The Babbitts were calling on the Rieslings at the Arms. It was a speculative7 venture to call on the Rieslings; interesting and sometimes disconcerting. Zilla was an active, strident, full-blown, high-bosomed blonde. When she condescended8 to be good-humored she was nervously9 amusing. Her comments on people were saltily satiric10 and penetrative of accepted hypocrisies11. “That's 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 Frink's singing resembled a Ford12 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 gilt13 fabric14 upon a glaring new player-piano, till Mrs. Riesling shrieked15, “Come on! Let's put some pep in it! Get out your fiddle16, Paul, and I'll 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 winter's 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.
“Does he get tired? No, he doesn't get tired, he just goes crazy, that's all! You think Paul is so reasonable, oh, yes, and he loves to make out he's a little lamb, but he's stubborn as a mule17. Oh, if you had to live with him—! You'd find out how sweet he is! He just pretends to be meek18 so he can have his own way. And me, I get the credit for being a terrible old crank, but if I didn't blow up once in a while and get something started, we'd 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 didn't want to go down to the movies on the trolley19. But we went, and then there was one of those impudent20 conductors, and Paul wouldn't do a thing.
“I was standing21 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, I've 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, perfectly22 pleasant, 'Were you speaking to me?' and he went on and bellowed23 at me, 'Yes, I was! You're keeping the whole car from starting!' he said, and then I saw he was one of these dirty ill-bred hogs24 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, 'it's the people ahead of me, who won't move up,' I said, 'and furthermore, let me tell you, young man, that you're a low-down, foul-mouthed, impertinent skunk,' I said, 'and you're no gentleman! I certainly intend to report you, and we'll see,' I said, 'whether a lady is to be insulted by any drunken bum25 that chooses to put on a ragged26 uniform, and I'd thank you,' I said, 'to keep your filthy27 abuse to yourself.' And then I waited for Paul to show he was half a man and come to my defense28, and he just stood there and pretended he hadn't heard a word, and so I said to him, 'Well,' I said—”
“Oh, cut it, cut it, Zill!” Paul groaned29. “We all know I'm a mollycoddle30, and you're a tender bud, and let's let it go at that.”
“Let it go?” Zilla's face was wrinkled like the Medusa, her voice was a dagger31 of corroded32 brass33. She was full of the joy of righteousness and bad temper. She was a crusader and, like every crusader, she exulted34 in the opportunity to be vicious in the name of virtue35. “Let it go? If people knew how many things I've let go—”
“Oh, quit being such a bully36.”
“Yes, a fine figure you'd cut if I didn't bully you! You'd lie abed till noon and play your idiotic37 fiddle till midnight! You're born lazy, and you're born shiftless, and you're born cowardly, Paul Riesling—”
“Oh, now, don't say that, Zilla; you don't mean a word of it!” protested Mrs. Babbitt.
“I will say that, and I mean every single last word of it!”
“Oh, now, Zilla, the idea!” Mrs. Babbitt was maternal38 and fussy39. She was no older than Zilla, but she seemed so—at first. She was placid40 and puffy and mature, where Zilla, at forty-five, was so bleached41 and tight-corseted that you knew only that she was older than she looked. “The idea of talking to poor Paul like that!”
“Poor Paul is right! We'd both be poor, we'd be in the poorhouse, if I didn't jazz him up!”
“Why, now, Zilla, Georgie and I were just saying how hard Paul's been working all year, and we were thinking it would be lovely if the Boys could run off by themselves. I've been coaxing42 George to go up to Maine ahead of the rest of us, and get the tired out of his system before we come, and I think it would be lovely if Paul could manage to get away and join him.”
At this exposure of his plot to escape, Paul was startled out of impassivity. He rubbed his fingers. His hands twitched43.
Zilla bayed, “Yes! You're lucky! You can let George go, and not have to watch him. Fat old Georgie! Never peeps at another woman! Hasn't got the spunk44!”
“The hell I haven't!” Babbitt was fervently45 defending his priceless immorality46 when Paul interrupted him—and Paul looked dangerous. He rose quickly; he said gently to Zilla:
“I suppose you imply I have a lot of sweethearts.”
“Yes, I do!”
“Well, then, my dear, since you ask for it—There hasn't been a time in the last ten years when I haven't found some nice little girl to comfort me, and as long as you continue your amiability47 I shall probably continue to deceive you. It isn't hard. You're so stupid.”
Zilla gibbered; she howled; words could not be distinguished48 in her slaver of abuse.
Then the bland49 George F. Babbitt was transformed. If Paul was dangerous, if Zilla was a snake-locked fury, if the neat emotions suitable to the Revelstoke Arms had been slashed50 into raw hatreds51, it was Babbitt who was the most formidable. He leaped up. He seemed very large. He seized Zilla's shoulder. The cautions of the broker52 were wiped from his face, and his voice was cruel:
“I've had enough of all this damn nonsense! I've known you for twenty-five years, Zil, and I never knew you to miss a chance to take your disappointments out on Paul. You're not wicked. You're worse. You're a fool. And let me tell you that Paul is the finest boy God ever made. Every decent person is sick and tired of your taking advantage of being a woman and springing every mean innuendo53 you can think of. Who the hell are you that a person like Paul should have to ask your PERMISSION to go with me? You act like you were a combination of Queen Victoria and Cleopatra. You fool, can't you see how people snicker at you, and sneer54 at you?”
Zilla was sobbing55, “I've never—I've never—nobody ever talked to me like this in all my life!”
“No, but that's the way they talk behind your back! Always! They say you're a scolding old woman. Old, by God!”
That cowardly attack broke her. Her eyes were blank. She wept. But Babbitt glared stolidly56. He felt that he was the all-powerful official in charge; that Paul and Mrs. Babbitt looked on him with awe57; that he alone could handle this case.
Zilla writhed58. She begged, “Oh, they don't!”
“They certainly do!”
“I've been a bad woman! I'm terribly sorry! I'll kill myself! I'll do anything. Oh, I'll—What do you want?”
She abased59 herself completely. Also, she enjoyed it. To the connoisseur60 of scenes, nothing is more enjoyable than a thorough, melodramatic, egoistic humility61.
“I want you to let Paul beat it off to Maine with me,” Babbitt demanded.
“How can I help his going? You've just said I was an idiot and nobody paid any attention to me.”
“Oh, you can help it, all right, all right! What you got to do is to cut out hinting that the minute he gets out of your sight, he'll go chasing after some petticoat. Matter fact, that's the way you start the boy off wrong. You ought to have more sense—”
“Oh, I will, honestly, I will, George. I know I was bad. Oh, forgive me, all of you, forgive me—”
She enjoyed it.
So did Babbitt. He condemned62 magnificently and forgave piously63, and as he went parading out with his wife he was grandly explanatory to her:
“Kind of a shame to bully Zilla, but course it was the only way to handle her. Gosh, I certainly did have her crawling!”
She said calmly, “Yes. You were horrid64. You were showing off. You were having a lovely time thinking what a great fine person you were!”
“Well, by golly! Can you beat it! Of course I might of expected you to not stand by me! I might of expected you'd stick up for your own sex!”
“Yes. Poor Zilla, she's so unhappy. She takes it out on Paul. She hasn't a single thing to do, in that little flat. And she broods too much. And she used to be so pretty and gay, and she resents losing it. And you were just as nasty and mean as you could be. I'm not a bit proud of you—or of Paul, boasting about his horrid love-affairs!”
He was sulkily silent; he maintained his bad temper at a high level of outraged65 nobility all the four blocks home. At the door he left her, in self-approving haughtiness66, and tramped the lawn.
With a shock it was revealed to him: “Gosh, I wonder if she was right—if she was partly right?” Overwork must have flayed67 him to abnormal sensitiveness; it was one of the few times in his life when he had queried68 his eternal excellence69; and he perceived the summer night, smelled the wet grass. Then: “I don't care! I've pulled it off. We're going to have our spree. And for Paul, I'd do anything.”
II
They were buying their Maine tackle at Ijams Brothers', the Sporting Goods Mart, with the help of Willis Ijams, fellow member of the Boosters' Club. Babbitt was completely mad. He trumpeted70 and danced. He muttered to Paul, “Say, this is pretty good, eh? To be buying the stuff, eh? And good old Willis Ijams himself coming down on the floor to wait on us! Say, if those fellows that are getting their kit3 for the North Lakes knew we were going clear up to Maine, they'd have a fit, eh? . . . Well, come on, Brother Ijams—Willis, I mean. Here's your chance! We're a couple of easy marks! Whee! Let me at it! I'm going to buy out the store!”
He gloated on fly-rods and gorgeous rubber hip-boots, on tents with celluloid windows and folding chairs and ice-boxes. He simple-heartedly wanted to buy all of them. It was the Paul whom he was always vaguely71 protecting who kept him from his drunken desires.
But even Paul lightened when Willis Ijams, a salesman with poetry and diplomacy72, discussed flies. “Now, of course, you boys know.” he said, “the great scrap73 is between dry flies and wet flies. Personally, I'm for dry flies. More sporting.”
“That's so. Lots more sporting,” fulminated Babbitt, who knew very little about flies either wet or dry.
“Now if you'll take my advice, Georgie, you'll stock up well on these pale evening dims, and silver sedges, and red ants. Oh, boy, there's a fly, that red ant!”
“You bet! That's what it is—a fly!” rejoiced Babbitt.
“Yes, sir, that red ant,” said Ijams, “is a real honest-to-God FLY!”
“Oh, I guess ole Mr. Trout74 won't come a-hustling when I drop one of those red ants on the water!” asserted Babbitt, and his thick wrists made a rapturous motion of casting.
“Yes, and the landlocked salmon75 will take it, too,” said Ijams, who had never seen a landlocked salmon.
“Salmon! Trout! Say, Paul, can you see Uncle George with his khaki pants on haulin' 'em in, some morning 'bout6 seven? Whee!”
III
They were on the New York express, incredibly bound for Maine, incredibly without their families. They were free, in a man's world, in the smoking-compartment of the Pullman.
Outside the car window was a
Join or Log In!
You need to log in to continue reading