16. CHAPTER XVI
I
THE certainty that he was not going to be accepted by the
McKelveys made Babbitt feel guilty and a little absurd. But
he went more regularly to the Elks; at a Chamber of Commerce
luncheon he was oratorical regarding the wickedness
of strikes; and again he saw himself as a Prominent Citizen.
His clubs and associations were food comfortable to his
spirit.
Of a decent man in Zenith it was required that he should
belong to one, preferably two or three, of the innumerous
"lodges'' and prosperity-boosting lunch-clubs; to the Rotarians,
the Kiwanis, or the Boosters; to the Oddfellows, Moose, Masons,
Red Men, Woodmen, Owls, Eagles, Maccabees, Knights
of Pythias, Knights of Columbus, and other secret orders
characterized by a high degree of heartiness, sound morals, and
reverence for the Constitution. There were four reasons for
joining these orders: It was the thing to do. It was good
for business, since lodge-brothers frequently became customers.
It gave to Americans unable to become Geheimräte or
Commendatori such unctuous honorifics as High Worthy Recording
Scribe and Grand Hoogow to add to the commonplace distinctions
of Colonel, Judge, and Professor. And it permitted
the swaddled American husband to stay away from home for
one evening a week. The lodge was his piazza, his pavement
café. He could shoot pool and talk man-talk and be obscene
and valiant.
Babbitt was what he called a "joiner'' for all these reasons.
Behind the gold and scarlet banner of his public achievements
was the dun background of office-routine: leases, sales-contracts,
lists of properties to rent. The evenings of oratory
and committees and lodges stimulated him like brandy, but
every morning he was sandy-tongued. Week by week he accumulated
nervousness. He was in open disagreement with his
outside salesman, Stanley Graff; and once, though her charms
had always kept him nickeringly polite to her, he snarled at
Miss McGoun for changing his letters.
But in the presence of Paul Riesling he relaxed. At least
once a week they fled from maturity. On Saturday they played
golf, jeering, "As a golfer, you're a fine tennis-player,'' or they
motored all Sunday afternoon, stopping at village lunchrooms
to sit on high stools at a counter and drink coffee from thick
cups. Sometimes Paul came over in the evening with his
violin, and even Zilla was silent as the lonely man who had
lost his way and forever crept down unfamiliar roads spun
out his dark soul in music.
II
Nothing gave Babbitt more purification and publicity than
his labors for the Sunday School.
His church, the Chatham Road Presbyterian, was one of
the largest and richest, one of the most oaken and velvety,
in Zenith. The pastor was the Reverend John Jennison Drew,
M.A., D.D., LL.D. (The M.A. and the D.D. were from Elbert
University, Nebraska, the LL.D. from Waterbury College,
Oklahoma.) He was eloquent, efficient, and versatile. He
presided at meetings for the denunciation of unions or the
elevation of domestic service, and confided to the audiences
that as a poor boy he had carried newspapers. For the Saturday
edition of the Evening Advocate he wrote editorials on
"The Manly Man's Religion'' and "The Dollars and Sense
Value of Christianity,'' which were printed in bold type surrounded
by a wiggly border. He often said that he was "proud
to be known as primarily a business man'' and that he certainly
was not going to "permit the old Satan to monopolize all the
pep and punch.'' He was a thin, rustic-faced young man with
gold spectacles and a bang of dull brown hair, but when he
hurled himself into oratory he glowed with power. He admitted
that he was too much the scholar and poet to imitate
the evangelist, Mike Monday, yet he had once awakened his
fold to new life, and to larger collections, by the challenge,
"My brethren, the real cheap skate is the man who won't lend
to the Lord!''
He had made his church a true community center. It contained
everything but a bar. It had a nursery, a Thursday
evening supper with a short bright missionary lecture afterward,
a gymnasium, a fortnightly motion-picture show, a
library of technical books for young workmen—though, unfortunately,
no young workman ever entered the church except
to wash the windows or repair the furnace—and a sewing-circle
which made short little pants for the children of the
poor while Mrs. Drew read aloud from earnest novels.
Though Dr. Drew's theology was Presbyterian, his church-building
was gracefully Episcopalian. As he said, it had the
"most perdurable features of those noble ecclesiastical
monuments of grand Old England which stand as symbols of the
eternity of faith, religious and civil.'' It was built of cheery
iron-spot brick in an improved Gothic style, and the main
auditorium had indirect lighting from electric globes in lavish
alabaster bowls.
On a December morning when the Babbitts went to church,
Dr. John Jennison Drew was unusually eloquent. The crowd
was immense. Ten brisk young ushers, in morning coats with
white roses, were bringing folding chairs up from the basement.
There was an impressive musical program, conducted by Sheldon
Smeeth, educational director of the Y.M.C.A., who also
sang the offertory. Babbitt cared less for this, because some
misguided person had taught young Mr. Smeeth to smile,
smile, smile while he was singing, but with all the appreciation
of a fellow-orator he admired Dr. Drew's sermon. It had the
intellectual quality which distinguished the Chatham Road
congregation from the grubby chapels on Smith Street.
"At this abundant harvest-time of all the year,'' Dr. Drew
chanted, "when, though stormy the sky and laborious the path
to the drudging wayfarer, yet the hovering and bodiless spirit
swoops back o'er all the labors and desires of the past twelve
months, oh, then it seems to me there sounds behind all our
apparent failures the golden chorus of greeting from those
passed happily on; and lo! on the dim horizon we see behind
dolorous clouds the mighty mass of mountains—mountains
of melody, mountains of mirth, mountains of might!''
"I certainly do like a sermon with culture and thought in
it,'' meditated Babbitt.
At the end of the service he was delighted when the pastor,
actively shaking hands at the door, twittered, "Oh, Brother
Babbitt, can you wait a jiffy? Want your advice.''
"Sure, doctor! You bet!''
"Drop into my office. I think you'll like the cigars there.''
Babbitt did like the cigars. He also liked the office, which
was distinguished from other offices only by the spirited
change of the familiar wall-placard to "This is the Lord's Busy
Day.'' Chum Frink came in, then William W. Eathorne.
Mr. Eathorne was the seventy-year-old president of the First
State Bank of Zenith. He still wore the delicate patches of
side-whiskers which had been the uniform of bankers in 1870.
If Babbitt was envious of the Smart Set of the McKelveys,
before William Washington Eathorne he was reverent. Mr.
Eathorne had nothing to do with the Smart Set. He was
above it. He was the great-grandson of one of the five men
who founded Zenith, in 1792, and he was of the third generation
of bankers. He could examine credits, make loans, promote
or injure a man's business. In his presence Babbitt
breathed quickly and felt young.
The Reverend Dr. Drew bounced into the room and flowered
into speech:
"I've asked you gentlemen to stay so I can put a proposition
before you. The Sunday School needs bucking up. It's the
fourth largest in Zenith, but there's no reason why we should
take anybody's dust. We ought to be first. I want to request
you, if you will, to form a committee of advice and publicity
for the Sunday School; look it over and make any suggestions
for its betterment, and then, perhaps, see that the press gives
us some attention—give the public some really helpful and
constructive news instead of all these murders and divorces.''
"Excellent,'' said the banker.
Babbitt and Frink were enchanted to join him.
III
If you had asked Babbitt what his religion was, he would
have answered in sonorous Boosters'-Club rhetoric, "My religion
is to serve my fellow men, to honor my brother as myself,
and to do my bit to make life happier for one and all.''
If you had pressed him for more detail, he would have announced,
"I'm a member of the Presbyterian Church, and naturally,
I accept its doctrines.'' If you had been so brutal
as to go on, he would have protested, "There's no use discussing
and arguing about religion; it just stirs up bad feeling.''
Actually, the content of his theology was that there was a
supreme being who had tried to make us perfect, but presumably
had failed; that if one was a Good Man he would
go to a place called Heaven (Babbitt unconsciously pictured
it as rather like an excellent hotel with a private garden),
but if one was a Bad Man, that is, if he murdered or committed
burglary or used cocaine or had mistresses or sold non-existent
real estate, he would be punished. Babbitt was uncertain,
however, about what he called "this business of Hell.'' He
explained to Ted, "Of course I'm pretty liberal; I don't exactly
believe in a fire-and-brimstone Hell. Stands to reason,
though, that a fellow can't get away with all sorts of Vice
and not get nicked for it, see how I mean?''
Upon this theology he rarely pondered. The kernel of his
practical religion was that it was respectable, and beneficial to
one's business, to be seen going to services; that the church
kept the Worst Elements from being still worse; and that the
pastor's sermons, however dull they might seem at the time
of taking, yet had a voodooistic power which "did a fellow
good—kept him in touch with Higher Things.''
His first investigations for the Sunday School Advisory
Committee did not inspire him.
He liked the Busy Folks' Bible Class, composed of mature
men and women and addressed by the old-school physician,
Dr. T. Atkins Jordan, in a sparkling style comparable to that
of the more refined humorous after-dinner speakers, but when
he went down to the junior classes he was disconcerted. He
heard Sheldon Smeeth, educational director of the Y.M.C.A.
and leader of the church-choir, a pale but strenuous young
man with curly hair and a smile, teaching a class of sixteen-year-old
boys. Smeeth lovingly admonished them, "Now, fellows,
I'm going to have a Heart to Heart Talk Evening at my
house next Thursday. We'll get off by ourselves and be frank
about our Secret Worries. You can just tell old Sheldy anything,
like all the fellows do at the Y. I'm going to explain
frankly about the horrible practises a kiddy falls into unless
he's guided by a Big Brother, and about the perils and glory
of Sex.'' Old Sheldy beamed damply; the boys looked
ashamed; and Babbitt didn't know which way to turn his embarrassed
eyes.
Less annoying but also much duller were the minor classes
which were being instructed in philosophy and Oriental ethnology
by earnest spinsters. Most of them met in the highly
varnished Sunday School room, but there was an overflow to
the basement, which was decorated with varicose water-pipes
and lighted by small windows high up in the oozing wall.
What Babbitt saw, however, was the First Congregational
Church of Catawba. He was back in the Sunday School of
his boyhood. He smelled again that polite stuffiness to be
found only in church parlors; he recalled the case of drab
Sunday School books: "Hetty, a Humble Heroine'' and "Josephus,
a Lad of Palestine;'' he thumbed once more the high-colored
text-cards which no boy wanted but no boy liked to
throw away, because they were somehow sacred; he was tortured
by the stumbling rote of thirty-five years ago, as in the
vast Zenith church he listened to:
"Now, Edgar, you read the next verse. What does it mean
when it says it's easier for a camel to go through a needle's
eye? What does this teach us? Clarence! Please don't
wiggle so! If you had studied your lesson you wouldn't be
so fidgety. Now, Earl, what is the lesson Jesus was trying
to teach his disciples? The one thing I want you to especially
remember, boys, is the words, `With God all things are possible.'
Just think of that always—Clarence, please pay
attention—
just say `With God all things are possible' whenever
you feel discouraged, and, Alec, will you read the next verse;
if you'd pay attention you wouldn't lose your place!''
Drone—drone—drone—gigantic bees that boomed in a cavern
of drowsiness—
Babbitt started from his open-eyed nap, thanked the teacher
for "the privilege of listening to her splendid teaching,'' and
staggered on to the next circle.
After two weeks of this he had no suggestions whatever for
the Reverend Dr. Drew.
Then he discovered a world of Sunday School journals, an
enormous and busy domain of weeklies and monthlies which
were as technical, as practical and forward-looking, as the
real-estate columns or the shoe-trade magazines. He bought
half a dozen of them at a religious book-shop and till after
midnight he read them and admired.
He found many lucrative tips on "Focusing Appeals,''
"Scouting for New Members,'' and "Getting Prospects to Sign
up with the Sunday School.'' He particularly liked the word
"prospects,'' and he was moved by the rubric:
"The moral springs of the community's life lie deep in its
Sunday Schools—its schools of religious instruction and inspiration.
Neglect now means loss of spiritual vigor and moral
power in years to come.... Facts like the above, followed
by a straight-arm appeal, will reach folks who can never be
laughed or jollied into doing their part.''
Babbitt admitted, "That's so. I used to skin out of the ole
Sunday School at Catawba every chance I got, but same time,
I wouldn't be where I am to-day, maybe, if it hadn't been for
its training in—in moral power. And all about the Bible.
(Great literature. Have to read some of it again, one of these
days.''
How scientifically the Sunday School could be organized he
learned from an article in the Westminster Adult Bible Class:
"The second vice-president looks after the fellowship of
the class. She chooses a group to help her. These become
ushers. Every one who comes gets a glad hand. No one goes
away a stranger. One member of the group stands on the
doorstep and invites passers-by to come in.''
Perhaps most of all Babbitt appreciated the remarks by
William H. Ridgway in the Sunday School Times:
"If you have a Sunday School class without any pep and
get-up-and-go in it, that is, without interest, that is uncertain
in attendance, that acts like a fellow with the spring fever, let
old Dr. Ridgway write you a prescription. Rx. Invite the
Bunch for Supper.''
The Sunday School journals were as well rounded as they
were practical. They neglected none of the arts. As to music
the
Sunday School Times advertised that C. Harold Lowden,
"known to thousands through his sacred compositions,'' had
written a new masterpiece, "entitled `Yearning for You.' The
poem, by Harry D. Kerr, is one of the daintiest you could
imagine and the music is indescribably beautiful. Critics are
agreed that it will sweep the country. May be made into a
charming sacred song by substituting the hymn words, `I Heard
the Voice of Jesus Say.' ''
Even manual training was adequately considered. Babbitt
noted an ingenious way of illustrating the resurrection of Jesus
Christ:
"Model for Pupils to Make. Tomb with Rolling Door.
—Use a square covered box turned upside down. Pull the
cover forward a little to form a groove at the bottom. Cut
a square door, also cut a circle of cardboard to more than cover
the door. Cover the circular door and the tomb thickly with
stiff mixture of sand, flour and water and let it dry. It was
the heavy circular stone over the door the women found
`rolled away' on Easter morning. This is the story we are to
`Go-tell.' ''
In their advertisements the Sunday School journals were
thoroughly efficient. Babbitt was interested in a preparation
which "takes the place of exercise for sedentary men by building
up depleted nerve tissue, nourishing the brain and the digestive
system.'' He was edified to learn that the selling of
Bibles was a hustling and strictly competitive industry, and as
an expert on hygiene he was pleased by the Sanitary Communion
Outfit Company's announcement of "an improved and
satisfactory outfit throughout, including highly polished beautiful
mahogany tray. This tray eliminates all noise, is lighter
and more easily handled than others and is more in keeping
with the furniture of the church than a tray of any other
material.''
IV
He dropped the pile of Sunday School journals.
He pondered, "Now, there's a real he-world. Corking!
"Ashamed I haven't sat in more. Fellow that's an influence
in the community—shame if he doesn't take part in a real
virile hustling religion. Sort of Christianity Incorporated, you
might say.
"But with all reverence.
"Some folks might claim these Sunday School fans are undignified
and unspiritual and so on. Sure! Always some skunk
to spring things like that! Knocking and sneering and tearing-down—so
much easier than building up. But me, I certainly
hand it to these magazines. They've brought ole George
F. Babbitt into camp, and that's the answer to the critics!
"The more manly and practical a fellow is, the more he
ought to lead the enterprising Christian life. Me for it! Cut
out this carelessness and boozing and— Rone! Where the
devil you been? This is a fine time o' night to be coming in!''