Sloan Wilson - Man in the Gray Flannel Suit

There was mild applause as Tom stepped down from the platform. Almost immediately Parkington was on his feet. “I just want to warn everybody here that breaking up the Rath estate is just the beginning,” he said. “If we don’t hold taxes down, other big estates will go. I’ve just heard that the big place the president of a broadcasting company built down by the water has been placed on the market.”

“I know a little about that, and it doesn’t have anything to do with schools or taxes,” Tom said quickly.

“Maybe,” Parkington replied, “but if the big estates go, and we keep on building schools, our taxes will be doubled!”

“I don’t think the big estates will go just because we build a new school, and even if they do, I don’t think we’re so poor and so helpless we can’t educate our children,” Tom said.

“That sounds fine,” Parkington retorted heatedly, “but I’m telling you here and now that if we replace the big estates with housing projects, South Bay will become a slum within ten years — a slum, I tell you, a slum!”

He paused, and the silence was impressive.

“I don’t agree with you,” Tom said quietly. “We won’t let the town become a slum.” He started walking toward the back of the hall to rejoin Betsy. Immediately a dozen people were on their feet asking Bernstein for permission to be heard. Antonio Bugala, the contractor, began an impassioned plea for increased business opportunities. For more than an hour the argument raged back and forth, the voices becoming louder and more strident. Tom glanced at Betsy. She looked scared. How curious, he thought, that we should be so dependent — that so much of our future should depend on what all these shouting people decide. His head started to ache, and he longed for the cool air outside.

Finally there was a pause. “Does anyone have anything more to add about the construction of a new school?” Bernstein asked wearily.

Parkington jumped to his feet again immediately. “To sum it all up, a vote for a school is a vote for a housing project Tom Rath admits he’s planning,” he said. “That’s a vote to make this town a slum!”

Bernstein raised his gavel. “If there are no more opinions to be heard. ” he said.

“A slum!” Parkington repeated portentously.

“I hereby declare this meeting at a. ” Bernstein began.

“Wait a minute!” Betsy called impetuously, and suddenly found herself on her feet. Tom looked at her in astonishment and saw that her face was flushed.

“Mrs. Rath has the floor,” Bernstein said.

For an instant Betsy hesitated. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just didn’t want this meeting to end with the word slum. ”

The audience was attentive.

“The children need a new school,” Betsy continued. “Don’t let our housing project be used as a weapon against. ”

“This will be only the beginning. ” Parkington interrupted.

“Mr. Parkington!” Betsy cut in with remarkable self-possession. “I don’t think that growth will necessarily hurt the town. And although I may be taking advantage of being a woman, I refuse to let you have the last word!”

The audience laughed, and although Parkington said something, no one could hear him. Bernstein banged his gavel. Gradually the hall quieted. “I think we’ve heard the full expression of all relevant opinions,” Bernstein said. “I remind you that a week from today we vote on this issue. This meeting stands adjourned!”

On the way out of the Town Hall, Betsy clung tightly to Tom’s arm, and he saw that she had been shaken. “I was proud of you,” he said.

She smiled up at him. “I was proud of you too,” she replied. “You were wonderful.”

Going home in the car she sat very close to him. After leaving the car in the old carriage house, they walked up to the house, arm in arm. The sitter they had left with the children met them at the door. “There was a telephone call for you, Mr. Rath,” she said. “A Mr. Hopkins called from New York. He left his number and wants you to call him back.”

Tom put the call through immediately. Hopkins answered the telephone himself. “Hello, Tom!” he said. “Sorry to bother you so late, but I just decided to fly out to Hollywood tomorrow, and I thought you might like to go with me.”

“Hollywood?”

“Yes. We’re thinking of organizing a subsidiary company out there to produce some of our programs on film, and I have to go out. I thought it might be a good chance for you to come along with me and learn something about that end of the business.”

“Thanks,” Tom said. “I’d love to. How long will we be gone?”

“Only four or five days. I’ve had reservations booked on Flight 227 leaving La Guardia at ten in the morning. Meet me there.”

“Certainly!” Tom said. “Certainly! Thanks very much.”

He put the telephone down and said somewhat bewilderedly to Betsy, “Hopkins wants me to fly out to Hollywood with him.”

“What for?”

“I don’t know. He thinks I should learn something about the company’s operations out there.”

“He really is trying to do something for you,” Betsy said. “This is a fantastic opportunity.”

“I guess it is,” Tom replied. “I hope I’ll be back in time for the school election.”

“That’s not as important as this,” she said. “How long do you think you’ll be gone?”

“Just four or five days, according to Hopkins. I hope it won’t be any longer.”

Betsy sat down, looking suddenly solemn. “Gosh, it’s going to be lonely around here,” she said. “Do you realize that we haven’t been away from each other that long since the war?”

“It will be lonely for me too,” Tom said, and sat down beside her. She had dressed up for the school meeting and was wearing a dark-blue dress with silver buttons. How young she looks, he thought — she looks almost as young as she did before the war.

“I wish we had more time together,” she said. “Things have been so hectic lately.”

“I know.”

“When do you think you can get your vacation?”

“I guess I could get a week off any time I wanted.”

“If things go well,” she said, “let’s see if we can get somebody like Mrs. Manter to come in and take care of the kids. I’d love to go off on a trip somewhere — just you and I alone together. We wouldn’t have to go far.”

“It would be fun,” he said.

“Maybe we could get a cottage up in Vermont. We could just go there and swim in a lake, maybe, and talk. The way things are going now, we hardly see each other, Tommy! I hate this business of your working every week end. You’re always running for a train. We ought to just go off somewhere alone together. We haven’t done that for ages.”

“Maybe we can.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost midnight,” he said. “We better get to bed — I’ll have to leave here at eight in the morning to make that plane.”

“Eight hours,” she said. “We’ve got eight hours — that’s still quite a lot of time.”

He glanced at her, startled. She smiled hesitantly at him. It was true: time had become precious again.

THE NEXT MORNING Tom got to the airport before Hopkins did. He waited at the gate where Flight 227 was posted. In a few moments he saw Hopkins walking toward him. Hopkins looked small — a short, almost frail-appearing man hurrying across the terminal, holding a huge hard leather briefcase in his hand. “Good morning, Tom!” he said briskly. “It’s good of you to come on such short notice as this!”

“No trouble at all,” Tom replied, still avoiding the use of Hopkins’ name, because he couldn’t make up his mind whether to call him “Ralph” or not. They walked aboard the plane, and Hopkins politely resisted the efforts of a stewardess to put his briefcase in the luggage compartment — it was so big that she thought it was a suitcase. No one aboard the plane recognized Hopkins. Tom had grown so used to seeing him deferred to in the United Broadcasting building that it was a shock to see him treated like anyone else. Hopkins obviously didn’t mind — if anything, he appeared more diffident and more anxious to be polite than anyone else on the plane. He meekly allowed himself to be jostled away from the seat he was heading for, and when the stewardess offered him some chewing gum, he said, “Thank you — thank you very much, but I think not. I don’t chew gum,” and smiled apologetically, being almost absurdly careful not to hurt her feelings. She smiled back at him. What a nice little man, she thought.