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chapter xix i the zenith street traction company plannedto build car-repair shops in the suburb of dorchester, but when they came to buy theland they found it held, on options, by the babbitt-thompson realty company. the purchasing-agent, the first vice-president, and even the president of the traction company protested against thebabbitt price. they mentioned their duty towardstockholders, they threatened an appeal to the courts, though somehow the appeal tothe courts was never carried out and the

officials found it wiser to compromise withbabbitt. carbon copies of the correspondence are inthe company's files, where they may be viewed by any public commission. just after this babbitt deposited threethousand dollars in the bank, the purchasing-agent of the street tractioncompany bought a five thousand dollar car, he first vice-president built a home in devon woods, and the president wasappointed minister to a foreign country. to obtain the options, to tie up one man'sland without letting his neighbor know, had been an unusual strain on babbitt.

it was necessary to introduce rumors aboutplanning garages and stores, to pretend that he wasn't taking any more options, towait and look as bored as a poker-player at a time when the failure to secure a key-lotthreatened his whole plan. to all this was added a nerve-jabbingquarrel with his secret associates in the deal. they did not wish babbitt and thompson tohave any share in the deal except as brokers.babbitt rather agreed. "ethics of the business-broker ought tostrictly represent his principles and not get in on the buying," he said to thompson."ethics, rats!

think i'm going to see that bunch of holygrafters get away with the swag and us not climb in?" snorted old henry."well, i don't like to do it. kind of double-crossing." "it ain't.it's triple-crossing. it's the public that gets double-crossed. well, now we've been ethical and got it outof our systems, the question is where we can raise a loan to handle some of theproperty for ourselves, on the q. t. we can't go to our bank for it. might come out.""i could see old eathorne.

he's close as the tomb.""that's the stuff." eathorne was glad, he said, to "invest incharacter," to make babbitt the loan and see to it that the loan did not appear onthe books of the bank. thus certain of the options which babbittand thompson obtained were on parcels of real estate which they themselves owned,though the property did not appear in their names. in the midst of closing this splendid deal,which stimulated business and public confidence by giving an example ofincreased real-estate activity, babbitt was overwhelmed to find that he had a dishonestperson working for him.

the dishonest one was stanley graff, theoutside salesman. for some time babbitt had been worriedabout graff. he did not keep his word to tenants.in order to rent a house he would promise repairs which the owner had not authorized. it was suspected that he juggledinventories of furnished houses so that when the tenant left he had to pay forarticles which had never been in the house and the price of which graff put into hispocket. babbitt had not been able to prove thesesuspicions, and though he had rather planned to discharge graff he had neverquite found time for it.

now into babbitt's private room charged ared-faced man, panting, "look here! i've come to raise particular merry hell,and unless you have that fellow pinched, i will!" "what's--calm down, o' man.what's trouble?" "trouble!huh! here's the trouble--" "sit down and take it easy! they can hear you all over the building!""this fellow graff you got working for you, he leases me a house. i was in yesterday and signs the lease, allo.k., and he was to get the owner's

signature and mail me the lease last night.well, and he did. this morning i comes down to breakfast andthe girl says a fellow had come to the house right after the early delivery andtold her he wanted an envelope that had been mailed by mistake, big long envelope with 'babbitt-thompson' in the corner ofit. sure enough, there it was, so she lets himhave it. and she describes the fellow to me, and itwas this graff. so i 'phones to him and he, the poor fool,he admits it! he says after my lease was all signed hegot a better offer from another fellow and

he wanted my lease back.now what you going to do about it?" "your name is--?" "william varney--w. k. varney.""oh, yes. that was the garrison house."babbitt sounded the buzzer. when miss mcgoun came in, he demanded,"graff gone out?" "yes, sir." "will you look through his desk and see ifthere is a lease made out to mr. varney on the garrison house?"to varney: "can't tell you how sorry i am this happened.

needless to say, i'll fire graff the minutehe comes in. and of course your lease stands.but there's one other thing i'd like to do. i'll tell the owner not to pay us thecommission but apply it to your rent. no! straight!i want to. to be frank, this thing shakes me up bad. i suppose i've always been a practicalbusiness man. probably i've told one or two fairy storiesin my time, when the occasion called for it--you know: sometimes you have to laythings on thick, to impress boneheads. but this is the first time i've ever had toaccuse one of my own employees of anything

more dishonest than pinching a few stamps.honest, it would hurt me if we profited by it. so you'll let me hand you the commission?good!" iihe walked through the february city, where trucks flung up a spattering of slush andthe sky was dark above dark brick cornices. he came back miserable. he, who respected the law, had broken it byconcealing the federal crime of interception of the mails.but he could not see graff go to jail and his wife suffer.

worse, he had to discharge graff and thiswas a part of office routine which he feared. he liked people so much, he so much wantedthem to like him that he could not bear insulting them. miss mcgoun dashed in to whisper, with theexcitement of an approaching scene, "he's here!""mr. graff? ask him to come in." he tried to make himself heavy and calm inhis chair, and to keep his eyes expressionless.

graff stalked in--a man of thirty-five,dapper, eye-glassed, with a foppish mustache."want me?" said graff. "yes. sit down."graff continued to stand, grunting, "i suppose that old nut varney has been in tosee you. let me explain about him. he's a regular tightwad, and he sticks outfor every cent, and he practically lied to me about his ability to pay the rent--ifound that out just after we signed up. and then another fellow comes along with abetter offer for the house, and i felt it

was my duty to the firm to get rid ofvarney, and i was so worried about it i skun up there and got back the lease. honest, mr. babbitt, i didn't intend topull anything crooked. i just wanted the firm to have all thecommis--" "wait now, stan. this may all be true, but i've been havinga lot of complaints about you. now i don't s'pose you ever mean to dowrong, and i think if you just get a good lesson that'll jog you up a little, you'llturn out a first-class realtor yet. but i don't see how i can keep you on."

graff leaned against the filing-cabinet,his hands in his pockets, and laughed. "so i'm fired!well, old vision and ethics, i'm tickled to death! but i don't want you to think you can getaway with any holier-than-thou stuff. sure i've pulled some raw stuff--a littleof it--but how could i help it, in this office?" "now, by god, young man--""tut, tut! keep the naughty temper down, and don'tholler, because everybody in the outside office will hear you.

they're probably listening right now.babbitt, old dear, you're crooked in the first place and a damn skinflint in thesecond. if you paid me a decent salary i wouldn'thave to steal pennies off a blind man to keep my wife from starving. us married just five months, and her thenicest girl living, and you keeping us flat broke all the time, you damned old thief,so you can put money away for your saphead of a son and your wishywashy fool of adaughter! wait, now!you'll by god take it, or i'll bellow so the whole office will hear it!

and crooked--say, if i told the prosecutingattorney what i know about this last street traction option steal, both you and mewould go to jail, along with some nice, clean, pious, high-up traction guns!" "well, stan, looks like we were coming downto cases. that deal--there was nothing crooked aboutit. the only way you can get progress is forthe broad-gauged men to get things done; and they got to be rewarded--""oh, for pete's sake, don't get virtuous on me! as i gather it, i'm fired.all right.

it's a good thing for me. and if i catch you knocking me to any otherfirm, i'll squeal all i know about you and henry t. and the dirty little lickspittledeals that you corporals of industry pull off for the bigger and brainier crooks, andyou'll get chased out of town. and me--you're right, babbitt, i've beengoing crooked, but now i'm going straight, and the first step will be to get a job insome office where the boss doesn't talk about ideals. bad luck, old dear, and you can stick yourjob up the sewer!" babbitt sat for a long time, alternatelyraging, "i'll have him arrested," and

yearning "i wonder--no, i've never doneanything that wasn't necessary to keep the wheels of progress moving." next day he hired in graff's place fritzweilinger, the salesman of his most injurious rival, the east side homes anddevelopment company, and thus at once annoyed his competitor and acquired anexcellent man. young fritz was a curly-headed, merry,tennis-playing youngster. he made customers welcome to the office. babbitt thought of him as a son, and in himhad much comfort. iiian abandoned race-track on the outskirts of

chicago, a plot excellent for factorysites, was to be sold, and jake offut asked babbitt to bid on it for him. the strain of the street traction deal andhis disappointment in stanley graff had so shaken babbitt that he found it hard to sitat his desk and concentrate. he proposed to his family, "look here,folks! do you know who's going to trot up tochicago for a couple of days--just week- end; won't lose but one day of school--knowwho's going with that celebrated business- ambassador, george f. babbitt? why, mr. theodore roosevelt babbitt!""hurray!"

ted shouted, and "oh, maybe the babbitt menwon't paint that lil ole town red!" and, once away from the familiarimplications of home, they were two men together. ted was young only in his assumption ofoldness, and the only realms, apparently, in which babbitt had a larger and moregrown-up knowledge than ted's were the details of real estate and the phrases ofpolitics. when the other sages of the pullmansmoking-compartment had left them to themselves, babbitt's voice did not dropinto the playful and otherwise offensive tone in which one addresses children but

continued its overwhelming and monotonousrumble, and ted tried to imitate it in his strident tenor: "gee, dad, you certainly did show up thatpoor boot when he got flip about the league of nations!" "well, the trouble with a lot of thesefellows is, they simply don't know what they're talking about.they don't get down to facts.... what do you think of ken escott?" "i'll tell you, dad: it strikes me ken is anice lad; no special faults except he smokes too much; but slow, lord!why, if we don't give him a shove the poor

dumb-bell never will propose! and rone just as bad.slow." "yes, i guess you're right.they're slow. they haven't either one of 'em got ourpep." "that's right.they're slow. i swear, dad, i don't know how rone gotinto our family! i'll bet, if the truth were known, you werea bad old egg when you were a kid!" "well, i wasn't so slow!" "i'll bet you weren't!i'll bet you didn't miss many tricks!"

"well, when i was out with the girls ididn't spend all the time telling 'em about the strike in the knitting industry!" they roared together, and together lightedcigars. "what are we going to do with 'em?"babbitt consulted. "gosh, i don't know. i swear, sometimes i feel like taking kenaside and putting him over the jumps and saying to him, 'young fella me lad, are yougoing to marry young rone, or are you going to talk her to death? here you are getting on toward thirty, andyou're only making twenty or twenty-five a

week.when you going to develop a sense of responsibility and get a raise? if there's anything that george f. or i cando to help you, call on us, but show a little speed, anyway!'" "well, at that, it might not be so bad ifyou or i talked to him, except he might not understand.he's one of these high brows. he can't come down to cases and lay hiscards on the table and talk straight out from the shoulder, like you or i can.""that's right, he's like all these highbrows."

"that's so, like all of 'em.""that's a fact." they sighed, and were silent and thoughtfuland happy. the conductor came in. he had once called at babbitt's office, toask about houses. "h' are you, mr. babbitt!we going to have you with us to chicago? this your boy?" "yes, this is my son ted.""well now, what do you know about that! here i been thinking you were a youngsteryourself, not a day over forty, hardly, and you with this great big fellow!"

"forty?why, brother, i'll never see forty-five again!""is that a fact! wouldn't hardly 'a' thought it!" "yes, sir, it's a bad give-away for the oldman when he has to travel with a young whale like ted here!""you're right, it is." to ted: "i suppose you're in college now?" proudly, "no, not till next fall.i'm just kind of giving the diff'rent colleges the once-over now." as the conductor went on his affable way,huge watch-chain jingling against his blue

chest, babbitt and ted gravely consideredcolleges. they arrived at chicago late at night; theylay abed in the morning, rejoicing, "pretty nice not to have to get up and get down tobreakfast, heh?" they were staying at the modest eden hotel,because zenith business men always stayed at the eden, but they had dinner in thebrocade and crystal versailles room of the regency hotel. babbitt ordered blue point oysters withcocktail sauce, a tremendous steak with a tremendous platter of french friedpotatoes, two pots of coffee, apple pie with ice cream for both of them and, forted, an extra piece of mince pie.

"hot stuff!some feed, young fella!" ted admired. "huh! you stick around with me, old man,and i'll show you a good time!" they went to a musical comedy and nudgedeach other at the matrimonial jokes and the prohibition jokes; they paraded the lobby,arm in arm, between acts, and in the glee of his first release from the shame which dissevers fathers and sons ted chuckled,"dad, did you ever hear the one about the three milliners and the judge?"when ted had returned to zenith, babbitt was lonely.

as he was trying to make alliance betweenoffutt and certain milwaukee interests which wanted the race-track plot, most ofhis time was taken up in waiting for telephone calls.... sitting on the edge of his bed, holding theportable telephone, asking wearily, "mr. sagen not in yet?didn' he leave any message for me? all right, i'll hold the wire." staring at a stain on the wall, reflectingthat it resembled a shoe, and being bored by this twentieth discovery that itresembled a shoe. lighting a cigarette; then, bound to thetelephone with no ashtray in reach,

wondering what to do with this burningmenace and anxiously trying to toss it into the tiled bathroom. at last, on the telephone, "no message, eh?all right, i'll call up again." one afternoon he wandered through snow-rutted streets of which he had never heard, streets of small tenements and two-familyhouses and marooned cottages. it came to him that he had nothing to do,that there was nothing he wanted to do. he was bleakly lonely in the evening, whenhe dined by himself at the regency hotel. he sat in the lobby afterward, in a plushchair bedecked with the saxe-coburg arms, lighting a cigar and looking for some onewho would come and play with him and save

him from thinking. in the chair next to him (showing the armsof lithuania) was a half-familiar man, a large red-faced man with pop eyes and adeficient yellow mustache. he seemed kind and insignificant, and aslonely as babbitt himself. he wore a tweed suit and a reluctant orangetie. it came to babbitt with a pyrotechniccrash. the melancholy stranger was sir geralddoak. instinctively babbitt rose, bumbling, "how're you, sir gerald? 'member we met in zenith, at charleymckelvey's?

babbitt's my name--real estate." "oh! how d' you do."sir gerald shook hands flabbily. embarrassed, standing, wondering how hecould retreat, babbitt maundered, "well, i suppose you been having a great trip sincewe saw you in zenith." "quite. british columbia and california and allover the place," he said doubtfully, looking at babbitt lifelessly."how did you find business conditions in british columbia? or i suppose maybe you didn't look into'em.

scenery and sport and so on?""scenery? oh, capital. but business conditions--you know, mr.babbitt, they're having almost as much unemployment as we are."sir gerald was speaking warmly now. "so? business conditions not so doggonegood, eh?" "no, business conditions weren't at allwhat i'd hoped to find them." "not good, eh?" "no, not--not really good.""that's a darn shame. well--i suppose you're waiting for somebodyto take you out to some big shindig, sir

gerald." "shindig?oh. shindig. no, to tell you the truth, i was wonderingwhat the deuce i could do this evening. don't know a soul in tchicahgo. i wonder if you happen to know whetherthere's a good theater in this city?" "good?why say, they're running grand opera right now! i guess maybe you'd like that.""eh? eh? went to the opera once in london. covent garden sort of thing.shocking!

no, i was wondering if there was a goodcinema-movie." babbitt was sitting down, hitching hischair over, shouting, "movie? say, sir gerald, i supposed of course youhad a raft of dames waiting to lead you out to some soiree--""god forbid!" "--but if you haven't, what do you say youand me go to a movie? there's a peach of a film at the grantham:bill hart in a bandit picture." "right-o! just a moment while i get my coat." swollen with greatness, slightly afraidlest the noble blood of nottingham change

its mind and leave him at any streetcorner, babbitt paraded with sir gerald doak to the movie palace and in silent bliss sat beside him, trying not to be tooenthusiastic, lest the knight despise his adoration of six-shooters and broncos.at the end sir gerald murmured, "jolly good picture, this. so awfully decent of you to take me.haven't enjoyed myself so much for weeks. all these hostesses--they never let you goto the cinema!" "the devil you say!" babbitt's speech had lost the delicaterefinement and all the broad a's with which

he had adorned it, and become hearty andnatural. "well, i'm tickled to death you liked it,sir gerald." they crawled past the knees of fat womeninto the aisle; they stood in the lobby waving their arms in the rite of putting onovercoats. babbitt hinted, "say, how about a littlesomething to eat? i know a place where we could get a swellrarebit, and we might dig up a little drink--that is, if you ever touch thestuff." "rather! but why don't you come to my room?i've some scotch--not half bad."

"oh, i don't want to use up all yourhootch. it's darn nice of you, but--you probablywant to hit the hay." sir gerald was transformed.he was beefily yearning. "oh really, now; i haven't had a decentevening for so long! having to go to all these dances.no chance to discuss business and that sort of thing. do be a good chap and come along.won't you?" "will i?you bet! i just thought maybe--say, by golly, itdoes do a fellow good, don't it, to sit and

visit about business conditions, after he'sbeen to these balls and masquerades and banquets and all that society stuff. i often feel that way in zenith.sure, you bet i'll come." "that's awfully nice of you."they beamed along the street. "look here, old chap, can you tell me, doamerican cities always keep up this dreadful social pace?all these magnificent parties?" "go on now, quit your kidding! gosh, you with court balls and functionsand everything--" "no, really, old chap!

mother and i--lady doak, i should say, weusually play a hand of bezique and go to bed at ten.bless my soul, i couldn't keep up your beastly pace! and talking!all your american women, they know so much- -culture and that sort of thing.this mrs. mckelvey--your friend--" "yuh, old lucile. good kid.""--she asked me which of the galleries i liked best in florence.or was it in firenze? never been in italy in my life!

and primitives.did i like primitives. do you know what the deuce a primitive is?""me? i should say not! but i know what a discount for cash is." "rather!so do i, by george! but primitives!""yuh! primitives!" they laughed with the sound of a boosters'luncheon. sir gerald's room was, except for hisponderous and durable english bags, very much like the room of george f. babbitt;and quite in the manner of babbitt he disclosed a huge whisky flask, looked proud

and hospitable, and chuckled, "say, when,old chap." it was after the third drink that sirgerald proclaimed, "how do you yankees get the notion that writing chaps like bertrandshaw and this wells represent us? the real business england, we think thosechaps are traitors. both our countries have their comic oldaristocracy--you know, old county families, hunting people and all that sort of thing--and we both have our wretched labor leaders, but we both have a backbone ofsound business men who run the whole show." "you bet.here's to the real guys!" "i'm with you!

here's to ourselves!" it was after the fourth drink that sirgerald asked humbly, "what do you think of north dakota mortgages?" but it was nottill after the fifth that babbitt began to call him "jerry," and sir gerald confided, "i say, do you mind if i pull off myboots?" and ecstatically stretched his knightly feet, his poor, tired, hot,swollen feet out on the bed. after the sixth, babbitt irregularly arose. "well, i better be hiking along.jerry, you're a regular human being! i wish to thunder we'd been betteracquainted in zenith.

lookit. can't you come back and stay with me awhile?" "so sorry--must go to new york to-morrow.most awfully sorry, old boy. i haven't enjoyed an evening so much sincei've been in the states. real talk.not all this social rot. i'd never have let them give me the beastlytitle--and i didn't get it for nothing, eh?--if i'd thought i'd have to talk towomen about primitives and polo! goodish thing to have in nottingham,though; annoyed the mayor most frightfully when i got it; and of course the missuslikes it.

but nobody calls me 'jerry' now--" he wasalmost weeping. "--and nobody in the states has treated melike a friend till to-night! good-by, old chap, good-by! thanks awfully!""don't mention it, jerry. and remember whenever you get to zenith,the latch-string is always out." "and don't forget, old boy, if you evercome to nottingham, mother and i will be frightfully glad to see you. i shall tell the fellows in nottingham yourideas about visions and real guys--at our next rotary club luncheon."

iv babbitt lay abed at his hotel, imaginingthe zenith athletic club asking him, "what kind of a time d'you have in chicago?" andhis answering, "oh, fair; ran around with sir gerald doak a lot;" picturing himself meeting lucile mckelvey and admonishingher, "you're all right, mrs. mac, when you aren't trying to pull this highbrow pose. it's just as gerald doak says to me inchicago--oh, yes, jerry's an old friend of mine--the wife and i are thinking ofrunning over to england to stay with jerry in his castle, next year--and he said to

me, 'georgie, old bean, i like lucilefirst-rate, but you and me, george, we got to make her get over this highty-tightyhooptediddle way she's got." but that evening a thing happened whichwrecked his pride. vat the regency hotel cigar-counter he fell to talking with a salesman of pianos, andthey dined together. babbitt was filled with friendliness andwell-being. he enjoyed the gorgeousness of the dining-room: the chandeliers, the looped brocade curtains, the portraits of french kingsagainst panels of gilded oak. he enjoyed the crowd: pretty women, goodsolid fellows who were "liberal spenders."

he gasped.he stared, and turned away, and stared again. three tables off, with a doubtful sort ofwoman, a woman at once coy and withered, was paul riesling, and paul was supposed tobe in akron, selling tar-roofing. the woman was tapping his hand, mooning athim and giggling. babbitt felt that he had encounteredsomething involved and harmful. paul was talking with the rapt eagerness ofa man who is telling his troubles. he was concentrated on the woman's fadedeyes. once he held her hand and once, blind tothe other guests, he puckered his lips as

though he was pretending to kiss her. babbitt had so strong an impulse to go topaul that he could feel his body uncoiling, his shoulders moving, but he felt,desperately, that he must be diplomatic, and not till he saw paul paying the check did he bluster to the piano-salesman, "bygolly-friend of mine over there--'scuse me second--just say hello to him."he touched paul's shoulder, and cried, "well, when did you hit town?" paul glared up at him, face hardening."oh, hello, george. thought you'd gone back to zenith."he did not introduce his companion.

babbitt peeped at her. she was a flabbily pretty, weaklyflirtatious woman of forty-two or three, in an atrocious flowery hat.her rouging was thorough but unskilful. "where you staying, paulibus?" the woman turned, yawned, examined hernails. she seemed accustomed to not beingintroduced. paul grumbled, "campbell inn, on the southside." "alone?"it sounded insinuating. "yes! unfortunately!"

furiously paul turned toward the woman,smiling with a fondness sickening to babbitt."may! want to introduce you. mrs. arnold, this is my old-acquaintance,george babbitt." "pleasmeech," growled babbitt, while shegurgled, "oh, i'm very pleased to meet any friend of mr. riesling's, i'm sure." babbitt demanded, "be back there later thisevening, paul? i'll drop down and see you.""no, better--we better lunch together to- morrow." "all right, but i'll see you to-night, too,paul.

i'll go down to your hotel, and i'll waitfor you!"

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