I
THE great events of Babbitt’s spring were the secret buying of real-estate options in Linton for certain street-traction1 officials, before the public announcement that the Linton Avenue Car Line would be extended, and a dinner which was, as he rejoiced to his wife, not only “a regular society spread but a real sure-enough highbrow affair, with some of the keenest intellects and the brightest bunch of little women in town.” It was so absorbing an occasion that he almost forgot his desire to run off to Maine with Paul Riesling.
Though he had been born in the village of Catawba, Babbitt had risen to that metropolitan2 social plane on which hosts have as many as four people at dinner without planning it for more than an evening or two. But a dinner of twelve, with flowers from the florist’s and all the cut-glass out, staggered even the Babbitts.
For two weeks they studied, debated, and arbitrated the list of guests.
Babbitt marveled, “Of course we’re up-to-date ourselves, but still, think of us entertaining a famous poet like Chum Frink, a fellow that on nothing but a poem or so every day and just writing a few advertisements pulls down fifteen thousand berries a year!”
“Yes, and Howard Littlefield. Do you know, the other evening Eunice told me her papa speaks three languages!” said Mrs. Babbitt.
“Huh! That’s nothing! So do I— American, baseball, and poker3!”
“I don’t think it’s nice to be funny about a matter like that. Think how wonderful it must be to speak three languages, and so useful and — And with people like that, I don’t see why we invite the Orville Joneses.”
“Well now, Orville is a mighty4 up-and-coming fellow!”
“Yes, I know, but — A laundry!”
“I’ll admit a laundry hasn’t got the class of poetry or real estate, but just the same, Orvy is mighty deep. Ever start him spieling about gardening? Say, that fellow can tell you the name of every kind of tree, and some of their Greek and Latin names too! Besides, we owe the Joneses a dinner. Besides, gosh, we got to have some boob for audience, when a bunch of hot-air artists like Frink and Littlefield get going.”
“Well, dear — I meant to speak of this — I do think that as host you ought to sit back and listen, and let your guests have a chance to talk once in a while!”
“Oh, you do, do you! Sure! I talk all the time! And I’m just a business man — oh sure!— I’m no Ph.D. Iike Littlefield, and no poet, and I haven’t anything to spring! Well, let me tell you, just the other day your darn Chum Frink comes up to me at the club begging to know what I thought about the Springfield school-bond issue. And who told him? I did! You bet your life I told him! Little me! I certainly did! He came up and asked me, and I told him all about it! You bet! And he was darn glad to listen to me and — Duty as a host! I guess I know my duty as a host and let me tell you —”
In fact, the Orville Joneses were invited.
II
On the morning of the dinner, Mrs. Babbitt was restive6.
“Now, George, I want you to be sure and be home early tonight. Remember, you have to dress.”
“Uh-huh. I see by the Advocate that the Presbyterian General Assembly has voted to quit the Interchurch World Movement. That —”
“George! Did you hear what I said? You must be home in time to dress to-night.”
“Dress? Hell! I’m dressed now! Think I’m going down to the office in my B.V.D.‘s?”
“I will not have you talking indecently before the children! And you do have to put on your dinner-jacket!”
“I guess you mean my Tux. I tell you, of all the doggone nonsensical nuisances that was ever invented —”
Three minutes later, after Babbitt had wailed7, “Well, I don’t know whether I’m going to dress or NOT” in a manner which showed that he was going to dress, the discussion moved on.
“Now, George, you mustn’t forget to call in at Vecchia’s on the way home and get the ice cream. Their delivery-wagon is broken down, and I don’t want to trust them to send it by —”
“All right! You told me that before breakfast!”
“Well, I don’t want you to forget. I’ll be working my head off all day long, training the girl that’s to help with the dinner —”
“All nonsense, anyway, hiring an extra girl for the feed. Matilda could perfectly8 well —”
“— and I have to go out and buy the flowers, and fix them, and set the table, and order the salted almonds, and look at the chickens, and arrange for the children to have their supper upstairs and — And I simply must depend on you to go to Vecchia’s for the ice cream.”
“All riiiiiight! Gosh, I’m going to get it!”
“All you have to do is to go in and say you want the ice cream that Mrs. Babbitt ordered yesterday by ‘phone, and it will be all ready for you.”
At ten-thirty she telephoned to him not to forget the ice cream from Vecchia’s.
He was surprised and blasted then by a thought. He wondered whether Floral Heights dinners were worth the hideous9 toil10 involved. But he repented11 the sacrilege in the excitement of buying the materials for cocktails12.
Now this was the manner of obtaining alcohol under the reign14 of righteousness and prohibition15:
He drove from the severe rectangular streets of the modern business center into the tangled16 byways of Old Town — jagged blocks filled with sooty warehouses17 and lofts18; on into The Arbor19, once a pleasant orchard20 but now a morass21 of lodging-houses, tenements22, and brothels. Exquisite23 shivers chilled his spine24 and stomach, and he looked at every policeman with intense innocence25, as one who loved the law, and admired the Force, and longed to stop and play with them. He parked his car a block from Healey Hanson’s saloon, worrying, “Well, rats, if anybody did see me, they’d think I was here on business.”
He entered a place curiously27 like the saloons of ante-prohibition days, with a long greasy28 bar with sawdust in front and streaky mirror behind, a pine table at which a dirty old man dreamed over a glass of something which resembled whisky, and with two men at the bar, drinking something which resembled beer, and giving that impression of forming a large crowd which two men always give in a saloon. The bartender, a tall pale Swede with a diamond in his lilac scarf, stared at Babbitt as he stalked plumply up to the bar and whispered, “I’d, uh — Friend of Hanson’s sent me here. Like to get some gin.”
The bartender gazed down on him in the manner of an outraged29 bishop30. “I guess you got the wrong place, my friend. We sell nothing but soft drinks here.” He cleaned the bar with a rag which would itself have done with a little cleaning, and glared across his mechanically moving elbow.
The old dreamer at the table petitioned the bartender, “Say, Oscar, listen.”
Oscar did not listen.
“Aw, say, Oscar, listen, will yuh? Say, lis-sen!”
The decayed and drowsy31 voice of the loafer, the agreeable stink32 of beer-dregs, threw a spell of inanition over Babbitt. The bartender moved grimly toward the crowd of two men. Babbitt followed him as delicately as a cat, and wheedled33, “Say, Oscar, I want to speak to Mr. Hanson.”
“Whajuh wanta see him for?”
“I just want to talk to him. Here’s my card.”
It was a beautiful card, an engraved34 card, a card in the blackest black and the sharpest red, announcing that Mr. George F. Babbitt was Estates, Insurance, Rents. The bartender held it as though it weighed ten pounds, and read it as though it were a hundred words long. He did not bend from his episcopal dignity, hut he growled35, “I’ll see if he’s around.”
From the back room he brought an immensely old young man, a quiet sharp-eyed man, in tan silk shirt, checked vest hanging open, and burning brown trousers — Mr. Healey Hanson. Mr. Hanson said only “Yuh?” but his implacable and contemptuous eyes queried37 Babbitt’s soul, and he seemed not at all impressed by the new dark-gray suit for which (as he had admitted to every acquaintance at the Athletic38 Club) Babbitt had paid a hundred and twenty-five dollars.
“Glad meet you, Mr. Hanson. Say, uh — I’m George Babbitt of the Babbitt–Thompson Realty Company. I’m a great friend of Jake Offutt’s.”
“Well, what of it?”
“Say, uh, I’m going to have a party, and Jake told me you’d be able to fix me up with a little gin.” In alarm, in obsequiousness39, as Hanson’s eyes grew more bored, “You telephone to Jake about me, if you want to.”
Hanson answered by jerking his head to indicate the entrance to the back room, and strolled away. Babbitt melodramatically crept into an apartment containing four round tables, eleven chairs, a brewery40 calendar, and a smell. He waited. Thrice he saw Healey Hanson saunter through, humming, hands in pockets, ignoring him.
By this time Babbitt had modified his valiant41 morning vow42, “I won’t pay one cent over seven dollars a quart” to “I might pay ten.” On Hanson’s next weary entrance he besought43 “Could you fix that up?” Hanson scowled44, and grated, “Just a minute — Pete’s sake — just a min-ute!” In growing meekness45 Babbitt went on waiting till Hanson casually46 reappeared with a quart of gin — what is euphemistically known as a quart — in his disdainful long white hands.
“Twelve bucks,” he snapped.
“Say, uh, but say, cap’n, Jake thought you’d be able to fix me up for eight or nine a bottle.”
“Nup. Twelve. This is the real stuff, smuggled47 from Canada. This is none o’ your neutral spirits with a drop of juniper extract,” the honest merchant said virtuously48. “Twelve bones — if you want it. Course y’ understand I’m just doing this anyway as a friend of Jake’s.”
“Sure! Sure! I understand!” Babbitt gratefully held out twelve dollars. He felt honored by contact with greatness as Hanson yawned, stuffed the bills, uncounted, into his radiant vest, and swaggered away.
He had a number of titillations out of concealing49 the gin-bottle under his coat and out of hiding it in his desk. All afternoon he snorted and chuckled50 and gurgled over his ability to “give the Boys a real shot in the arm to-night.” He was, in fact, so exhilarated that he was within a block of his house before he remembered that there was a certain matter, mentioned by his wife, of fetching ice cream from Vecchia’s. He explained, “Well, darn it —” and drove back.
Vecchia was not a caterer51, he was The Caterer of Zenith. Most coming-out parties were held in the white and gold ballroom52 of the Maison Vecchia; at all nice teas the guests recognized the five kinds of Vecchia sandwiches and the seven kinds of Vecchia cakes; and all really smart dinners ended, as on a resolving chord, in Vecchia Neapolitan ice cream in one of the three reliable molds — the melon mold, the round mold like a layer cake, and the long brick.
Vecchia’s shop had pale blue woodwork, tracery of plaster roses, attendants in frilled aprons53, and glass shelves of “kisses” with all the refinement54 that inheres in whites of eggs. Babbitt felt heavy and thick amid this professional daintiness, and as he waited for the ice cream he decided55, with hot prickles at the back of his neck, that a girl customer was giggling56 at him. He went home in a touchy57 temper. The first thing he heard was his wife’s agitated58:
“George! DID you remember to go to Vecchia’s and get the ice cream?”
“Say! Look here! Do I ever forget to do things?”
“Yes! Often!”
“Well now, it’s darn seldom I do, and it certainly makes me tired, after going into a pink-tea joint59 like Vecchia’s and having to stand around looking at a lot of half-naked young girls, all rouged60 up like they were sixty and eating a lot of stuff that simply ruins their stomachs —”
“Oh, it’s too bad about you! I’ve noticed how you hate to look at pretty girls!”
With a jar Babbitt realized that his wife was too busy to be impressed by that moral indignation with which males rule the world, and he went humbly61 up-stairs to dress. He had an impression of a glorified62 dining-room, of cut-glass, candles, polished wood, lace, silver, roses. With the awed63 swelling64 of the heart suitable to so grave a business as giving a dinner, he slew66 the temptation to wear his plaited dress-shirt for a fourth time, took out an entirely67 fresh one, tightened68 his black bow, and rubbed his patent-leather pumps with a handkerchief. He glanced with pleasure at his garnet and silver studs. He smoothed and patted his ankles, transformed by silk socks from the sturdy shanks of George Babbitt to the elegant limbs of what is called a Clubman. He stood before the pier-glass, viewing his trim dinner-coat, his beautiful triple-braided trousers; and murmured in lyric69 beatitude, “By golly, I don’t look so bad. I certainly don’t look like Catawba. If the hicks back home could see me in this rig, they’d have a fit!”
He moved majestically70 down to mix the cocktails. As he chipped ice, as he squeezed oranges, as he collected vast stores of bottles, glasses, and spoons at the sink in the pantry, he felt as authoritative71 as the bartender at Healey Hanson’s saloon. True, Mrs. Babbitt said he was under foot, and Matilda and the maid hired for the evening brushed by him, elbowed him, shrieked72 “Pleasopn door,” as they tottered73 through with trays, but in this high moment he ignored them.
Besides the new bottle of gin, his cellar consisted of one half-bottle of Bourbon whisky, a quarter of a bottle of Italian vermouth, and approximately one hundred drops of orange bitters. He did not possess a cocktail13-shaker. A shaker was proof of dissipation, the symbol of a Drinker, and Babbitt disliked being known as a Drinker even more than he liked a Drink. He mixed by pouring from an ancient gravy-boat into a handleless pitcher74; he poured with a noble dignity, holding his alembics high beneath the powerful Mazda globe, his face hot, his shirt-front a glaring white, the copper75 sink a scoured76 red-gold.
He tasted the sacred essence. “Now, by golly, if that isn’t pretty near one fine old cocktail! Kind of a Bronx, and yet like a Manhattan. Ummmmmm! Hey, Myra, want a little nip before the folks come?”
Bustling77 into the dining-room, moving each glass a quarter of an inch, rushing back with resolution implacable on her face her gray and silver-lace party frock protected by a denim78 towel, Mrs. Babbitt glared at him, and rebuked79 him, “Certainly not!”
“Well,” in a loose, jocose80 manner, “I think the old man will!”
The cocktail filled him with a whirling exhilaration behind which he was aware of devastating81 desires — to rush places in fast motors, to kiss girls, to sing, to be witty82. He sought to regain83 his lost dignity by announcing to Matilda:
“I’m going to stick this pitcher of cocktails in the refrigerator. Be sure you don’t upset any of ’em.”
“Yeh.”
“Well, be sure now. Don’t go putting anything on this top shelf.”
“Yeh.”
“Well, be —” He was dizzy. His voice was thin and distant. “Whee!” With enormous impressiveness he commanded, “Well, be sure now,” and minced84 into the safety of the living-room. He wondered whether he could persuade “as slow a bunch as Myra and the Littlefields to go some place aft’ dinner and raise Cain and maybe dig up smore booze.” He perceived that he had gifts of profligacy85 which had been neglected.
By the time the guests had come, including the inevitable86 late couple for whom the others waited with painful amiability87, a great gray emptiness had replaced the purple swirling88 in Babbitt’s head, and he had to force the tumultuous greetings suitable to a host on Floral Heights.
The guests were Howard Littlefield, the doctor of philosophy who furnished publicity89 and comforting economics to the Street Traction Company; Vergil Gunch, the coal-dealer, equally powerful in the Elks90 and in the Boosters’ Club; Eddie Swanson the agent for the Javelin91 Motor Car, who lived across the street; and Orville Jones, owner of the Lily White Laundry, which justly announced itself “the biggest, busiest, bulliest cleanerie shoppe in Zenith.” But, naturally, the most distinguished92 of all was T. Cholmondeley Frink, who was not only the author of “Poemulations,” which, syndicated daily in sixty-seven leading newspapers, gave him one of the largest audiences of any poet in the world, but also an optimistic lecturer and the creator of “Ads that Add.” Despite the searching philosophy and high morality of his verses, they were humorous and easily understood by any child of twelve; and it added a neat air of pleasantry to them that they were set not as verse but as prose. Mr. Frink was known from Coast to Coast as “Chum.”
With them were six wives, more or less — it was hard to tell, so early in the evening, as at first glance they all looked alike, and as they all said, “Oh, ISN’T this nice!” in the same tone of determined93 liveliness. To the eye, the men were less similar: Littlefield, a hedge-scholar, tall and horse-faced; Chum Frink, a trifle of a man with soft and mouse-like hair, advertising94 his profession as poet by a silk cord on his eye-glasses; Vergil Gunch, broad, with coarse black hair en brosse; Eddie Swanson, a bald and bouncing young man who showed his taste for elegance95 by an evening waistcoat of figured black silk with glass buttons; Orville Jones, a steady-looking, stubby, not very memorable97 person, with a hemp-colored toothbrush mustache. Yet they were all so well fed and clean, they all shouted “‘Evenin’, Georgie!” with such robustness98, that they seemed to be cousins, and the strange thing is that the longer one knew the women, the less alike they seemed; while the longer one knew the men, the more alike their bold patterns appeared.
The drinking of the cocktails was as canonical99 a rite100 as the mixing. The company waited, uneasily, hopefully, agreeing in a strained manner that the weather had been rather warm and slightly cold, but still Babbitt said nothing about drinks. They became despondent101. But when the late couple (the Swansons) had arrived, Babbitt hinted, “Well, folks, do you think you could stand breaking the law a little?”
They looked at Chum Frink, the recognized lord of language. Frink pulled at his eye-glass cord as at a bell-rope, he cleared his throat and said that which was the custom:
“I’ll tell you, George: I’m a law-abiding man, but they do say Verg Gunch is a regular yegg, and of course he’s bigger ‘n I am, and I just can’t figure out what I’d do if he tried to force me into anything criminal!”
Gunch was roaring, “Well, I’ll take a chance —” when Frink held up his hand and went on, “So if Verg and you insist, Georgie, I’ll park my car on the wrong side of the street, because I take it for granted that’s the crime you’re hinting at!”
There was a great deal of laughter. Mrs. Jones asserted, “Mr. Frink is simply too killing102! You’d think he was so innocent!”
Babbitt clamored, “How did you guess it, Chum? Well, you-all just wait a moment while I go out and get the — keys to your cars!” Through a froth of merriment he brought the shining promise, the mighty tray of glasses with the cloudy yellow cocktails in the glass pitcher in the center. The men babbled103, “Oh, gosh, have a look!” and “This gets me right where I live!” and “Let me at it!” But Chum Frink, a traveled man and not unused to woes104, was stricken by the thought that the potion might be merely fruit-juice with a little neutral spirits. He looked timorous105 as Babbitt, a moist and ecstatic almoner, held out a glass, but as he tasted it he piped, “Oh, man, let me dream on! It ain’t true, but don’t waken me! Jus’ lemme slumber106!”
Two hours before, Frink had completed a newspaper lyric beginning:
“I sat alone and groused107 and thunk, and scratched my head and sighed and wunk, and groaned108, “There still are boobs, alack, who’d like the old-time gin-mill back; that den5 that makes a sage109 a loon26, the vile110 and smelly old saloon!” I’ll never miss their poison booze, whilst I the bubbling spring can use, that leaves my head at merry morn as clear as any babe new-born!”
Babbitt drank with the others; his moment’s depression was gone; he perceived that these were the best fellows in the world; he wanted to give them a thousand cocktails. “Think you could stand another?” he cried. The wives refused, with giggles111, but the men, speaking in a wide, elaborate, enjoyable manner, gloated, “Well, sooner than have you get sore at me, Georgie —”
“You got a little dividend112 coming,” said Babbitt to each of them, and each intoned, “Squeeze it, Georgie, squeeze it!”
When, beyond hope, the pitcher was empty, they stood and talked about prohibition. The men leaned back on their heels, put their hands in their trousers-pockets, and proclaimed their views with the booming profundity113 of a prosperous male repeating a thoroughly114 hackneyed statement about a matter of which he knows nothing whatever.
“Now, I’ll tell you,” said Vergil Gunch; “way I figure it is this, and I can speak by the book, because I’ve talked to a lot of doctors and fellows that ought to know, and the way I see it is that it’s a good thing to get rid of the saloon, but they ought to let a fellow have beer and light wines.”
Howard Littlefield observed, “What isn’t generally realized is that it’s a dangerous prop’sition to invade the rights of personal liberty. Now, take this for instance: The King of — Bavaria? I think it was Bavaria — yes, Bavaria, it was — in 1862, March, 1862, he issued a proclamation against public grazing of live-stock. The peasantry had stood for overtaxation without the slightest complaint, but when this proclamation came out, they rebelled. Or it may have been Saxony. But it just goes to show the dangers of invading the rights of personal liberty.”
“That’s it — no one got a right to invade personal liberty,” said Orville Jones.
“Just the same, you don’t want to forget prohibition is a mighty good thing for the working-classes. Keeps ’em from wasting their money and lowering their productiveness,” said Vergil Gunch.
“Yes, that’s so. But the trouble is the manner of enforcement,” insisted Howard Littlefield. “Congress didn’t understand the right system. Now, if I’d been running the thing, I’d have arranged it so that the drinker himself was licensed115, and then we could have taken care of the shiftless workman — kept him from drinking — and yet not ‘ve interfered116 with the rights — with the personal liberty — of fellows like ourselves.”
They bobbed their heads, looked admiringly at one another, and stated, “That’s so, that would be the stunt117.”
“The thing that worries me is that a lot of these guys will take to cocaine,” sighed Eddie Swanson.
They bobbed more violently, and groaned, “That’s so, there is a danger of that.”
Chum Frink chanted, “Oh, say, I got hold of a swell65 new receipt for home-made beer the other day. You take —”
Gunch interrupted, “Wait! Let me tell you mine!” Littlefield snorted, “Beer! Rats! Thing to do is to ferment118 cider!” Jones insisted, “I’ve got the receipt that does the business!” Swanson begged, “Oh, say, lemme tell you the story —” But Frink went on resolutely119, “You take and save the shells from peas, and pour six gallons of water on a bushel of shells and boil the mixture till —”
Mrs. Babbitt turned toward them with yearning120 sweetness; Frink hastened to finish even his best beer-recipe; and she said gaily121, “Dinner is served.”
There was a good deal of friendly argument among the men as to which should go in last, and while they were crossing the hall from the living-room to the dining-room Vergil Gunch made them laugh by thundering, “If I can’t sit next to Myra Babbitt and hold her hand under the table, I won’t play — I’m goin’ home.” In the dining-room they stood embarrassed while Mrs. Babbitt fluttered, “Now, let me see — Oh, I was going to have some nice hand-painted place-cards for you but — Oh, let me see; Mr. Frink, you sit there.”
The dinner was in the best style of women’s-magazine art, whereby the salad was served in hollowed apples, and everything but the invincible122 fried chicken resembled something else. Ordinarily the men found it hard to talk to the women; flirtation123 was an art unknown on Floral Heights, and the realms of offices and of kitchens had no alliances. But under the inspiration of the cocktails, conversation was violent. Each of the men still had a number of important things to say about prohibition, and now that each had a loyal listener in his dinner-partner he burst out:
“I found a place where I can get all the hootch I want at eight a quart —”
“Did you read about this fellow that went and paid a thousand dollars for ten cases of red-eye that proved to be nothing but water? Seems this fellow was standing124 on the corner and fellow comes up to him —”
“They say there’s a whole raft of stuff being smuggled across at Detroit —”
“What I always say is — what a lot of folks don’t realize about prohibition —”
“And then you get all this awful poison stuff — wood alcohol and everything —”
“Course I believe in it on principle, but I don’t propose to have anybody telling me what I got to think and do. No American ’ll ever stand for that!”
But they all felt that it was rather in bad taste for Orville Jones — and he not recognized as one of the wits of the occasion anyway — to say, “In fact, the whole thing about prohibition is this: it isn’t the initial cost, it’s the humidity.”
Not till the one required topic had been dealt with did the conversation become general.
It was often and admiringly said of Vergil Gunch, “Gee125, that fellow can get away with murder! Why, he can pull a Raw One in mixed company and all the ladies ’ll laugh their heads off, but me, gosh, if I crack anything that’s just the least bit off color I get the razz for fair!” Now Gunch delighted them by crying to Mrs. Eddie Swanson, youngest of the women, “Louetta! I managed to pinch Eddie’s doorkey out of his pocket, and what say you and me sneak126 across the street when the folks aren’t looking? Got something,” with a gorgeous leer, “awful important to tell you!”
The women wriggled127, and Babbitt was stirred to like naughtiness. “Say, folks, I wished I dared show you a book I borrowed from Doc Patten!”
“Now, George! The idea!” Mrs. Babbitt warned him.
“This book — racy isn’t the word! It’s some kind of an anthropological128 report about — about Customs, in the South Seas, and what it doesn’t SAY! It’s a book you can’t buy. Verg, I’ll lend it to you.”
“Me first!” insisted Eddie Swanson. “Sounds spicy129!”
Orville Jones announced, “Say, I heard a Good One the other day about a coupla Swedes and their wives,” and, in the best Jewish accent, he resolutely carried the Good One to a slightly disinfected ending. Gunch capped it. But the cocktails waned130, the seekers dropped back into cautious reality.
Chum Frink had recently been on a lecture-tour among the small towns, and he chuckled, “Awful good to get back to civilization! I certainly been seeing some hick towns! I mean — Course the folks there are the best on earth, but, gee whiz, those Main Street burgs are slow, and you fellows can’t hardly appreciate what it means to be here with a bunch of live ones!”
“You bet!” exulted131 Orville Jones. “They’re the best folks on earth, those small-town folks, but, oh, mama! what conversation! Why, say, they can’t talk about anything but the weather and the ne-oo Ford132, by heckalorum!”
“That’s right. They all talk about just the same things,” said Eddie Swanson.
“Don’t they, though! They just say the same things over and over,” said Vergil Gunch.
“Yes, it’s really remarkable133. They seem to lack all power of looking at things impersonally134. They simply go over and over the same talk about Fords and the weather and so on.” said Howard Littlefield.
“Still, at that, you can’t blame ’em. They haven’t got any intellectual stimulus135 such as you get up here in the city,” said Chum Frink.
“Gosh, that’s right,” said Babbitt. “I don’t want you highbrows to get stuck on yourselves but I must say it keeps a fellow right up on his toes to sit in with a poet and with Howard, the guy that put the con36 in economics! But these small-town boobs, with nobody but each other to talk to, no wonder they get so sloppy136 and uncultured in their speech, and so balled-up in their thinking!”
Orville Jones commented, “And, then take our other advantages — the movies, frinstance. These Yapville sports think they’re all-get-out if they have one change of bill a week, where here in the city you got your choice of a dozen diff’rent movies any evening you want to name!”
“Sure, and the inspiration we get from rubbing up against high-class hustlers every day and getting jam full of ginger,” said Eddie Swanson.
“Same time,” said Babbitt, “no sense excusing these rube burgs too easy. Fellow’s own fault if he doesn’t show the initiative to up and beat it to the city, like we done — did. And, just speaking in confidence among friends, they’re jealous as the devil of a city man. Every time I go up to Catawba I have to go around apologizing to the fellows I was brought up with because I’ve more or less succeeded and they haven’t. And if you talk natural to ’em, way we do here, and show finesse137 and what you might call a broad point of view, why, they think you’re putting on side. There’s my own half-brother Martin — runs the little ole general store my Dad used to keep. Say, I’ll bet he don’t know there is such a thing as a Tux — as a dinner-jacket. If he was to come in here now, he’d think we were a bunch of — of — Why, gosh, I swear, he wouldn’t know what to think! Yes, sir, they’re jealous!”
Chum Frink agreed, “That’s so. But what I mind is their lack of culture and appreciation138 of the Beautiful — if you’ll excuse me for being highbrow. Now, I like to give a high-class lecture, and read some of my best poetry — not the newspaper stuff but the magazine things. But say, when I get out in the tall grass, there’s nothing will take but a lot of cheesy old stories and slang and junk that if any of us were to indulge in it here, he’d get the gate so fast it would make his head swim.”
Vergil Gunch summed it up: “Fact is, we’re mighty lucky to be living among a bunch of city-folks, that recognize artistic139 things and business-punch equally. We’d feel pretty glum140 if we got stuck in some Main Street burg and tried to wise up the old codgers to the kind of life we’re used to here. But, by golly, there’s this you got to say for ’em: Every small American town is trying to get population and modern ideals. And darn if a lot of ’em don’t put it across! Somebody starts panning a rube crossroads, telling how he was there in 1900 and it consisted of one muddy street, count ’em, one, and nine hundred human clams141. Well, you go back there in 1920, and you find pavements and a swell little hotel and a first-class ladies’ ready-to-wear shop-real perfection, in fact! You don’t want to just look at what these small towns are, you want to look at what they’re aiming to become, and they all got an ambition that in the long run is going to make ’em the finest spots on earth — they all want to be just like Zenith!”
III
However intimate they might be with T. Cholmondeley Frink as a neighbor, as a borrower of lawn-mowers and monkey-wrenches, they knew that he was also a Famous Poet and a distinguished advertising-agent; that behind his easiness were sultry literary mysteries which they could not penetrate142. But to-night, in the gin-evolved confidence, he admitted them to the arcanum:
“I’ve got a literary problem that’s worrying me to death. I’m doing a series of ads for the Zeeco Car and I want to make each of ’em a real little gem143 — reg’lar stylistic stuff. I’m all for this theory that perfection is the stunt, or nothing at all, and these are as tough things as I ever tackled. You might think it’d be harder to do my poems — all these Heart Topics: home and fireside and happiness — but they’re cinches. You can’t go wrong on ’em; you know what sentiments any decent go-ahead fellow must have if he plays the game, and you stick right to ’em. But the poetry of industrialism, now there’s a literary line where you got to open up new territory. Do you know the fellow who’s really THE American genius? The fellow who you don’t know his name and I don’t either, but his work ought to be preserved so’s future generations can judge our American thought and originality144 to-day? Why, the fellow that writes the Prince Albert Tobacco ads! Just listen to this:
It’s P.A. that jams such joy in jimmy pipes. Say — bet you’ve often bent-an-ear to that spill-of-speech about hopping145 from five to f-i-f-t-y p-e-r by “stepping on her a bit!” Guess that’s going some, all right — BUT just among ourselves, you better start a rapidwhiz system to keep tabs as to how fast you’ll buzz from low smoke spirits to TIP-TOP-HIGH— once you line up behind a jimmy pipe that’s all aglow146 with that peach-of-a-pal, Prince Albert.
Prince Albert is john-on-the-job — always joy’usly more-ISH in flavor; always delightfully147 cool and fragrant148! For a fact, you never hooked such double-decked, copper-riveted. two-fisted smoke enjoyment149!
Go to a pipe — speed-o-quick like you light on a good thing! Why — packed with Prince Albert you can play a joy’us jimmy straight across the boards! AND YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!”
“Now that,” caroled the motor agent, Eddie Swanson, “that’s what I call he-literature! That Prince Albert fellow — though, gosh, there can’t be just one fellow that writes ’em; must be a big board of classy ink-slingers in conference, but anyway: now, him, he doesn’t write for long-haired pikers, he writes for Regular Guys, he writes for ME, and I tip my benny to him! The only thing is: I wonder if it sells the goods? Course, like all these poets, this Prince Albert fellow lets his idea run away with him. It makes elegant reading, but it don’t say nothing. I’d never go out and buy Prince Albert Tobacco after reading it, because it doesn’t tell me anything about the stuff. It’s just a bunch of fluff.”
Frink faced him: “Oh, you’re crazy! Have I got to sell you the idea of Style? Anyway that’s the kind of stuff I’d like to do for the Zeeco. But I simply can’t. So I decided to stick to the straight poetic150, and I took a shot at a highbrow ad for the Zeeco. How do you like this:
The long white trail is calling — calling-and it’s over the hills and far away for every man or woman that has red blood in his veins151 and on his lips the ancient song of the buccaneers. It’s away with dull drudging, and a fig96 for care. Speed — glorious Speed — it’s more than just a moment’s exhilaration — it’s Life for you and me! This great new truth the makers152 of the Zeeco Car have considered as much as price and style. It’s fleet as the antelope153, smooth as the glide154 of a swallow, yet powerful as the charge of a bull-elephant. Class breathes in every line. Listen, brother! You’ll never know what the high art of hiking is till you TRY LIFE’S ZIPPINGEST ZEST— THE ZEECO!
“Yes,” Frink mused155, “that’s got an elegant color to it, if I do say so, but it ain’t got the originality of ‘spill-of-speech!’” The whole company sighed with sympathy and admiration156.
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traction
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| n.牵引；附着摩擦力 | |
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metropolitan
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| adj.大城市的，大都会的 | |
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poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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restive
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| adj.不安宁的，不安静的 | |
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wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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cocktails
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| n.鸡尾酒( cocktail的名词复数 )；餐前开胃菜；混合物 | |
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cocktail
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| n.鸡尾酒；餐前开胃小吃；混合物 | |
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reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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prohibition
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| n.禁止；禁令，禁律 | |
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tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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warehouses
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| 仓库，货栈( warehouse的名词复数 ) | |
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lofts
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| 阁楼( loft的名词复数 )； （由工厂等改建的）套房； 上层楼面； 房间的越层 | |
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arbor
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| n.凉亭；树木 | |
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orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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morass
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| n.沼泽，困境 | |
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tenements
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| n.房屋，住户，租房子( tenement的名词复数 ) | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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loon
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| n.狂人 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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32
stink
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| vi.发出恶臭；糟透，招人厌恶；n.恶臭 | |
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wheedled
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| v.骗取（某物），哄骗（某人干某事）( wheedle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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34
engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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35
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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36
con
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| n.反对的观点，反对者，反对票，肺病；vt.精读，学习，默记；adv.反对地，从反面；adj.欺诈的 | |
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queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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39
obsequiousness
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| 媚骨 | |
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40
brewery
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| n.啤酒厂 | |
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41
valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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42
vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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43
besought
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| v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的过去式和过去分词 )；(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
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44
scowled
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45
meekness
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| n.温顺，柔和 | |
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46
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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47
smuggled
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| 水货 | |
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48
virtuously
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| 合乎道德地，善良地 | |
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49
concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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50
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
caterer
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| n. 备办食物者，备办宴席者 | |
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52
ballroom
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| n.舞厅 | |
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53
aprons
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| 围裙( apron的名词复数 )； 停机坪，台口（舞台幕前的部份） | |
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54
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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55
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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56
giggling
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的现在分词 ) | |
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57
touchy
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| adj.易怒的；棘手的 | |
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58
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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59
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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60
rouged
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| 胭脂，口红( rouge的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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62
glorified
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| 美其名的，变荣耀的 | |
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63
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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65
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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66
slew
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| v.（使）旋转；n.大量，许多 | |
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67
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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68
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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69
lyric
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| n.抒情诗，歌词；adj.抒情的 | |
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70
majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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71
authoritative
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| adj.有权威的，可相信的；命令式的；官方的 | |
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shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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73
tottered
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| v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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74
pitcher
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| n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐；(棒球)投手 | |
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75
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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76
scoured
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| 走遍（某地）搜寻（人或物）( scour的过去式和过去分词 )； （用力）刷； 擦净； 擦亮 | |
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bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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denim
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| n.斜纹棉布；斜纹棉布裤，牛仔裤 | |
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rebuked
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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80
jocose
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| adj.开玩笑的，滑稽的 | |
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81
devastating
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| adj.毁灭性的，令人震惊的，强有力的 | |
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82
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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83
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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84
minced
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| v.切碎( mince的过去式和过去分词 )；剁碎；绞碎；用绞肉机绞（食物，尤指肉） | |
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85
profligacy
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| n.放荡，不检点，肆意挥霍 | |
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86
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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88
swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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90
elks
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| n.麋鹿( elk的名词复数 ) | |
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91
javelin
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| n.标枪，投枪 | |
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92
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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93
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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95
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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fig
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| n.无花果(树) | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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robustness
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| 坚固性，健壮性；鲁棒性 | |
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canonical
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| n.权威的；典型的 | |
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rite
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| n.典礼，惯例，习俗 | |
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101
despondent
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| adj.失望的，沮丧的，泄气的 | |
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102
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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103
babbled
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| v.喋喋不休( babble的过去式和过去分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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104
woes
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| 困境( woe的名词复数 )； 悲伤； 我好苦哇； 某人就要倒霉 | |
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105
timorous
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| adj.胆怯的，胆小的 | |
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106
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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107
groused
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| v.抱怨，发牢骚( grouse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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108
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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109
sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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110
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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111
giggles
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| n.咯咯的笑( giggle的名词复数 )；傻笑；玩笑；the giggles 止不住的格格笑v.咯咯地笑( giggle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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112
dividend
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| n.红利，股息；回报，效益 | |
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113
profundity
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| n.渊博；深奥，深刻 | |
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114
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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115
licensed
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| adj.得到许可的v.许可，颁发执照(license的过去式和过去分词) | |
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116
interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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117
stunt
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| n.惊人表演，绝技，特技；vt.阻碍...发育，妨碍...生长 | |
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118
ferment
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| vt.使发酵；n./vt.（使）激动，（使）动乱 | |
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119
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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120
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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121
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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122
invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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123
flirtation
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| n.调情，调戏，挑逗 | |
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124
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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125
gee
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| n.马；int.向右！前进！，惊讶时所发声音；v.向右转 | |
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126
sneak
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| vt.潜行(隐藏,填石缝)；偷偷摸摸做；n.潜行；adj.暗中进行 | |
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127
wriggled
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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128
anthropological
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| adj.人类学的 | |
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129
spicy
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| adj.加香料的；辛辣的，有风味的 | |
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130
waned
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| v.衰落( wane的过去式和过去分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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131
exulted
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| 狂喜，欢跃( exult的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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132
Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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133
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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134
impersonally
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| ad.非人称地 | |
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135
stimulus
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| n.刺激，刺激物，促进因素，引起兴奋的事物 | |
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136
sloppy
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| adj.邋遢的，不整洁的 | |
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137
finesse
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| n.精密技巧，灵巧，手腕 | |
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138
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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139
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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140
glum
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| adj.闷闷不乐的，阴郁的 | |
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141
clams
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| n.蛤；蚌，蛤( clam的名词复数 )v.（在沙滩上）挖蛤( clam的第三人称单数 ) | |
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142
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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143
gem
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| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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144
originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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145
hopping
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| n. 跳跃 动词hop的现在分词形式 | |
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146
aglow
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| adj.发亮的；发红的；adv.发亮地 | |
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147
delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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148
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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149
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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150
poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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151
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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152
makers
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| n.制造者，制造商（maker的复数形式） | |
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153
antelope
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| n.羚羊；羚羊皮 | |
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154
glide
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| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
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155
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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156
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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