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Updated: June 17, 2025
He could hear A.D.T. boys and loafers in front of pool rooms whispering, "Look at the piker in the rented soup and fish!" For of course he'd rent one. Nobody bought them except plutes like Henry B. Boltwood. He agitatedly walked up and down for an hour, peering into haberdashery windows, looking for a kind-faced young man.
But when he's all through it amounts to this: He needs the loan of a couple of hundred cash the worst way, and he wants to be put next to a few plutes that are in the market for new trolley franchises. If I can boost him along that way, it'll relieve his mind so much that he'll be in just the right mood to go into my personal hist'ry as deep as I care to dip.
It was of no use for the old man to plead for the "country"; to Jimmie the "country" had let itself be lost, suppressed, taken over by the capitalists, the "plutes". Jimmie's sense of loyalty was not to his country, but to his class, which had been exploited, hounded, driven from pillar to post.
McKelvey snarled, "That means you're not going to join, George?" Something black and unfamiliar and ferocious spoke from Babbitt: "Now, you look here, Charley! I'm damned if I'm going to be bullied into joining anything, not even by you plutes!" "We're not bullying anybody," Dr. Dilling began, but Colonel Snow thrust him aside with, "Certainly we are!
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