.''
VI
Ted had come down from the University for the week-end.
Though he no longer spoke of mechanical engineering and
though he was reticent about his opinion of his instructors, he
seemed no more reconciled to college, and his chief interest
was his wireless telephone set.
On Saturday evening he took Eunice Littlefield to a dance
at Devon Woods. Babbitt had a glimpse of her, bouncing in
the seat of the car, brilliant in a scarlet cloak over a frock
of thinnest creamy silk. They two had not returned when
the Babbitts went to bed, at half-past eleven. At a blurred
indefinite time of late night Babbitt was awakened by the ring
of the telephone and gloomily crawled down-stairs. Howard
Littlefield was speaking:
"George, Euny isn't back yet. Is Ted?''
"No—at least his door is open—''
"They ought to be home. Eunice said the dance would be
over at midnight. What's the name of those people where
they're going?''
"Why, gosh, tell the truth, I don't know, Howard. It's
some classmate of Ted's, out in Devon Woods. Don't see
what we can do. Wait, I'll skip up and ask Myra if she knows
their name.''
Babbitt turned on the light in Ted's room. It was a brown
boyish room; disordered dresser, worn books, a high-school
pennant, photographs of basket-ball teams and baseball teams.
Ted was decidedly not there.
Mrs. Babbitt, awakened, irritably observed that she certainly
did not know the name of Ted's host, that it was late, that
Howard Littlefield was but little better than a born fool, and
that she was sleepy. But she remained awake and worrying
while Babbitt, on the sleeping-porch, struggled back into sleep
through the incessant soft rain of her remarks. It was after
dawn when he was aroused by her shaking him and calling
"George! George!'' in something like horror.
"Wha— wha— what is it?''
"Come here quick and see. Be quiet!''
She led him down the hall to the door of Ted's room and
pushed it gently open. On the worn brown rug he saw a froth
of rose-colored chiffon lingerie; on the sedate Morris chair a
girl's silver slipper. And on the pillows were two sleepy heads
—Ted's and Eunice's.
Ted woke to grin, and to mutter with unconvincing defiance,
"Good morning! Let me introduce my wife—Mrs. Theodore
Roosevelt Eunice Littlefield Babbitt, Esquiress.''
"Good God!'' from Babbitt, and from his wife a long wailing,
"You've gone and—''
"We got married last evening. Wife! Sit up and say a
pretty good morning to mother-in-law.''
But Eunice hid her shoulders and her charming wild hair
under the pillow.
By nine o'clock the assembly which was gathered about Ted
and Eunice in the living-room included Mr. and Mrs. George
Babbitt, Dr. and Mrs. Howard Littlefield, Mr. and Mrs. Kenneth
Escott, Mr. and Mrs. Henry T. Thompson, and Tinka
Babbitt, who was the only pleased member of the inquisition.
A crackling shower of phrases filled the room:
"At their age—'' "Ought to be annulled—'' "Never
heard of such a thing in—'' "Fault of both of them and—''
"Keep it out of the papers—'' "Ought to be packed off to
school—'' "Do something about it at once, and what I say
is—'' "Damn good old-fashioned spanking—''
Worst of them all was Verona. "Ted! Some
way must be
found to make you understand how dreadfully
serious this is,
instead of standing around with that silly foolish
smile on your
face!''
He began to revolt. "Gee whittakers, Rone, you got married
yourself, didn't you?''
"That's entirely different.''
"You bet it is! They didn't have to work on Eu and me
with a chain and tackle to get us to hold hands!''
"Now, young man, we'll have no more flippancy,'' old Henry
Thompson ordered. "You listen to me.''
"You listen to Grandfather!'' said Verona.
"Yes, listen to your Grandfather!'' said Mrs. Babbitt.
"Ted, you listen to Mr. Thompson!'' said Howard Littlefield.
"Oh, for the love o' Mike, I am listening!'' Ted shouted.
"But you look here, all of you! I'm getting sick and tired
of being the corpse in this post mortem! If you want to kill
somebody, go kill the preacher that married us! Why, he stung
me five dollars, and all the money I had in the world was six
dollars and two bits. I'm getting just about enough of being
hollered at!''
A new voice, booming, authoritative, dominated the room.
It was Babbitt. "Yuh, there's too darn many putting in their
oar! Rone, you dry up. Howard and I are still pretty strong,
and able to do our own cussing. Ted, come into the dining-room
and we'll talk this over.''
In the dining-room, the door firmly closed, Babbitt walked
to his son, put both hands on his shoulders. "You're more or
less right. They all talk too much. Now what do you plan
to do, old man?''
"Gosh, dad, are you really going to be human?''
"Well, I— Remember one time you called us `the Babbitt
men' and said we ought to stick together? I want to. I don't
pretend to think this isn't serious. The way the cards are
stacked against a young fellow to-day, I can't say I approve of
early marriages. But you couldn't have married a better girl
than Eunice; and way I figure it, Littlefield is darn lucky to
get a Babbitt for a son-in-law! But what do you plan to do?
Course you could go right ahead with the U., and when you'd
finished—''
"Dad, I can't stand it any more. Maybe it's all right for
some fellows. Maybe I'll want to go back some day. But me,
I want to get into mechanics. I think I'd get to be a good
inventor. There's a fellow that would give me twenty dollars
a week in a factory right now.''
"Well—'' Babbitt crossed the floor, slowly, ponderously,
seeming a little old. "I've always wanted you to have a college
degree.'' He meditatively stamped across the floor again.
"But I've never— Now, for heaven's sake, don't repeat this
to your mother, or she'd remove what little hair I've got left,
but practically, I've never done a single thing I've wanted to
in my whole life! I don't know 's I've accomplished anything
except just get along. I figure out I've made about a quarter
of an inch out of a possible hundred rods. Well, maybe you'll
carry things on further. I don't know. But I do get a kind
of sneaking pleasure out of the fact that you knew what you
wanted to do and did it. Well, those folks in there will try
to bully you, and tame you down. Tell 'em to go to the devil!
I'll back you. Take your factory job, if you want to. Don't
be scared of the family. No, nor all of Zenith. Nor of yourself,
the way I've been. Go ahead, old man! The world is
yours!''
Arms about each other's shoulders, the Babbitt men marched
into the living-room and faced the swooping family.