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Updated: May 26, 2025
Babbitt ordered yesterday by 'phone, and it will be all ready for you." At ten-thirty she telephoned to him not to forget the ice cream from Vecchia's. He was surprised and blasted then by a thought. He wondered whether Floral Heights dinners were worth the hideous toil involved. But he repented the sacrilege in the excitement of buying the materials for cocktails.
He went home in a touchy temper. The first thing he heard was his wife's agitated: "George! DID you remember to go to Vecchia's and get the ice cream?" "Say! Look here! Do I ever forget to do things?" "Yes! Often!"
"Well now, it's darn seldom I do, and it certainly makes me tired, after going into a pink-tea joint like Vecchia's and having to stand around looking at a lot of half-naked young girls, all rouged up like they were sixty and eating a lot of stuff that simply ruins their stomachs " "Oh, it's too bad about you! I've noticed how you hate to look at pretty girls!"
" and I have to go out and buy the flowers, and fix them, and set the table, and order the salted almonds, and look at the chickens, and arrange for the children to have their supper upstairs and And I simply must depend on you to go to Vecchia's for the ice cream." "All riiiiiight! Gosh, I'm going to get it!" "All you have to do is to go in and say you want the ice cream that Mrs.
"I guess you mean my Tux. I tell you, of all the doggone nonsensical nuisances that was ever invented " Three minutes later, after Babbitt had wailed, "Well, I don't know whether I'm going to dress or NOT" in a manner which showed that he was going to dress, the discussion moved on. "Now, George, you mustn't forget to call in at Vecchia's on the way home and get the ice cream.
All afternoon he snorted and chuckled and gurgled over his ability to "give the Boys a real shot in the arm to-night." He was, in fact, so exhilarated that he was within a block of his house before he remembered that there was a certain matter, mentioned by his wife, of fetching ice cream from Vecchia's. He explained, "Well, darn it " and drove back.
Vecchia's shop had pale blue woodwork, tracery of plaster roses, attendants in frilled aprons, and glass shelves of "kisses" with all the refinement that inheres in whites of eggs. Babbitt felt heavy and thick amid this professional daintiness, and as he waited for the ice cream he decided, with hot prickles at the back of his neck, that a girl customer was giggling at him.
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