sion project and the City Planning Committee--and then, too,
it should have a social aspect, being made up of the best people--have
dances and so on, especially as one of the best ways it can put the
kibosh on cranks is to apply this social boycott business to folks big
enough so you can't reach 'em otherwise. Then if that don't work, the G.
C. L. can finally send a little delegation around to inform folks that
get too flip that they got to conform to decent standards and quit
shooting off their mouths so free. Don't it sound like the organization
could do a great work? We've already got some of the strongest men in
town, and of course we want you in. How about it?"

Babbitt was uncomfortable. He felt a compulsion back to all the
standards he had so vaguely yet so desperately been fleeing. He fumbled:

"I suppose you'd especially light on fellows like Seneca Doane and try
to make 'em--"

"You bet your sweet life we would! Look here, old Georgie: I've never
for one moment believed you meant it when you've defended Doane, and the
strikers and so on, at the Club. I knew you were simply kidding those
poor galoots like Sid Finkelstein.... At least I certainly hope you were
kidding!"

"Oh, well--sure--Course you might say--" Babbitt was conscious of how
feeble he sounded, conscious of Gunch's mature and relentless eye.
"Gosh, you know where I stand! I'm no labor agitator! I'm a business
man, first, last, and all the time! But--but honestly, I don't think
Doane means so badly, and you got to remember he's an old friend of
mine."

"George, when it comes right down to a struggle between decency and the
security of our homes on the one hand, and red ruin and those lazy
dogs plotting for free beer on the other, you got to give up even old
friendships. 'He that is not with me is against me.'"

"Ye-es, I suppose--"

"How about it? Going to join us in the Good Citizens' League?"

"I'll have to think it over, Verg."

"All right, just as you say." Babbitt was relieved to be let off so
easily, but Gunch went on: "George, I don't know what's come over you;
none of us do; and we've talked a lot about you. For a while we figured
out you'd been upset by what happened to poor Riesling, and we forgave
you for any fool thing you said, but that's old stuff now, George, and
we can't make out what's got into you. Personally, I've always defended
you, but I must say it's getting too much for me. All the boys at the
Athletic Club and the