Sinclair Lewis - The Collected Works of Sinclair Lewis

“What do you care? In the long run they're bound to respect a man who makes them think, and with your reputation for oratory you — ”

“What do you know about my reputation for oratory?”

“Oh, I'm not going to tell you everything I know! But seriously, you don't realize what a famous man you are.”

“Well — Though I haven't done much orating this fall. Too kind of bothered by this Paul Riesling business, I guess. But — Do you know, you're the first person that's really understood what I was getting at, Tanis — Listen to me, will you! Fat nerve I've got, calling you Tanis!”

“Oh, do! And shall I call you George? Don't you think it's awfully nice when two people have so much — what shall I call it? — so much analysis that they can discard all these stupid conventions and understand each other and become acquainted right away, like ships that pass in the night?”

“I certainly do! I certainly do!”

He was no longer quiescent in his chair; he wandered about the room, he dropped on the couch beside her. But as he awkwardly stretched his hand toward her fragile, immaculate fingers, she said brightly, “Do give me a cigarette. Would you think poor Tanis was dreadfully naughty if she smoked?”

“Lord, no! I like it!”

He had often and weightily pondered flappers smoking in Zenith restaurants, but he knew only one woman who smoked — Mrs. Sam Doppelbrau, his flighty neighbor. He ceremoniously lighted Tanis's cigarette, looked for a place to deposit the burnt match, and dropped it into his pocket.

“I'm sure you want a cigar, you poor man!” she crooned.

“Do you mind one?”

“Oh, no! I love the smell of a good cigar; so nice and — so nice and like a man. You'll find an ash-tray in my bedroom, on the table beside the bed, if you don't mind getting it.”

He was embarrassed by her bedroom: the broad couch with a cover of violet silk, mauve curtains striped with gold. Chinese Chippendale bureau, and an amazing row of slippers, with ribbon-wound shoe-trees, and primrose stockings lying across them. His manner of bringing the ash-tray had just the right note of easy friendliness, he felt. “A boob like Verg Gunch would try to get funny about seeing her bedroom, but I take it casually.” He was not casual afterward. The contentment of companionship was gone, and he was restless with desire to touch her hand. But whenever he turned toward her, the cigarette was in his way. It was a shield between them. He waited till she should have finished, but as he rejoiced at her quick crushing of its light on the ashtray she said, “Don't you want to give me another cigarette?” and hopelessly he saw the screen of pale smoke and her graceful tilted hand again between them. He was not merely curious now to find out whether she would let him hold her hand (all in the purest friendship, naturally), but agonized with need of it.

On the surface appeared none of all this fretful drama. They were talking cheerfully of motors, of trips to California, of Chum Frink. Once he said delicately, “I do hate these guys — I hate these people that invite themselves to meals, but I seem to have a feeling I'm going to have supper with the lovely Mrs. Tanis Judique to-night. But I suppose you probably have seven dates already.”

“Well, I was thinking some of going to the movies. Yes, I really think I ought to get out and get some fresh air.”

She did not encourage him to stay, but never did she discourage him. He considered, “I better take a sneak! She WILL let me stay — there IS something doing — and I mustn't get mixed up with — I mustn't — I've got to beat it.” Then, “No. it's too late now.”

Suddenly, at seven, brushing her cigarette away, brusquely taking her hand:

“Tanis! Stop teasing me! You know we — Here we are, a couple of lonely birds, and we're awful happy together. Anyway I am! Never been so happy! Do let me stay! I'll gallop down to the delicatessen and buy some stuff — cold chicken maybe — or cold turkey — and we can have a nice little supper, and afterwards, if you want to chase me out, I'll be good and go like a lamb.”

“Well — yes — it would be nice,” she said.

Nor did she withdraw her hand. He squeezed it, trembling, and blundered toward his coat. At the delicatessen he bought preposterous stores of food, chosen on the principle of expensiveness. From the drug store across the street he telephoned to his wife, “Got to get a fellow to sign a lease before he leaves town on the midnight. Won't be home till late. Don't wait up for me. Kiss Tinka good-night.” He expectantly lumbered back to the flat.

“Oh, you bad thing, to buy so much food!” was her greeting, and her voice was gay, her smile acceptant.

He helped her in the tiny white kitchen; he washed the lettuce, he opened the olive bottle. She ordered him to set the table, and as he trotted into the living-room, as he hunted through the buffet for knives and forks, he felt utterly at home.

“Now the only other thing,” he announced, “is what you're going to wear. I can't decide whether you're to put on your swellest evening gown, or let your hair down and put on short skirts and make-believe you're a little girl.”

“I'm going to dine just as I am, in this old chiffon rag, and if you can't stand poor Tanis that way, you can go to the club for dinner!”

“Stand you!” He patted her shoulder. “Child, you're the brainiest and the loveliest and finest woman I've ever met! Come now, Lady Wycombe, if you'll take the Duke of Zenith's arm, we will proambulate in to the magnolious feed!”

“Oh, you do say the funniest, nicest things!”

When they had finished the picnic supper he thrust his head out of the window and reported, “It's turned awful chilly, and I think it's going to rain. You don't want to go to the movies.”

“Well — ”

“I wish we had a fireplace! I wish it was raining like all get-out to-night, and we were in a funny little old-fashioned cottage, and the trees thrashing like everything outside, and a great big log fire and — I'll tell you! Let's draw this couch up to the radiator, and stretch our feet out, and pretend it's a wood-fire.”

“Oh, I think that's pathetic! You big child!”

But they did draw up to the radiator, and propped their feet against it — his clumsy black shoes, her patent-leather slippers. In the dimness they talked of themselves; of how lonely she was, how bewildered he, and how wonderful that they had found each other. As they fell silent the room was stiller than a country lane. There was no sound from the street save the whir of motor-tires, the rumble of a distant freight-train. Self-contained was the room, warm, secure, insulated from the harassing world.

He was absorbed by a rapture in which all fear and doubting were smoothed away; and when he reached home, at dawn, the rapture had mellowed to contentment serene and full of memories.

Table of Contents

I

The assurance of Tanis Judique's friendship fortified Babbitt's self-approval. At the Athletic 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 lugging him in for? You been touting 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 bucks apiece,” suggested Sidney Finkelstein.