Babbitt | Page 6

life know me to wear the coat of
one suit and the pants of another? What do you think I am? A busted
bookkeeper?"
"Well, why don't you put on the dark gray suit to-day, and stop in at the
tailor and leave the brown trousers?"
"Well, they certainly need--Now where the devil is that gray suit? Oh,
yes, here we are."
He was able to get through the other crises of dressing with
comparative resoluteness and calm.
His first adornment was the sleeveless dimity B.V.D. undershirt, in

which he resembled a small boy humorlessly wearing a cheesecloth
tabard at a civic pageant. He never put on B.V.D.'s without thanking
the God of Progress that he didn't wear tight, long, old-fashioned
undergarments, like his father-in-law and partner, Henry Thompson.
His second embellishment was combing and slicking back his hair. It
gave him a tremendous forehead, arching up two inches beyond the
former hair-line. But most wonder-working of all was the donning of
his spectacles.
There is character in spectacles--the pretentious tortoiseshell, the meek
pince-nez of the school teacher, the twisted silver-framed glasses of the
old villager. Babbitt's spectacles had huge, circular, frameless lenses of
the very best glass; the ear-pieces were thin bars of gold. In them he
was the modern business man; one who gave orders to clerks and drove
a car and played occasional golf and was scholarly in regard to
Salesmanship. His head suddenly appeared not babyish but weighty,
and you noted his heavy, blunt nose, his straight mouth and thick, long
upper lip, his chin overfleshy but strong; with respect you beheld him
put on the rest of his uniform as a Solid Citizen.
The gray suit was well cut, well made, and completely undistinguished.
It was a standard suit. White piping on the V of the vest added a flavor
of law and learning. His shoes were black laced boots, good boots,
honest boots, standard boots, extraordinarily uninteresting boots. The
only frivolity was in his purple knitted scarf. With considerable
comment on the matter to Mrs. Babbitt (who, acrobatically fastening
the back of her blouse to her skirt with a safety-pin, did not hear a word
he said), he chose between the purple scarf and a tapestry effect with
stringless brown harps among blown palms, and into it he thrust a
snake-head pin with opal eyes.
A sensational event was changing from the brown suit to the gray the
contents of his pockets. He was earnest about these objects. They were
of eternal importance, like baseball or the Republican Party. They
included a fountain pen and a silver pencil (always lacking a supply of
new leads) which belonged in the righthand upper vest pocket. Without
them he would have felt naked. On his watch-chain were a gold

penknife, silver cigar-cutter, seven keys (the use of two of which he
had forgotten), and incidentally a good watch. Depending from the
chain was a large, yellowish elk's-tooth-proclamation of his
membership in the Brotherly and Protective Order of Elks. Most
significant of all was his loose-leaf pocket note-book, that modern and
efficient note-book which contained the addresses of people whom he
had forgotten, prudent memoranda of postal money-orders which had
reached their destinations months ago, stamps which had lost their
mucilage, clippings of verses by T. Cholmondeley Frink and of the
newspaper editorials from which Babbitt got his opinions and his
polysyllables, notes to be sure and do things which he did not intend to
do, and one curious inscription--D.S.S. D.M.Y.P.D.F.
But he had no cigarette-case. No one had ever happened to give him
one, so he hadn't the habit, and people who carried cigarette-cases he
regarded as effeminate.
Last, he stuck in his lapel the Boosters' Club button. With the
conciseness of great art the button displayed two words:
"Boosters-Pep!" It made Babbitt feel loyal and important. It associated
him with Good Fellows, with men who were nice and human, and
important in business circles. It was his V.C., his Legion of Honor
ribbon, his Phi Beta Kappa key.
With the subtleties of dressing ran other complex worries. "I feel kind
of punk this morning," he said. "I think I had too much dinner last
evening. You oughtn't to serve those heavy banana fritters."
"But you asked me to have some."
"I know, but--I tell you, when a fellow gets past forty he has to look
after his digestion. There's a lot of fellows that don't take proper care of
themselves. I tell you at forty a man's a fool or his doctor--I mean, his
own doctor. Folks don't give enough attention to this matter of dieting.
Now I think--Course a man ought to have a good meal after the day's
work, but it would be a good thing for both of us if we took lighter
lunches."

"But Georgie,