Babbit (46 page)

  "Know him? Well, say, I know him just well enough so
we call each other George and Jerry, and we got so pickled together
in Chicago - "

  "That must have been fun. But - " She shook a finger
at him. " - I can't have you getting pickled! I'll have to take you
in hand!"

  "Wish you would! . . . Well, zize saying: You see I
happen to know what a big noise Senny Doane is outside of Zenith,
but of course a prophet hasn't got any honor in his own country,
and Senny, darn his old hide, he's so blame modest that he never
lets folks know the kind of an outfit he travels with when he goes
abroad. Well, during the strike Clarence Drum comes pee-rading up
to our table, all dolled up fit to kill in his nice lil cap'n's
uniform, and somebody says to him, 'Busting the strike,
Clarence?'

  "Well, he swells up like a pouter-pigeon and he
hollers, so 's you could hear him way up in the reading-room, 'Yes,
sure; I told the strike-leaders where they got off, and so they
went home.'

  "'Well,' I says to him, 'glad there wasn't any
violence.'

  "'Yes,' he says, 'but if I hadn't kept my eye
skinned there would 've been. All those fellows had bombs in their
pockets. They're reg'lar anarchists.'

  "'Oh, rats, Clarence,' I says, 'I looked 'em all
over carefully, and they didn't have any more bombs 'n a rabbit,' I
says. 'Course,' I says, 'they're foolish, but they're a good deal
like you and me, after all.'

  "And then Vergil Gunch or somebody - no, it was Chum
Frink - you know, this famous poet - great pal of mine - he says to
me, 'Look here,' he says, 'do you mean to say you advocate these
strikes?' Well, I was so disgusted with a fellow whose mind worked
that way that I swear, I had a good mind to not explain at all -
just ignore him - "

  "Oh, that's so wise!" said Mrs. Judique.

  " - but finally I explains to him: 'If you'd done as
much as I have on Chamber of Commerce committees and all,' I says,
'then you'd have the right to talk! But same time,' I says, 'I
believe in treating your opponent like a gentleman!' Well, sir,
that held 'em! Frink - Chum I always call him - he didn't have
another word to say. But at that, I guess some of 'em kind o'
thought I was too liberal. What do you think?"

  "Oh, you were so wise. And courageous! I love a man
to have the courage of his convictions!"

  "But do you think it was a good stunt? After all,
some of these fellows are so darn cautious and narrow-minded that
they're prejudiced against a fellow that talks right out in
meeting."

  "What do you care? In the long run they're bound to
respect a man who makes them think, and with your reputation for
oratory you - "

  "What do you know about my reputation for
oratory?"

  "Oh, I'm not going to tell you everything I know!
But seriously, you don't realize what a famous man you are."

  "Well - Though I haven't done much orating this
fall. Too kind of bothered by this Paul Riesling business, I guess.
But - Do you know, you're the first person that's really understood
what I was getting at, Tanis - Listen to me, will you! Fat nerve
I've got, calling you Tanis!"

  "Oh, do! And shall I call you George? Don't you
think it's awfully nice when two people have so much - what shall I
call it? - so much analysis that they can discard all these stupid
conventions and understand each other and become acquainted right
away, like ships that pass in the night?"

  "I certainly do! I certainly do!"

  He was no longer quiescent in his chair; he wandered
about the room, he dropped on the couch beside her. But as he
awkwardly stretched his hand toward her fragile, immaculate
fingers, she said brightly, "Do give me a cigarette. Would you
think poor Tanis was dreadfully naughty if she smoked?"

  "Lord, no! I like it!"

  He had often and weightily pondered flappers smoking
in Zenith restaurants, but he knew only one woman who smoked - Mrs.
Sam Doppelbrau, his flighty neighbor. He ceremoniously lighted
Tanis's cigarette, looked for a place to deposit the burnt match,
and dropped it into his pocket.

  "I'm sure you want a cigar, you poor man!" she
crooned.

  "Do you mind one?"

  "Oh, no! I love the smell of a good cigar; so nice
and - so nice and like a man. You'll find an ash-tray in my
bedroom, on the table beside the bed, if you don't mind getting
it."

  He was embarrassed by her bedroom: the broad couch
with a cover of violet silk, mauve curtains striped with gold.
Chinese Chippendale bureau, and an amazing row of slippers, with
ribbon-wound shoe-trees, and primrose stockings lying across them.
His manner of bringing the ash-tray had just the right note of easy
friendliness, he felt. "A boob like Verg Gunch would try to get
funny about seeing her bedroom, but I take it casually." He was not
casual afterward. The contentment of companionship was gone, and he
was restless with desire to touch her hand. But whenever he turned
toward her, the cigarette was in his way. It was a shield between
them. He waited till she should have finished, but as he rejoiced
at her quick crushing of its light on the ashtray she said, "Don't
you want to give me another cigarette?" and hopelessly he saw the
screen of pale smoke and her graceful tilted hand again between
them. He was not merely curious now to find out whether she would
let him hold her hand (all in the purest friendship, naturally),
but agonized with need of it.

  On the surface appeared none of all this fretful
drama. They were talking cheerfully of motors, of trips to
California, of Chum Frink. Once he said delicately, "I do hate
these guys - I hate these people that invite themselves to meals,
but I seem to have a feeling I'm going to have supper with the
lovely Mrs. Tanis Judique to-night. But I suppose you probably have
seven dates already."

  "Well, I was thinking some of going to the movies.
Yes, I really think I ought to get out and get some fresh air."

  She did not encourage him to stay, but never did she
discourage him. He considered, "I better take a sneak! She WILL let
me stay - there IS something doing - and I mustn't get mixed up
with - I mustn't - I've got to beat it." Then, "No. it's too late
now."

  Suddenly, at seven, brushing her cigarette away,
brusquely taking her hand:

  "Tanis! Stop teasing me! You know we - Here we are,
a couple of lonely birds, and we're awful happy together. Anyway I
am! Never been so happy! Do let me stay! Ill gallop down to the
delicatessen and buy some stuff - cold chicken maybe - or cold
turkey - and we can have a nice little supper, and afterwards, if
you want to chase me out, I'll be good and go like a lamb."

  "Well - yes - it would be nice," she said.

  Nor did she withdraw her hand. He squeezed it,
trembling, and blundered toward his coat. At the delicatessen he
bought preposterous stores of food, chosen on the principle of
expensiveness. From the drug store across the street he telephoned
to his wife, "Got to get a fellow to sign a lease before he leaves
town on the midnight. Won't be home till late. Don't wait up for
me. Kiss Tinka good-night." He expectantly lumbered back to the
flat.

  "Oh, you bad thing, to buy so much food!" was her
greeting, and her voice was gay, her smile acceptant.

  He helped her in the tiny white kitchen; he washed
the lettuce, he opened the olive bottle. She ordered him to set the
table, and as he trotted into the living-room, as he hunted through
the buffet for knives and forks, he felt utterly at home.

  "Now the only other thing," he announced, "is what
you're going to wear. I can't decide whether you're to put on your
swellest evening gown, or let your hair down and put on short
skirts and make-believe you're a little girl."

  "I'm going to dine just as I am, in this old chiffon
rag, and if you can't stand poor Tanis that way, you can go to the
club for dinner!"

  "Stand you!" He patted her shoulder. "Child, you're
the brainiest and the loveliest and finest woman I've ever met!
Come now, Lady Wycombe, if you'll take the Duke of Zenith's arm, we
will proambulate in to the magnolious feed!"

  "Oh, you do say the funniest, nicest things!"

  When they had finished the picnic supper he thrust
his head out of the window and reported, "It's turned awful chilly,
and I think it's going to rain. You don't want to go to the
movies."

  "Well - "

  "I wish we had a fireplace! I wish it was raining
like all get-out to-night, and we were in a funny little
old-fashioned cottage, and the trees thrashing like everything
outside, and a great big log fire and - I'll tell you! Let's draw
this couch up to the radiator, and stretch our feet out, and
pretend it's a wood-fire."

  "Oh, I think that's pathetic! You big child!"

  But they did draw up to the radiator, and propped
their feet against it - his clumsy black shoes, her patent-leather
slippers. In the dimness they talked of themselves; of how lonely
she was, how bewildered he, and how wonderful that they had found
each other. As they fell silent the room was stiller than a country
lane. There was no sound from the street save the whir of
motor-tires, the rumble of a distant freight-train. Self-contained
was the room, warm, secure, insulated from the harassing world.

  He was absorbed by a rapture in which all fear and
doubting were smoothed away; and when he reached home, at dawn, the
rapture had mellowed to contentment serene and full of
memories.

  I

  
T
HE assurance of
Tanis Judique's friendship fortified Babbitt's self-approval. At
the Athletic Club he became experimental. Though Vergil Gunch was
silent, the others at the Roughnecks' Table came to accept Babbitt
as having, for no visible reason, "turned crank." They argued
windily with him, and he was cocky, and enjoyed the spectacle of
his interesting martyrdom. He even praised Seneca Doane. Professor
Pumphrey said that was carrying a joke too far; but Babbitt argued,
"No! Fact! I tell you he's got one of the keenest intellects in the
country. Why, Lord Wycombe said that - "

  "Oh, who the hell is Lord Wycombe? What you always
lugging him in for? You been touting him for the last six weeks!"
protested Orville Jones.

  "George ordered him from Sears-Roebuck. You can get
those English high-muckamucks by mail for two bucks apiece,"
suggested Sidney Finkelstein.

  "That's all right now! Lord Wycombe, he's one of the
biggest intellects in English political life. As I was saying: Of
course I'm conservative myself, but I appreciate a guy like Senny
Doane because - "

  Vergil Gunch interrupted harshly, "I wonder if you
are so conservative? I find I can manage to run my own business
without any skunks and reds like Doane in it!"

  The grimness of Gunch's voice, the hardness of his
jaw, disconcerted Babbitt, but he recovered and went on till they
looked bored, then irritated, then as doubtful as Gunch.

  II

  He thought of Tanis always. With a stir he
remembered her every aspect. His arms yearned for her. "I've found
her! I've dreamed of her all these years and now I've found her!"
he exulted. He met her at the movies in the morning; he drove out
to her flat in the late afternoon or on evenings when he was
believed to be at the Elks. He knew her financial affairs and
advised her about them, while she lamented her feminine ignorance,
and praised his masterfulness, and proved to know much more about
bonds than he did. They had remembrances, and laughter over old
times. Once they quarreled, and he raged that she was as "bossy" as
his wife and far more whining when he was inattentive. But that
passed safely.

  Their high hour was a tramp on a ringing December
afternoon, through snow-drifted meadows down to the icy Chaloosa
River. She was exotic in an astrachan cap and a short beaver coat;
she slid on the ice and shouted, and he panted after her, rotund
with laughter.... Myra Babbitt never slid on the ice.