I
THE assurance of Tanis Judique’s friendship fortified1 Babbitt’s self-approval. At the Athletic2 Club he became experimental. Though Vergil Gunch was silent, the others at the Roughnecks’ Table came to accept Babbitt as having, for no visible reason, “turned crank.” They argued windily with him, and he was cocky, and enjoyed the spectacle of his interesting martyrdom. He even praised Seneca Doane. Professor Pumphrey said that was carrying a joke too far; but Babbitt argued, “No! Fact! I tell you he’s got one of the keenest intellects in the country. Why, Lord Wycombe said that —”
“Oh, who the hell is Lord Wycombe? What you always lugging3 him in for? You been touting4 him for the last six weeks!” protested Orville Jones.
“George ordered him from Sears–Roebuck. You can get those English high-muckamucks by mail for two bucks6 apiece,” suggested Sidney Finkelstein.
“That’s all right now! Lord Wycombe, he’s one of the biggest intellects in English political life. As I was saying: Of course I’m conservative myself, but I appreciate a guy like Senny Doane because —”
Vergil Gunch interrupted harshly, “I wonder if you are so conservative? I find I can manage to run my own business without any skunks7 and reds like Doane in it!”
The grimness of Gunch’s voice, the hardness of his jaw8, disconcerted Babbitt, but he recovered and went on till they looked bored, then irritated, then as doubtful as Gunch.
II
He thought of Tanis always. With a stir he remembered her every aspect. His arms yearned9 for her. “I’ve found her! I’ve dreamed of her all these years and now I’ve found her!” he exulted10. He met her at the movies in the morning; he drove out to her flat in the late afternoon or on evenings when he was believed to be at the Elks11. He knew her financial affairs and advised her about them, while she lamented12 her feminine ignorance, and praised his masterfulness, and proved to know much more about bonds than he did. They had remembrances, and laughter over old times. Once they quarreled, and he raged that she was as “bossy” as his wife and far more whining13 when he was inattentive. But that passed safely.
Their high hour was a tramp on a ringing December afternoon, through snow-drifted meadows down to the icy Chaloosa River. She was exotic in an astrachan cap and a short beaver14 coat; she slid on the ice and shouted, and he panted after her, rotund with laughter.... Myra Babbitt never slid on the ice.
He was afraid that they would be seen together. In Zenith it is impossible to lunch with a neighbor’s wife without the fact being known, before nightfall, in every house in your circle. But Tanis was beautifully discreet16. However appealingly she might turn to him when they were alone, she was gravely detached when they were abroad, and he hoped that she would be taken for a client. Orville Jones once saw them emerging from a movie theater, and Babbitt bumbled, “Let me make you ‘quainted with Mrs. Judique. Now here’s a lady who knows the right broker17 to come to, Orvy!” Mr. Jones, though he was a man censorious of morals and of laundry machinery18, seemed satisfied.
His predominant fear — not from any especial fondness for her but from the habit of propriety19 — was that his wife would learn of the affair. He was certain that she knew nothing specific about Tanis, but he was also certain that she suspected something indefinite. For years she had been bored by anything more affectionate than a farewell kiss, yet she was hurt by any slackening in his irritable20 periodic interest, and now he had no interest; rather, a revulsion. He was completely faithful — to Tanis. He was distressed21 by the sight of his wife’s slack plumpness, by her puffs22 and billows of flesh, by the tattered23 petticoat which she was always meaning and always forgetting to throw away. But he was aware that she, so long attuned24 to him, caught all his repulsions. He elaborately, heavily, jocularly tried to check them. He couldn’t.
They had a tolerable Christmas. Kenneth Escott was there, admittedly engaged to Verona. Mrs. Babbitt was tearful and called Kenneth her new son. Babbitt was worried about Ted5, because he had ceased complaining of the State University and become suspiciously acquiescent26. He wondered what the boy was planning, and was too shy to ask. Himself, Babbitt slipped away on Christmas afternoon to take his present, a silver cigarette-box, to Tanis. When he returned Mrs. Babbitt asked, much too innocently, “Did you go out for a little fresh air?”
“Yes, just lil drive,” he mumbled27.
After New Year’s his wife proposed, “I heard from my sister to-day, George. She isn’t well. I think perhaps I ought to go stay with her for a few weeks.”
Now, Mrs. Babbitt was not accustomed to leave home during the winter except on violently demanding occasions, and only the summer before, she had been gone for weeks. Nor was Babbitt one of the detachable husbands who take separations casually28 He liked to have her there; she looked after his clothes; she knew how his steak ought to be cooked; and her clucking made him feel secure. But he could not drum up even a dutiful “Oh, she doesn’t really need you, does she?” While he tried to look regretful, while he felt that his wife was watching him, he was filled with exultant29 visions of Tanis.
“Do you think I’d better go?” she said sharply.
“You’ve got to decide, honey; I can’t.”
She turned away, sighing, and his forehead was damp.
Till she went, four days later, she was curiously30 still, he cumbrously affectionate. Her train left at noon. As he saw it grow small beyond the train-shed he longed to hurry to Tanis.
“No, by golly, I won’t do that!” he vowed31. “I won’t go near her for a week!”
But he was at her flat at four.
III
He who had once controlled or seemed to control his life in a progress unimpassioned but diligent32 and sane33 was for that fortnight borne on a current of desire and very bad whisky and all the complications of new acquaintances, those furious new intimates who demand so much more attention than old friends. Each morning he gloomily recognized his idiocies34 of the evening before. With his head throbbing35, his tongue and lips stinging from cigarettes, he incredulously counted the number of drinks he had taken, and groaned36, “I got to quit!” He had ceased saying, “I WILL quit!” for however resolute37 he might be at dawn, he could not, for a single evening, check his drift.
He had met Tanis’s friends; he had, with the ardent38 haste of the Midnight People, who drink and dance and rattle39 and are ever afraid to be silent, been adopted as a member of her group, which they called “The Bunch.” He first met them after a day when he had worked particularly hard and when he hoped to be quiet with Tanis and slowly sip40 her admiration41.
From down the hall he could hear shrieks42 and the grind of a phonograph. As Tanis opened the door he saw fantastic figures dancing in a haze43 of cigarette smoke. The tables and chairs were against the wall.
“Oh, isn’t this dandy!” she gabbled at him. “Carrie Nork had the loveliest idea. She decided44 it was time for a party, and she ‘phoned the Bunch and told ’em to gather round. . . . George, this is Carrie.”
“Carrie” was, in the less desirable aspects of both, at once matronly and spinsterish. She was perhaps forty; her hair was an unconvincing ash-blond; and if her chest was flat, her hips45 were ponderous46. She greeted Babbitt with a giggling47 “Welcome to our little midst! Tanis says you’re a real sport.”
He was apparently48 expected to dance, to be boyish and gay with Carrie, and he did his unforgiving best. He towed her about the room, bumping into other couples, into the radiator49, into chair-legs cunningly ambushed50. As he danced he surveyed the rest of the Bunch: A thin young woman who looked capable, conceited51, and sarcastic52. Another woman whom he could never quite remember. Three overdressed and slightly effeminate young men — soda-fountain clerks, or at least born for that profession. A man of his own age, immovable, self-satisfied, resentful of Babbitt’s presence.
When he had finished his dutiful dance Tanis took him aside and begged, “Dear, wouldn’t you like to do something for me? I’m all out of booze, and the Bunch want to celebrate. Couldn’t you just skip down to Healey Hanson’s and get some?”
“Sure,” he said, trying not to sound sullen53.
“I’ll tell you: I’ll get Minnie Sonntag to drive down with you.” Tanis was pointing to the thin, sarcastic young woman.
Miss Sonntag greeted him with an astringent54 “How d’you do, Mr. Babbitt. Tanis tells me you’re a very prominent man, and I’m honored by being allowed to drive with you. Of course I’m not accustomed to associating with society people like you, so I don’t know how to act in such exalted55 circles!”
Thus Miss Sonntag talked all the way down to Healey Hanson’s. To her jibes56 he wanted to reply “Oh, go to the devil!” but he never quite nerved himself to that reasonable comment. He was resenting the existence of the whole Bunch. He had heard Tanis speak of “darling Carrie” and “Min Sonntag — she’s so clever — you’ll adore her,” but they had never been real to him. He had pictured Tanis as living in a rose-tinted vacuum, waiting for him, free of all the complications of a Floral Heights.
When they returned he had to endure the patronage57 of the young soda-clerks. They were as damply friendly as Miss Sonntag was dryly hostile. They called him “Old Georgie” and shouted, “Come on now, sport; shake a leg” . . . boys in belted coats, pimply58 boys, as young as Ted and as flabby as chorus-men, but powerful to dance and to mind the phonograph and smoke cigarettes and patronize Tanis. He tried to be one of them; he cried “Good work, Pete!” but his voice creaked.
Tanis apparently enjoyed the companionship of the dancing darlings; she bridled59 to their bland60 flirtation61 and casually kissed them at the end of each dance. Babbitt hated her, for the moment. He saw her as middle-aged62. He studied the wrinkles in the softness of her throat, the slack flesh beneath her chin. The taut63 muscles of her youth were loose and drooping64. Between dances she sat in the largest chair, waving her cigarette, summoning her callow admirers to come and talk to her. (“She thinks she’s a blooming queen!” growled65 Babbitt.) She chanted to Miss Sonntag, “Isn’t my little studio sweet?” (“Studio, rats! It’s a plain old-maid-and-chow-dog flat! Oh, God, I wish I was home! I wonder if I can’t make a getaway now?”)
His vision grew blurred66, however, as he applied67 himself to Healey Hanson’s raw but vigorous whisky. He blended with the Bunch. He began to rejoice that Carrie Nork and Pete, the most nearly intelligent of the nimble youths, seemed to like him; and it was enormously important to win over the surly older man, who proved to be a railway clerk named Fulton Bemis.
The conversation of the Bunch was exclamatory, high-colored, full of references to people whom Babbitt did not know. Apparently they thought very comfortably of themselves. They were the Bunch, wise and beautiful and amusing; they were Bohemians and urbanites, accustomed to all the luxuries of Zenith: dance-halls, movie-theaters, and roadhouses; and in a cynical68 superiority to people who were “slow” or “tightwad” they cackled:
“Oh, Pete, did I tell you what that dub69 of a cashier said when I came in late yesterday? Oh, it was per-fect-ly priceless!”
“Oh, but wasn’t T. D. stewed70! Say, he was simply ossified71! What did Gladys say to him?”
“Think of the nerve of Bob Bickerstaff trying to get us to come to his house! Say, the nerve of him! Can you beat it for nerve? Some nerve I call it!”
“Did you notice how Dotty was dancing? Gee72, wasn’t she the limit!”
Babbitt was to be heard sonorously73 agreeing with the once-hated Miss Minnie Sonntag that persons who let a night go by without dancing to jazz music were crabs74, pikers, and poor fish; and he roared “You bet!” when Mrs. Carrie Nork gurgled, “Don’t you love to sit on the floor? It’s so Bohemian!” He began to think extremely well of the Bunch. When he mentioned his friends Sir Gerald Doak, Lord Wycombe, William Washington Eathorne, and Chum Frink, he was proud of their condescending76 interest. He got so thoroughly77 into the jocund78 spirit that he didn’t much mind seeing Tanis drooping against the shoulder of the youngest and milkiest79 of the young men, and he himself desired to hold Carrie Nork’s pulpy80 hand, and dropped it only because Tanis looked angry.
When he went home, at two, he was fully15 a member of the Bunch, and all the week thereafter he was bound by the exceedingly straitened conventions, the exceedingly wearing demands, of their life of pleasure and freedom. He had to go to their parties; he was involved in the agitation81 when everybody telephoned to everybody else that she hadn’t meant what she’d said when she’d said that, and anyway, why was Pete going around saying she’d said it?
Never was a Family more insistent82 on learning one another’s movements than were the Bunch. All of them volubly knew, or indignantly desired to know, where all the others had been every minute of the week. Babbitt found himself explaining to Carrie or Fulton Bemis just what he had been doing that he should not have joined them till ten o’clock, and apologizing for having gone to dinner with a business acquaintance.
Every member of the Bunch was expected to telephone to every other member at least once a week. “Why haven’t you called me up?” Babbitt was asked accusingly, not only by Tanis and Carrie but presently by new ancient friends, Jennie and Capitolina and Toots.
If for a moment he had seen Tanis as withering83 and sentimental84, he lost that impression at Carrie Nork’s dance. Mrs. Nork had a large house and a small husband. To her party came all of the Bunch, perhaps thirty-five of them when they were completely mobilized. Babbitt, under the name of “Old Georgie,” was now a pioneer of the Bunch, since each month it changed half its membership and he who could recall the prehistoric85 days of a fortnight ago, before Mrs. Absolom, the food-demonstrator, had gone to Indianapolis, and Mac had “got sore at” Minnie, was a venerable leader and able to condescend75 to new Petes and Minnies and Gladyses.
At Carrie’s, Tanis did not have to work at being hostess. She was dignified86 and sure, a clear fine figure in the black chiffon frock he had always loved; and in the wider spaces of that ugly house Babbitt was able to sit quietly with her. He repented87 of his first revulsion, mooned at her feet, and happily drove her home. Next day he bought a violent yellow tie, to make himself young for her. He knew, a little sadly, that he could not make himself beautiful; he beheld88 himself as heavy, hinting of fatness, but he danced, he dressed, he chattered89, to be as young as she was . . . as young as she seemed to be.
IV
As all converts, whether to a religion, love, or gardening, find as by magic that though hitherto these hobbies have not seemed to exist, now the whole world is filled with their fury, so, once he was converted to dissipation, Babbitt discovered agreeable opportunities for it everywhere.
He had a new view of his sporting neighbor, Sam Doppelbrau. The Doppelbraus were respectable people, industrious90 people, prosperous people, whose ideal of happiness was an eternal cabaret. Their life was dominated by suburban91 bacchanalia of alcohol, nicotine92, gasoline, and kisses. They and their set worked capably all the week, and all week looked forward to Saturday night, when they would, as they expressed it, “throw a party;” and the thrown party grew noisier and noisier up to Sunday dawn, and usually included an extremely rapid motor expedition to nowhere in particular.
One evening when Tanis was at the theater, Babbitt found himself being lively with the Doppelbraus, pledging friendship with men whom he had for years privily93 denounced to Mrs. Babbitt as a “rotten bunch of tin-horns that I wouldn’t go out with, rot if they were the last people on earth.” That evening he had sulkily come home and poked94 about in front of the house, chipping off the walk the ice-clots, like fossil footprints, made by the steps of passers-by during the recent snow. Howard Littlefield came up snuffling.
“Yump. Cold again to-night.”
“What do you hear from the wife?”
“She’s feeling fine, but her sister is still pretty sick.”
“Say, better come in and have dinner with us to-night, George.”
“Oh — oh, thanks. Have to go out.”
Suddenly he could not endure Littlefield’s recitals96 of the more interesting statistics about totally uninteresting problems. He scraped at the walk and grunted97.
Sam Doppelbrau appeared.
“Evenin’, Babbitt. Working hard?”
“Yuh, lil exercise.”
“Cold enough for you to-night?”
“Well, just about.”
“Still a widower?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Say, Babbitt, while she’s away — I know you don’t care much for booze-fights, but the Missus and I’d be awfully98 glad if you could come in some night. Think you could stand a good cocktail99 for once?”
“Stand it? Young fella, I bet old Uncle George can mix the best cocktail in these United States!”
“Hurray! That’s the way to talk! Look here: There’s some folks coming to the house to-night, Louetta Swanson and some other live ones, and I’m going to open up a bottle of pre-war gin, and maybe we’ll dance a while. Why don’t you drop in and jazz it up a little, just for a change?”
“Well — What time they coming?”
He was at Sam Doppelbrau’s at nine. It was the third time he had entered the house. By ten he was calling Mr. Doppelbrau “Sam, old hoss.”
At eleven they all drove out to the Old Farm Inn. Babbitt sat in the back of Doppelbrau’s car with Louetta Swanson. Once he had timorously100 tried to make love to her. Now he did not try; he merely made love; and Louetta dropped her head on his shoulder, told him what a nagger101 Eddie was, and accepted Babbitt as a decent and well-trained libertine102.
With the assistance of Tanis’s Bunch, the Doppelbraus, and other companions in forgetfulness, there was not an evening for two weeks when he did not return home late and shaky. With his other faculties103 blurred he yet had the motorist’s gift of being able to drive when he could scarce walk; of slowing down at corners and allowing for approaching cars. He came wambling into the house. If Verona and Kenneth Escott were about, he got past them with a hasty greeting, horribly aware of their level young glances, and hid himself up-stairs. He found when he came into the warm house that he was hazier104 than he had believed. His head whirled. He dared not lie down. He tried to soak out the alcohol in a hot bath. For the moment his head was clearer but when he moved about the bathroom his calculations of distance were wrong, so that he dragged down the towels, and knocked over the soap-dish with a clatter105 which, he feared, would betray him to the children. Chilly106 in his dressing-gown he tried to read the evening paper. He could follow every word; he seemed to take in the sense of things; but a minute afterward107 he could not have told what he had been reading. When he went to bed his brain flew in circles, and he hastily sat up, struggling for self-control. At last he was able to lie still, feeling only a little sick and dizzy — and enormously ashamed. To hide his “condition” from his own children! To have danced and shouted with people whom he despised! To have said foolish things, sung idiotic108 songs, tried to kiss silly girls! Incredulously he remembered that he had by his roaring familiarity with them laid himself open to the patronizing of youths whom he would have kicked out of his office; that by dancing too ardently109 he had exposed himself to rebukes111 from the rattiest of withering women. As it came relentlessly112 back to him he snarled114, “I hate myself! God how I hate myself!” But, he raged, “I’m through! No more! Had enough, plenty!”
He was even surer about it the morning after, when he was trying to be grave and paternal115 with his daughters at breakfast. At noontime he was less sure. He did not deny that he had been a fool; he saw it almost as clearly as at midnight; but anything, he struggled, was better than going back to a life of barren heartiness116. At four he wanted a drink. He kept a whisky flask117 in his desk now, and after two minutes of battle he had his drink. Three drinks later he began to see the Bunch as tender and amusing friends, and by six he was with them . . . and the tale was to be told all over.
Each morning his head ached a little less. A bad head for drinks had been his safeguard, but the safeguard was crumbling118. Presently he could be drunk at dawn, yet not feel particularly wretched in his conscience — or in his stomach — when he awoke at eight. No regret, no desire to escape the toil119 of keeping up with the arduous120 merriment of the Bunch, was so great as his feeling of social inferiority when he failed to keep up. To be the “livest” of them was as much his ambition now as it had been to excel at making money, at playing golf, at motor-driving, at oratory121, at climbing to the McKelvey set. But occasionally he failed.
He found that Pete and the other young men considered the Bunch too austerely123 polite and the Carrie who merely kissed behind doors too embarrassingly monogamic. As Babbitt sneaked124 from Floral Heights down to the Bunch, so the young gallants sneaked from the proprieties125 of the Bunch off to “times” with bouncing young women whom they picked up in department stores and at hotel coatrooms. Once Babbitt tried to accompany them. There was a motor car, a bottle of whisky, and for him a grubby shrieking126 cash-girl from Parcher and Stein’s. He sat beside her and worried. He was apparently expected to “jolly her along,” but when she sang out, “Hey, leggo, quit crushing me cootie-garage,” he did not quite know how to go on. They sat in the back room of a saloon, and Babbitt had a headache, was confused by their new slang looked at them benevolently127, wanted to go home, and had a drink — a good many drinks.
Two evenings after, Fulton Bemis, the surly older man of the Bunch, took Babbitt aside and grunted, “Look here, it’s none of my business, and God knows I always lap up my share of the hootch, but don’t you think you better watch yourself? You’re one of these enthusiastic chumps that always overdo128 things. D’ you realize you’re throwing in the booze as fast as you can, and you eat one cigarette right after another? Better cut it out for a while.”
Babbitt tearfully said that good old Fult was a prince, and yes, he certainly would cut it out, and thereafter he lighted a cigarette and took a drink and had a terrific quarrel with Tanis when she caught him being affectionate with Carrie Nork.
Next morning he hated himself that he should have sunk into a position where a fifteenth-rater like Fulton Bemis could rebuke110 him. He perceived that, since he was making love to every woman possible, Tanis was no longer his one pure star, and he wondered whether she had ever been anything more to him than A Woman. And if Bemis had spoken to him, were other people talking about him? He suspiciously watched the men at the Athletic Club that noon. It seemed to him that they were uneasy. They had been talking about him then? He was angry. He became belligerent129. He not only defended Seneca Doane but even made fun of the Y. M. C. A, Vergil Gunch was rather brief in his answers.
Afterward Babbitt was not angry. He was afraid. He did not go to the next lunch of the Boosters’ Club but hid in a cheap restaurant, and, while he munched130 a ham-and-egg sandwich and sipped131 coffee from a cup on the arm of his chair, he worried.
Four days later, when the Bunch were having one of their best parties, Babbitt drove them to the skating-rink which had been laid out on the Chaloosa River. After a thaw132 the streets had frozen in smooth ice. Down those wide endless streets the wind rattled133 between the rows of wooden houses, and the whole Bellevue district seemed a frontier town. Even with skid134 chains on all four wheels, Babbitt was afraid of sliding, and when he came to the long slide of a hill he crawled down, both brakes on. Slewing135 round a corner came a less cautious car. It skidded136, it almost raked them with its rear fenders. In relief at their escape the Bunch — Tanis, Minnie Sonntag, Pete, Fulton Bemis — shouted “Oh, baby,” and waved their hands to the agitated137 other driver. Then Babbitt saw Professor Pumphrey laboriously138 crawling up hill, afoot, Staring owlishly at the revelers. He was sure that Pumphrey recognized him and saw Tanis kiss him as she crowed, “You’re such a good driver!”
At lunch next day he probed Pumphrey with “Out last night with my brother and some friends of his. Gosh, what driving! Slippery ‘s glass. Thought I saw you hiking up the Bellevue Avenue Hill.”
“No, I wasn’t — I didn’t see you,” said Pumphrey, hastily, rather guiltily.
Perhaps two days afterward Babbitt took Tanis to lunch at the Hotel Thornleigh. She who had seemed well content to wait for him at her flat had begun to hint with melancholy139 smiles that he must think but little of her if he never introduced her to his friends, if he was unwilling140 to be seen with her except at the movies. He thought of taking her to the “ladies’ annex” of the Athletic Club, but that was too dangerous. He would have to introduce her and, oh, people might misunderstand and — He compromised on the Thornleigh.
She was unusually smart, all in black: small black tricorne hat, short black caracul coat, loose and swinging, and austere122 high-necked black velvet141 frock at a time when most street costumes were like evening gowns. Perhaps she was too smart. Every one in the gold and oak restaurant of the Thornleigh was staring at her as Babbitt followed her to a table. He uneasily hoped that the head-waiter would give them a discreet place behind a pillar, but they were stationed on the center aisle142. Tanis seemed not to notice her admirers; she smiled at Babbitt with a lavish143 “Oh, isn’t this nice! What a peppy-looking orchestra!” Babbitt had difficulty in being lavish in return, for two tables away he saw Vergil Gunch. All through the meal Gunch watched them, while Babbitt watched himself being watched and lugubriously144 tried to keep from spoiling Tanis’s gaiety. “I felt like a spree to-day,” she rippled145. “I love the Thornleigh, don’t you? It’s so live and yet so — so refined.”
He made talk about the Thornleigh, the service, the food, the people he recognized in the restaurant, all but Vergil Gunch. There did not seem to be anything else to talk of. He smiled conscientiously146 at her fluttering jests; he agreed with her that Minnie Sonntag was “so hard to get along with,” and young Pete “such a silly lazy kid, really just no good at all.” But he himself had nothing to say. He considered telling her his worries about Gunch, but —“oh, gosh, it was too much work to go into the whole thing and explain about Verg and everything.”
He was relieved when he put Tanis on a trolley147; he was cheerful in the familiar simplicities148 of his office.
At four o’clock Vergil Gunch called on him.
Babbitt was agitated, but Gunch began in a friendly way:
“How’s the boy? Say, some of us are getting up a scheme we’d kind of like to have you come in on.”
“Fine, Verg. Shoot.”
“You know during the war we had the Undesirable149 Element, the Reds and walking delegates and just the plain common grouches150, dead to rights, and so did we for quite a while after the war, but folks forget about the danger and that gives these cranks a chance to begin working underground again, especially a lot of these parlor151 socialists152. Well, it’s up to the folks that do a little sound thinking to make a conscious effort to keep bucking153 these fellows. Some guy back East has organized a society called the Good Citizens’ League for just that purpose. Of course the Chamber154 of Commerce and the American Legion and so on do a fine work in keeping the decent people in the saddle, but they’re devoted155 to so many other causes that they can’t attend to this one problem properly. But the Good Citizens’ League, the G. C. L., they stick right to it. Oh, the G. C. L. has to have some other ostensible156 purposes — frinstance here in Zenith I think it ought to support the park-extension project and the City Planning Committee — and then, too, it should have a social aspect, being made up of the best people — have dances and so on, especially as one of the best ways it can put the kibosh on cranks is to apply this social boycott157 business to folks big enough so you can’t reach ’em otherwise. Then if that don’t work, the G. C. L. can finally send a little delegation158 around to inform folks that get too flip159 that they got to conform to decent standards and quit shooting off their mouths so free. Don’t it sound like the organization could do a great work? We’ve already got some of the strongest men in town, and of course we want you in. How about it?”
Babbitt was uncomfortable. He felt a compulsion back to all the standards he had so vaguely160 yet so desperately161 been fleeing. He fumbled162:
“I suppose you’d especially light on fellows like Seneca Doane and try to make ’em —”
“You bet your sweet life we would! Look here, old Georgie: I’ve never for one moment believed you meant it when you’ve defended Doane, and the strikers and so on, at the Club. I knew you were simply kidding those poor galoots like Sid Finkelstein.... At least I certainly hope you were kidding!”
“Oh, well — sure — Course you might say —” Babbitt was conscious of how feeble he sounded, conscious of Gunch’s mature and relentless113 eye. “Gosh, you know where I stand! I’m no labor25 agitator163! I’m a business man, first, last, and all the time! But — but honestly, I don’t think Doane means so badly, and you got to remember he’s an old friend of mine.”
“George, when it comes right down to a struggle between decency164 and the security of our homes on the one hand, and red ruin and those lazy dogs plotting for free beer on the other, you got to give up even old friendships. ‘He that is not with me is against me.’”
“Ye-es, I suppose —”
“How about it? Going to join us in the Good Citizens’ League?”
“I’ll have to think it over, Verg.”
“All right, just as you say.” Babbitt was relieved to be let off so easily, but Gunch went on: “George, I don’t know what’s come over you; none of us do; and we’ve talked a lot about you. For a while we figured out you’d been upset by what happened to poor Riesling, and we forgave you for any fool thing you said, but that’s old stuff now, George, and we can’t make out what’s got into you. Personally, I’ve always defended you, but I must say it’s getting too much for me. All the boys at the Athletic Club and the Boosters’ are sore, the way you go on deliberately165 touting Doane and his bunch of hell-hounds, and talking about being liberal — which means being wishy-washy — and even saying this preacher guy Ingram isn’t a professional free-love artist. And then the way you been carrying on personally! Joe Pumphrey says he saw you out the other night with a gang of totties, all stewed to the gills, and here to-day coming right into the Thornleigh with a — well, she may be all right and a perfect lady, but she certainly did look like a pretty gay skirt for a fellow with his wife out of town to be taking to lunch. Didn’t look well. What the devil has come over you, George?”
“Strikes me there’s a lot of fellows that know more about my personal business than I do myself!”
“Now don’t go getting sore at me because I come out flatfooted like a friend and say what I think instead of tattling behind your back, the way a whole lot of ’em do. I tell you George, you got a position in the community, and the community expects you to live up to it. And — Better think over joining the Good Citizens’ League. See you about it later.”
He was gone.
That evening Babbitt dined alone. He saw all the Clan166 of Good Fellows peering through the restaurant window, spying on him. Fear sat beside him, and he told himself that to-night he would not go to Tanis’s flat; and he did not go . . . till late.
收听单词发音 |
1
fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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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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lugging
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| 超载运转能力 | |
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touting
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| v.兜售( tout的现在分词 )；招揽；侦查；探听赛马情报 | |
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ted
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| vt.翻晒，撒，撒开 | |
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bucks
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| n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 )；钱；（英国十九世纪初的）花花公子；（用于某些表达方式）责任v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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skunks
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| n.臭鼬( skunk的名词复数 )；臭鼬毛皮；卑鄙的人；可恶的人 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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yearned
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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exulted
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| 狂喜，欢跃( exult的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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elks
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| n.麋鹿( elk的名词复数 ) | |
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lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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14
beaver
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| n.海狸，河狸 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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broker
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| n.中间人，经纪人；v.作为中间人来安排 | |
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machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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puffs
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| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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23
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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attuned
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| v.使协调( attune的过去式和过去分词 )；调音 | |
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25
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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acquiescent
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| adj.默许的，默认的 | |
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mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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exultant
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| adj.欢腾的，狂欢的，大喜的 | |
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30
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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32
diligent
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| adj.勤勉的，勤奋的 | |
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sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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34
idiocies
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| n.极度的愚蠢( idiocy的名词复数 )；愚蠢的行为；白痴状态 | |
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35
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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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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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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38
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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39
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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40
sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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41
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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42
shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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43
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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44
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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45
hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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46
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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47
giggling
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的现在分词 ) | |
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48
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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49
radiator
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| n.暖气片，散热器 | |
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50
ambushed
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| v.埋伏( ambush的过去式和过去分词 )；埋伏着 | |
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51
conceited
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| adj.自负的，骄傲自满的 | |
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52
sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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53
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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54
astringent
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| adj.止血的，收缩的，涩的；n.收缩剂，止血剂 | |
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55
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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56
jibes
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| n.与…一致( jibe的名词复数 )；（与…）相符；相匹配v.与…一致( jibe的第三人称单数 )；（与…）相符；相匹配 | |
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57
patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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58
pimply
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| adj.肿泡的；有疙瘩的；多粉刺的；有丘疹的 | |
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59
bridled
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| 给…套龙头( bridle的过去式和过去分词 )； 控制； 昂首表示轻蔑（或怨忿等）； 动怒，生气 | |
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60
bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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61
flirtation
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| n.调情，调戏，挑逗 | |
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62
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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63
taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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64
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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65
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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66
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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67
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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68
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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69
dub
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| vt.（以某种称号）授予，给...起绰号，复制 | |
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70
stewed
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| adj.焦虑不安的，烂醉的v.炖( stew的过去式和过去分词 )；煨；思考；担忧 | |
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71
ossified
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| adj.已骨化[硬化]的v.骨化，硬化，使僵化( ossify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72
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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73
sonorously
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| adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；堂皇地；朗朗地 | |
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74
crabs
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| n.蟹( crab的名词复数 )；阴虱寄生病；蟹肉v.捕蟹( crab的第三人称单数 ) | |
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75
condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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76
condescending
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| adj.谦逊的,故意屈尊的 | |
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77
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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78
jocund
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| adj.快乐的，高兴的 | |
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79
milkiest
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| 牛奶的，像牛奶的，掺奶的( milky的最高级 ) | |
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pulpy
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| 果肉状的，多汁的，柔软的； 烂糊； 稀烂 | |
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81
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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82
insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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83
withering
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| 使人畏缩的，使人害羞的，使人难堪的 | |
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84
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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85
prehistoric
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| adj.（有记载的）历史以前的，史前的，古老的 | |
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86
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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87
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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88
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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89
chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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90
industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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91
suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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92
nicotine
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| n.(化)尼古丁，烟碱 | |
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93
privily
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| adv.暗中，秘密地 | |
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94
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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95
widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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96
recitals
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| n.独唱会( recital的名词复数 )；独奏会；小型音乐会、舞蹈表演会等；一系列事件等的详述 | |
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97
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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98
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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99
cocktail
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| n.鸡尾酒；餐前开胃小吃；混合物 | |
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100
timorously
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| adv.胆怯地，羞怯地 | |
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101
nagger
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| n.爱唠叨的人，泼妇 | |
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102
libertine
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| n.淫荡者；adj.放荡的，自由思想的 | |
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103
faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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104
hazier
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| 有薄雾的( hazy的比较级 )； 模糊的； 不清楚的； 糊涂的 | |
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105
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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106
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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107
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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108
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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109
ardently
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| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
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110
rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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111
rebukes
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的第三人称单数 ) | |
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112
relentlessly
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| adv.不屈不挠地；残酷地；不间断 | |
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113
relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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114
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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115
paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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heartiness
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| 诚实，热心 | |
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117
flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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118
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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119
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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120
arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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121
oratory
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| n.演讲术；词藻华丽的言辞 | |
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122
austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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123
austerely
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| adv.严格地，朴质地 | |
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124
sneaked
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| v.潜行( sneak的过去式和过去分词 )；偷偷溜走；（儿童向成人）打小报告；告状 | |
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125
proprieties
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| n.礼仪，礼节；礼貌( propriety的名词复数 )；规矩；正当；合适 | |
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126
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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127
benevolently
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| adv.仁慈地，行善地 | |
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overdo
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| vt.把...做得过头，演得过火 | |
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belligerent
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| adj.好战的，挑起战争的；n.交战国，交战者 | |
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munched
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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thaw
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| v.（使）融化，（使）变得友善；n.融化，缓和 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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134
skid
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| v.打滑 n.滑向一侧；滑道 ，滑轨 | |
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slewing
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| n.快速定向，快速瞄准v.（尤指在协议或建议中）规定，约定，讲明（条件等）( stipulate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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136
skidded
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| v.（通常指车辆） 侧滑( skid的过去式和过去分词 )；打滑；滑行；（住在）贫民区 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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141
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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lugubriously
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rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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conscientiously
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| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
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trolley
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| n.手推车，台车；无轨电车；有轨电车 | |
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simplicities
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| n.简单，朴素，率直( simplicity的名词复数 ) | |
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undesirable
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| adj.不受欢迎的，不良的，不合意的，讨厌的；n.不受欢迎的人，不良分子 | |
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grouches
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| n.爱抱怨的人( grouch的名词复数 )；脾气坏的人；牢骚；生气 | |
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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socialists
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| 社会主义者( socialist的名词复数 ) | |
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153
bucking
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| v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的现在分词 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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154
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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ostensible
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| adj.(指理由)表面的，假装的 | |
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157
boycott
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| n./v.(联合)抵制，拒绝参与 | |
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158
delegation
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| n.代表团；派遣 | |
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159
flip
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| vt.快速翻动；轻抛；轻拍；n.轻抛；adj.轻浮的 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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161
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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162
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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163
agitator
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| n.鼓动者；搅拌器 | |
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164
decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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165
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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clan
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| n.氏族，部落，宗族，家族，宗派 | |
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