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Updated: May 26, 2025
"Pretty nice, huh? Willis Ijams is the new president, but when he's away, little ole Georgie takes the gavel and whoops 'em up and introduces the speakers no matter if they're the governor himself and " "George! Listen!" " It puts him in solid with big men like Doc Dilling and " "George! Paul Riesling " "Yes, sure, I'll 'phone Paul and let him know about it right away." "Georgie!
It took a day for the round trip. Her daughter was gone now with a load. Daylight knew that in the hotels, Riesling, not quite so good even, was charged for at from a dollar and a half to two dollars a quart. And she got twenty-two cents a gallon. That was the game.
In fifteen minutes he was pounding down the prison corridor to a cage where Paul Riesling sat on a cot, twisted like an old beggar, legs crossed, arms in a knot, biting at his clenched fist. Paul looked up blankly as the keeper unlocked the cell, admitted Babbitt, and left them together. He spoke slowly: "Go on! Be moral!" Babbitt plumped on the couch beside him. "I'm not going to be moral!
The attendant returned with "Riesling says he don't want to see you." "You're crazy! You didn't give him my name! Tell him it's George wants to see him, George Babbitt." "Yuh, I told him, all right, all right! He said he didn't want to see you." "Then take me in anyway." "Nothing doing. If you ain't his lawyer, if he don't want to see you, that's all there is to it."
It was agreed that the saloons would have to go. This satisfactory conclusion was reached before the coffee came on and the cigarettes, and the sound quality of the Riesling was emphasized by a pony of cognac. It is fortunate when the youth of a country have an ideal. No nation is truly great without a common ideal, capable of evoking enthusiasm and calling out its energies.
Of course by-and-by " There was no by-and-by, yet his belief that he had crushed the unclean habit made him feel noble and very happy. When he called up Paul Riesling he was, in his moral splendor, unusually eager. He was fonder of Paul Riesling than of any one on earth except himself and his daughter Tinka.
It was so absorbing an occasion that he almost forgot his desire to run off to Maine with Paul Riesling. Though he had been born in the village of Catawba, Babbitt had risen to that metropolitan social plane on which hosts have as many as four people at dinner without planning it for more than an evening or two.
Despite their resolution to be democratic they divided into two sets: the men with dress-clothes and the men without. Though he was, almost frankly, out for social conquest, he sought Paul Riesling first. He found him alone, neat and silent. Paul sighed, "I'm no good at this handshaking and 'well, look who's here' bunk." "Rats now, Paulibus, loosen up and be a mixer! Finest bunch of boys on earth!
Crowded in his car, they came driving up to Turnverein Hall, South Zenith Babbitt, his wife, Verona, Ted, and Paul and Zilla Riesling. The hall was over a delicatessen shop, in a street banging with trolleys and smelling of onions and gasoline and fried fish. A new appreciation of Babbitt filled all of them, including Babbitt.
Babbitt, revolving his hat like a defaulting poor tenant, winced so visibly that Maxwell condescended: "I don't like to hurt your feelings, but you see we both want to do our best for Riesling, and we mustn't consider any other factor. The trouble with you, Babbitt, is that you're one of these fellows who talk too readily. You like to hear your own voice.
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