ut
Tanis, she'd tell me I was all right."

Then he broke, and one evening, late, he did run to Tanis. He had not
dared to hope for it, but she was in, and alone. Only she wasn't Tanis.
She was a courteous, brow-lifting, ice-armored woman who looked like
Tanis. She said, "Yes, George, what is it?" in even and uninterested
tones, and he crept away, whipped.

His first comfort was from Ted and Eunice Littlefield.

They danced in one evening when Ted was home from the university, and
Ted chuckled, "What's this I hear from Euny, dad? She says her dad says
you raised Cain by boosting old Seneca Doane. Hot dog! Give 'em fits!
Stir 'em up! This old burg is asleep!" Eunice plumped down on Babbitt's
lap, kissed him, nestled her bobbed hair against his chin, and crowed;
"I think you're lots nicer than Howard. Why is it," confidentially,
"that Howard is such an old grouch? The man has a good heart, and
honestly, he's awfully bright, but he never will learn to step on the
gas, after all the training I've given him. Don't you think we could do
something with him, dearest?"

"Why, Eunice, that isn't a nice way to speak of your papa," Babbitt
observed, in the best Floral Heights manner, but he was happy for
the first time in weeks. He pictured himself as the veteran liberal
strengthened by the loyalty of the young generation. They went out to
rifle the ice-box. Babbitt gloated, "If your mother caught us at this,
we'd certainly get our come-uppance!" and Eunice became maternal,
scrambled a terrifying number of eggs for them, kissed Babbitt on the
ear, and in the voice of a brooding abbess marveled, "It beats the devil
why feminists like me still go on nursing these men!"

Thus stimulated, Babbitt was reckless when he encountered Sheldon
Smeeth, educational director of the Y.M.C.A. and choir-leader of the
Chatham Road Church. With one of his damp hands Smeeth imprisoned
Babbitt's thick paw while he chanted, "Brother Babbitt, we haven't seen
you at church very often lately. I know you're busy with a multitude
of details, but you mustn't forget your dear friends at the old church
home."

Babbitt shook off the affectionate clasp--Sheldy liked to hold hands for
a long time--and snarled, "Well, I guess you fellows can run the show
without me. Sorry, Smeeth; got to beat it. G'day."

But afterward he winced, "If that white worm had the nerve to try to
drag me back to the Old Church Home, then the holy outfit must have been
doing a lot