IV
For a month they watched the social columns, and waited
for a return dinner-invitation.
As the hosts of Sir Gerald Doak, the McKelveys were headlined
all the week after the Babbitts' dinner. Zenith ardently
received Sir Gerald (who had come to America to buy coal).
The newspapers interviewed him on prohibition, Ireland, unemployment,
naval aviation, the rate of exchange, tea-drinking
versus whisky-drinking, the psychology of American women,
and daily life as lived by English county families. Sir Gerald
seemed to have heard of all those topics. The McKelveys
gave him a Singhalese dinner, and Miss Elnora Pearl Bates,
society editor of the Advocate-Times, rose to her highest lark-note.
Babbitt read aloud at breakfast-table:
'Twixt the original and Oriental decorations, the strange
and delicious food, and the personalities both of the distinguished
guests, the charming hostess and the noted host,
never has Zenith seen a more recherche affair than the
Ceylon dinner-dance given last evening by Mr. and Mrs.
Charles McKelvey to Sir Gerald Doak. Methought as we
—fortunate one!—were privileged to view that fairy and
foreign scene, nothing at Monte Carlo or the choicest ambassadorial
sets of foreign capitals could be more lovely.
It is not for nothing that Zenith is in matters social rapidly
becoming known as the choosiest inland city in the country.
Though he is too modest to admit it, Lord Doak gives
a cachet to our smart quartier such as it has not received
since the ever-memorable visit of the Earl of Sittingbourne.
Not only is he of the British peerage, but he is also, on dit,
a leader of the British metal industries. As he comes from
Nottingham, a favorite haunt of Robin Hood, though now,
we are informed by Lord Doak, a live modern city of 275,573
inhabitants, and important lace as well as other industries,
we like to think that perhaps through his veins runs
some of the blood, both virile red and bonny blue, of that
earlier lord o' the good greenwood, the roguish Robin.
The lovely Mrs. McKelvey never was more fascinating
than last evening in her black net gown relieved by dainty
bands of silver and at her exquisite waist a glowing cluster
of Aaron Ward roses.
Babbitt said bravely, "I hope they don't invite us to meet
this Lord Doak guy. Darn sight rather just have a nice quiet
little dinner with Charley and the Missus.''
At the Zenith Athletic Club they discussed it amply. "I
s'pose we'll have to call McKelvey `Lord Chaz' from now on,''
said Sidney Finkelstein.
"It beats all get-out,'' meditated that man of data, Howard
Littlefield, "how hard it is for some people to get things
straight. Here they call this fellow `Lord Doak' when it ought
to be `Sir Gerald.' ''
Babbitt marvelled, "Is that a fact! Well, well! `Sir Gerald,'
eh? That's what you call um, eh? Well, sir, I'm glad to
know that.''
Later he informed his salesmen, "It's funnier 'n a goat the
way some folks that, just because they happen to lay up a big
wad, go entertaining famous foreigners, don't have any more
idea 'n a rabbit how to address 'em so's to make 'em feel at
home!''
That evening, as he was driving home, he passed McKelvey's
limousine and saw Sir Gerald, a large, ruddy, pop-eyed,
Teutonic Englishman whose dribble of yellow mustache gave
him an aspect sad and doubtful. Babbitt drove on slowly,
oppressed by futility. He had a sudden, unexplained, and
horrible conviction that the McKelveys were laughing at him.
He betrayed his depression by the violence with which he
informed his wife, "Folks that really tend to business haven't
got the time to waste on a bunch like the McKelveys. This
society stuff is like any other hobby; if you devote yourself to
it, you get on. But I like to have a chance to visit with you
and the children instead of all this idiotic chasing round.''
They did not speak of the McKelveys again.
