lets the Legislature understand
just where they get off in this matter of taxing realty transfers." Wing
uttered approving grunts and Babbitt swelled--gloated.

The blind of a Pullman compartment was raised, and Babbitt looked
into an unfamiliar world. The occupant of the compartment was Lucile
McKelvey, the pretty wife of the millionaire contractor. Possibly,
Babbitt thrilled, she was going to Europe! On the seat beside her was a
bunch of orchids and violets, and a yellow paper-bound book which seemed
foreign. While he stared, she picked up the book, then glanced out of
the window as though she was bored. She must have looked straight at
him, and he had met her, but she gave no sign. She languidly pulled down
the blind, and he stood still, a cold feeling of insignificance in his
heart.

But on the train his pride was restored by meeting delegates from
Sparta, Pioneer, and other smaller cities of the state, who listened
respectfully when, as a magnifico from the metropolis of Zenith,
he explained politics and the value of a Good Sound Business
Administration. They fell joyfully into shop-talk, the purest and most
rapturous form of conversation:

"How'd this fellow Rountree make out with this big apartment-hotel he
was going to put up? Whadde do? Get out bonds to finance it?" asked a
Sparta broker.

"Well, I'll tell you," said Babbitt. "Now if I'd been handling it--"

"So," Elbert Wing was droning, "I hired this shop-window for a week, and
put up a big sign, 'Toy Town for Tiny Tots,' and stuck in a lot of doll
houses and some dinky little trees, and then down at the bottom, 'Baby
Likes This Dollydale, but Papa and Mama Will Prefer Our Beautiful
Bungalows,' and you know, that certainly got folks talking, and first
week we sold--"

The trucks sang "lickety-lick, lickety-lick" as the train ran through
the factory district. Furnaces spurted flame, and power-hammers were
clanging. Red lights, green lights, furious white lights rushed past,
and Babbitt was important again, and eager.

IV

He did a voluptuous thing: he had his clothes pressed on the train. In
the morning, half an hour before they reached Monarch, the porter came
to his berth and whispered, "There's a drawing-room vacant, sir. I put
your suit in there." In tan autumn overcoat over his pajamas, Babbitt
slipped down the green-curtain-lined aisle to the glory of his first
private compartment. The porter indicated that he knew Babbitt was
used to a man