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Babbitt
and still more to their causing a rumor, by earning money,
that they were not adequately supported. They worked
perhaps two hours a day, and the rest of the time they ate
chocolates, went to the motion-pictures, went windowshopping, went in gossiping twos and threes to cardparties, read magazines, thought timorously of the lovers
who never appeared, and accumulated a splendid restlessness
which they got rid of by nagging their husbands. The
husbands nagged back.
Of these naggers the Swansons were perfect specimens.
Throughout the dinner Eddie Swanson had been
complaining, publicly, about his wifes new frock. It was,
he submitted, too short, too low, too immodestly thin, and
much too expensive. He appealed to Babbitt:
Honest, George, what do you think of that rag Louetta
went and bought? Dont you think its the limit?
Whats eating you, Eddie? I call it a swell little dress.
Oh, it is, Mr Swanson. Its a sweet frock, Mrs Babbitt
protested.
There now, do you see, smarty! Youre such an authority
on clothes! Louetta raged, while the guests ruminated and
peeped at her shoulders.
Thats all right now, said Swanson. Im authority
enough so I know it was a waste of money, and it makes
me tired to see you not wearing out a whole closetful of
clothes you got already. Ive expressed my idea about this
before, and you know good and well you didnt pay the
least bit of attention. I have to camp on your trail to get
you to do anything
There was much more of it, and they all assisted, all
but Babbitt. Everything about him was dim except his
stomach, and that was a bright scarlet disturbance. Had
too much grub; oughtnt to eat this stuff, he groaned
while he went on eating, while he gulped down a chill
and glutinous slice of the ice-cream brick, and cocoanut
cake as oozy as shaving-cream. He felt as though he had
been stuffed with clay; his body was bursting, his throat
was bursting, his brain was hot mud; and only with agony
did he continue to smile and shout as became a host on
Floral Heights.
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Sinclair Lewis
He would, except for his guests, have fled outdoors
and walked off the intoxication of food, but in the haze
which filled the room they sat forever, talking, talking,
while he agonized, Darn fool to be eating all this not
nother mouthful, and discovered that he was again tasting
the sickly welter of melted ice cream on his plate. There
was no magic in his friends; he was not uplifted when
Howard Littlefield produced from his treasure-house of
scholarship the information that the chemical symbol for
raw rubber is C
Suddenly, without precedent, Babbitt was not merely bored
but admitting that he was bored. It was ecstasy to escape
from the table, from the torture of a straight chair, and loll
on the davenport in the living-room.
The others, from their fitful unconvincing talk, their
expressions of being slowly and painfully smothered,
seemed to be suffering from the toil of social life and the
horror of good food as much as himself. All of them
accepted with relief the suggestion of bridge.
Babbitt recovered from the feeling of being boiled. He
won at bridge. He was again able to endure Vergil
Gunchs inexorable heartiness. But he pictured loafing
with Paul Riesling beside a lake in Maine. It was as
overpowering and imaginative as homesickness. He had
never seen Maine, yet he beheld the shrouded mountains,
the tranquil lake of evening. That boy Pauls worth all
these ballyhooing highbrows put together, he muttered;
and, Id like to get away from everything.
Even Louetta Swanson did not rouse him.
Mrs Swanson was pretty and pliant. Babbitt was not
an analyst of women, except as to their tastes in Furnished
Houses to Rent. He divided them into Real Ladies, Working
Women, Old Cranks, and Fly Chickens. He mooned over
their charms but he was of opinion that all of them (save
the women of his own family) were different and
mysterious. Yet he had known by instinct that Louetta
Swanson could be approached. Her eyes and lips were
moist. Her face tapered from a broad forehead to a
pointed chin, her mouth was thin but strong and avid,
and between her brows were two outcurving and passionate
, which turns into isoprene, or 2C5H8.
10H16
112
Babbitt
wrinkles. She was thirty, perhaps, or younger. Gossip
had never touched her, but every man naturally and
instantly rose to flirtatiousness when he spoke to her,
and every woman watched her with stilled blankness.
Between games, sitting on the davenport, Babbitt spoke
to her with the requisite gallantry, that sonorous Floral
Heights gallantry which is not flirtation but a terrified
flight from it: Youre looking like a new soda-fountain to
night, Louetta.
Am I?
Ole Eddie kind of on the rampage.
Yes. I get so sick of it.
Well, when you get tired of hubby, you can run off
with Uncle George.
If I ran away Oh, well
Anybody ever tell you your hands are awful pretty?
She looked down at them, she pulled the lace of her
sleeves over them, but otherwise she did not heed him. She
was lost in unexpressed imaginings.
Babbitt was too languid this evening to pursue his duty
of being a captivating (though strictly moral) male. He
ambled back to the bridge-tables. He was not much thrilled
when Mrs Frink, a small twittering woman, proposed that
they try and do some spiritualism and table-tipping you
know Chum can make the spirits come honest, he just
scares me!
The ladies of the party had not emerged all evening,
but now, as the sex given to things of the spirit while the
men warred against base things material, they took command
and cried, Oh, lets! In the dimness the men were rather
solemn and foolish, but the goodwives quivered and
adored as they sat about the table. They laughed, Now,
you be good or Ill tell! when the men took their hands
in the circle.
Babbitt tingled with a slight return of interest in life as
Louetta Swansons hand closed on his with quiet firmness.
All of them hunched over, intent. They startled as some
one drew a strained breath. In the dusty light from the hall
they looked unreal, they felt disembodied. Mrs Gunch
squeaked, and they jumped with unnatural jocularity, but
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Sinclair Lewis
at Frinks hiss they sank into subdued awe. Suddenly,
incredibly, they heard a knocking. They stared at Frinks
half-revealed hands and found them lying still. They wriggled,
and pretended not to be impressed.
Frink spoke with gravity: Is some one there? A thud. Is
one knock to be the sign for yes? A thud. And two for
no? A thud.
Now, ladies and gentlemen, shall we ask the guide to
put us into communication with the spirit of some great one
passed over? Frink mumbled.
Mrs Orville Jones begged, Oh, lets talk to Dante! We
studied him at the Reading Circle. You know who he was,
Orvy.
Certainly I know who he was! The Wop poet. Where do
you think I was raised? from her insulted husband.
Sure the fellow that took the Cooks Tour to Hell. Ive
never waded through his potry, but we learned about him
in the U., said Babbitt.
Page Mr Dannnnnty! intoned Eddie Swanson.
You ought to get him easy, Mr Frink, you and he being
fellow-poets, said Louetta Swanson.
Fellow-poets, rats! Where d you get that stuff? protested
Vergil Gunch. I suppose Dante showed a lot of speed for an
old-timer not that Ive actually read him, of course but to
come right down to hard facts, he wouldnt stand one-twothree if he had to buckle down to practical literature and turn
out a poem for the newspaper-syndicate every day, like
Chum does!
Thats so, from Eddie Swanson. Those old birds could
take their time. Judas Priest, I could write poetry myself if I
had a whole year for it, and just wrote about that oldfashioned junk like Dante wrote about.
Frink demanded, Hush, now! Ill call him... O, Laughing
Eyes, emerge forth into the, uh, the ultimates and bring
hither the spirit of Dante, that we mortals may list to his
words of wisdom.
You forgot to give um the address: 1658 Brimstone
Avenue, Fiery Heights, Hell, Gunch chuckled, but the others
felt that this was irreligious. And besides probably it was
just Chum making the knocks, but still, if there did happen
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Babbitt
to be something to all this, be exciting to talk to an old
fellow belonging to way back in early times
A thud. The spirit of Dante had come to the parlor of
George F. Babbitt.
He was, it seemed, quite ready to answer their questions.
He was glad to be with them, this evening.
Frink spelled out the messages by running through the
alphabet till the spirit interpreter knocked at the right letter.
Littlefield asked, in a learned tone, Do you like it in the
Paradiso, Messire?
We are very happy on the higher plane, Signor. We are
glad that you are studying this great truth of spiritualism,
Dante replied.
The circle moved with an awed creaking of stays and
shirt-fronts. Suppose suppose there were something to
this?
Babbitt had a different worry. Suppose Chum Frink was
really one of these spiritualists! Chum had, for a literary
fellow, always seemed to be a Regular Guy; he belonged to
the Chatham Road Presbyterian Church and went to the
Boosters lunches and liked cigars and motors and racy
stories. But suppose that secretly After all, you never could
tell about these darn highbrows; and to be an out-and-out
spiritualist would be almost like being a socialist!
No one could long be serious in the presence of Vergil
Gunch. Ask Dant how Jack Shakespeare and old Verg the
guy they named after me are gettin along, and dont they
wish they could get into the movie game! he blared, and
instantly all was mirth. Mrs Jones shrieked, and Eddie
Swanson desired to know whether Dante didnt catch cold
with nothing on but his wreath.
The pleased Dante made humble answer.
But Babbitt the curst discontent was torturing him again,
and heavily, in the impersonal darkness, he pondered, I
dont Were all so flip and think were so smart. Thered be
A fellow like Dante I wish Id read some of his pieces.
I dont suppose I ever will, now.
He had, without explanation, the impression of a slaggy
cliff and on it, in silhouette against menacing clouds, a lone
and austere figure. He was dismayed by a sudden contempt
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Sinclair Lewis
for his surest friends. He grasped Louetta Swansons hand,
and found the comfort of human warmth. Habit came, a
veteran warrior; and he shook himself. What the deuce is
the matter with me, this evening?
He patted Louettas hand, to indicate that he hadnt meant
anything improper by squeezing it, and demanded of Frink,
Say, see if you can get old Dant to spiel us some of his
poetry. Talk up to him. Tell him, Buena giorna, senor, com
sa va, wie gehts? Keskersaykersa a little pome, senor?
II
The lights were switched on; the women sat on the
fronts of their chairs in that determined suspense whereby
a wife indicates that as soon as the present speaker has
finished, she is going to remark brightly to her husband,
Well, dear, I think per
saying good-night. For once Babbitt did not break out in
blustering efforts to keep the party going. He had there
was something he wished to think out But the psychical
research had started them off again. (Why didnt they go
home! Why didnt they go home!) Though he was impressed
by the profundity of the statement, he was only halfenthusiastic when Howard Littlefield lectured, The United
States is the only nation in which the government is a
Moral Ideal and not just a social arrangement. (True
true werent they EVER going home?) He was usually
delighted to have an inside view of the momentous
world of motors but to-night he scarcely listened to Eddie
Swansons revelation: If you want to go above the
Javelin class, the Zeeco is a mighty good buy. Couple
weeks ago, and mind you, this was a fair, square test,
they took a Zeeco stock touring-car and they slid up the
Tonawanda hill on high, and fellow told me (Zeeco
good boat but Were they planning to stay all night?)
They really were going, with a flutter of We did have the
best time!
Most aggressively friendly of all was Babbitt, yet as he
burbled he was reflecting, I got through it, but for a while
there I didnt hardly think Id last out. He prepared to taste
haps its about time for us to be
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Babbitt
that most delicate pleasure of the host: making fun of his
guests in the relaxation of midnight. As the door cl
yawned voluptuously, chest out, shoulders wriggling, and
turned cynically to his wife.
She was beaming. Oh, it was nice, wasnt it! I know
they enjoyed every minute of it. Dont you think so?
He couldnt do it. He couldnt mock. It would have
been like sneering at a happy child. He lied ponderously:
You bet! Best party this year, by a long shot.
Wasnt the dinner good! And honestly I thought the
fried chicken was delicious!
You bet! Fried to the Queens taste. Best fried chicken
Ive tasted for a coons age.
Didnt Matilda fry it beautifully! And dont you think
the soup was simply delicious?
It certainly was! It was corking! Best soup Ive tasted since
Heck was a pup! But his voice was seeping away. They
stood in the hall, under the electric light in its square boxlike shade of red glass bound with nickel. She stared at him.
Why, George, you dont sound you sound as if you
hadnt really enjoyed it.
Sure I did! Course I did!
George! What is it?
Oh, Im kind of tired, I guess. Been pounding pretty
hard at the office. Need to get away and rest up a little.
Well, were going to Maine in just a few weeks now,
dear. Yuh Then he was pouring it out nakedly,
robbed of reticence. Myra, I think itd be a good thing for
me to get up there early.
But you have this man you have to meet in New York
about business.
What man? Oh, sure. Him. Oh, thats all off. But I want
to hit Maine early get in a little fishing, catch me a big
trout, by golly! A nervous, artificial laugh.
Well, why dont we do it? Verona and Matilda can run
the house between them, and you and I can go any time,
if you think we can afford it.
But thats Ive been feeling so jumpy lately, I thought
maybe it might be a good thing if I kind of got off by
myself and sweat it out of me.
osed he
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Sinclair Lewis
George! Dont you WANT me to go along? She was too
wretchedly in earnest to be tragic, or gloriously insulted,
or anything save dumpy and defenseless and flushed to
the red steaminess of a boiled beet.
Of course I do! I just meant Remembering that
Paul Riesling had predicted this, he was as desperate as
she. I mean, sometimes its a good thing for an old
grouch like me to go off and get it out of his system. He
tried to sound paternal. Then when you and the kids
arrive I figured maybe I might skip up to Maine just a
few days ahead of you Id be ready for a real bat, see
how I mean? He coaxed her with large booming sounds,
with affable smiles, like a popular preacher blessing an
Easter congregation, like a humorous lecturer completing
his stint of eloquence, like all perpetrators of masculine
wiles.
She stared at him, the joy of festival drained from her
face. Do I bother you when we go on vacations? Dont I
add anything to your fun?
He broke. Suddenly, dreadfully, he was hysterical, he
was a yelping baby. Yes, yes, yes! Hell, yes! But cant you
understand Im shot to pieces? Im all in! I got to take care
of myself! I tell you, I got to Im sick of everything and
everybody! I got to
It was she who was mature and protective now. Why,
of course! You shall run off by yourself! Why dont you get
Paul to go along, and you boys just fish and have a good
time? She patted his shoulder reaching up to it while
he shook with palsied helplessness, and in that moment
was not merely by habit fond of her but clung to her
strength.
She cried cheerily, Now up-stairs you go, and pop into
bed. Well fix it all up. Ill see to the doors. Now skip!
For many minutes, for many hours, for a bleak eternity,
he lay awake, shivering, reduced to primitive terror,
comprehending that he had won freedom, and wondering
what he could do with anything so unknown and so
embarrassing as freedom.
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Babbitt
Chapter X
No apartment-house in Zenith had more resolutely
experimented in condensation than the Revelstoke Arms,
in which Paul and Zilla Riesling had a flat. By sliding the
beds into low closets the bedrooms were converted into
living-rooms. The kitchens were cupboards each containing
an electric range, a copper sink, a glass refrigerator, and,
very intermittently, a Balkan maid. Everything about the
Arms was excessively modern, and everything was
compressed except the garages.
The Babbitts were calling on the Rieslings at the Arms.
It was a speculative venture to call on the Rieslings;
interesting and sometimes disconcerting. Zilla was an active,
strident, full-blown, high-bosomed blonde. When she
condescended to be good-humored she was nervously
amusing. Her comments on people were saltily satiric and
penetrative of accepted hypocrisies. Thats so! you said,
and looked sheepish. She danced wildly, and called on
the world to be merry, but in the midst of it she would
turn indignant. She was always becoming indignant. Life
was a plot against her and she exposed it furiously.
She was affable to-night. She merely hinted that Orville
Jones wore a toupe, that Mrs T. Cholmondeley Frinks
singing resembled a Ford going into high, and that the
Hon. Otis Deeble, mayor of Zenith and candidate for
Congress, was a flatulent fool (which was quite true).
The Babbitts and Rieslings sat doubtfully on stone-hard
brocade chairs in the small living-room of the flat, with
its mantel unprovided with a fireplace, and its strip of
heavy gilt fabric upon a glaring new player-piano, till Mrs
Riesling shrieked, Come on! Lets put some pep in it! Get
out your fiddle, Paul, and Ill try to make Georgie dance
decently.
The Babbitts were in earnest. They were plotting for
the escape to Maine. But when Mrs Babbitt hinted with
plump smilingness, Does Paul get as tired after the
winters work as Georgie does? then Zilla remembered an
injury; and when Zilla Riesling remembered an injury the
world stopped till something had been done about it.
119
Sinclair Lewis
Does he get tired? No, he doesnt get tired, he just
goes crazy, thats all! You think Paul is so reasonable, oh,
yes, and he loves to make out hes a little lamb, but hes
stubborn as a mule. Oh, if you had to live with him !
Youd find out how sweet he is! He just pretends to be
meek so he can have his own way. And me, I get the
credit for being a terrible old crank, but if I didnt blow up
once in a while and get something started, wed die of
dry-rot. He never wants to go any place and Why, last
evening, just because the car was out of order and that
was his fault, too, because he ought to have taken it to
the service-station and had the battery looked at and he
didnt want to go down to the movies on the trolley. But
we went, and then there was one of those impudent
conductors, and Paul wouldnt do a thing.
I was standing on the platform waiting for the people to
let me into the car, and this beast, this conductor, hollered at
me, Come on, you, move up! Why, Ive never had anybody
speak to me that way in all my life! I was so astonished I just
turned to him and said I thought there must be some
mistake, and so I said to him, perfectly pleasant, Were you
speaking to me? and he went on and bellowed at me, Yes,
I was! Youre keeping the whole car from starting! he said,
and then I saw he was one of these dirty ill-bred hogs that
kindness is wasted on, and so I stopped and looked right at
him, and I said, I beg your pardon, I am not doing
anything of the kind, I said, its the people ahead of me,
who wont move up, I said, and furthermore, let me tell
you, young man, that youre a low-down, foul-mouthed,
impertinent skunk, I said, and youre no gentleman! I
certainly intend to report you, and well see, I said, whether
a lady is to be insulted by any drunken bum that chooses to
put on a ragged uniform, and Id thank you, I said, to keep
your filthy abuse to yourself. And then I waited for Paul to
show he was half a man and come to my defense, and he
just stood there and pretended he hadnt heard a word, and
so I said to him, Well, I said
Oh, cut it, cut it, Zill! Paul groaned. We all know Im a
mollycoddle, and youre a tender bud, and lets let it go at
that.
120
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