Babbit eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 351 pages of information about Babbit.

III

Before breakfast he always reverted to up-state village boyhood, and shrank from the complex urban demands of shaving, bathing, deciding whether the current shirt was clean enough for another day.  Whenever he stayed home in the evening he went to bed early, and thriftily got ahead in those dismal duties.  It was his luxurious custom to shave while sitting snugly in a tubful of hot water.  He may be viewed to-night as a plump, smooth, pink, baldish, podgy goodman, robbed of the importance of spectacles, squatting in breast-high water, scraping his lather-smeared cheeks with a safety-razor like a tiny lawn-mower, and with melancholy dignity clawing through the water to recover a slippery and active piece of soap.

He was lulled to dreaming by the caressing warmth.  The light fell on the inner surface of the tub in a pattern of delicate wrinkled lines which slipped with a green sparkle over the curving porcelain as the clear water trembled.  Babbitt lazily watched it; noted that along the silhouette of his legs against the radiance on the bottom of the tub, the shadows of the air-bubbles clinging to the hairs were reproduced as strange jungle mosses.  He patted the water, and the reflected light capsized and leaped and volleyed.  He was content and childish.  He played.  He shaved a swath down the calf of one plump leg.

The drain-pipe was dripping, a dulcet and lively song:  drippety drip drip dribble, drippety drip drip drip.  He was enchanted by it.  He looked at the solid tub, the beautiful nickel taps, the tiled walls of the room, and felt virtuous in the possession of this splendor.

He roused himself and spoke gruffly to his bath-things.  “Come here!  You’ve done enough fooling!” he reproved the treacherous soap, and defied the scratchy nail-brush with “Oh, you would, would you!” He soaped himself, and rinsed himself, and austerely rubbed himself; he noted a hole in the Turkish towel, and meditatively thrust a finger through it, and marched back to the bedroom, a grave and unbending citizen.

There was a moment of gorgeous abandon, a flash of melodrama such as he found in traffic-driving, when he laid out a clean collar, discovered that it was frayed in front, and tore it up with a magnificent yeeeeeing sound.

Most important of all was the preparation of his bed and the sleeping-porch.

It is not known whether he enjoyed his sleeping-porch because of the fresh air or because it was the standard thing to have a sleeping-porch.

Just as he was an Elk, a Booster, and a member of the Chamber of Commerce, just as the priests of the Presbyterian Church determined his every religious belief and the senators who controlled the Republican Party decided in little smoky rooms in Washington what he should think about disarmament, tariff, and Germany, so did the large national advertisers fix the surface of his life, fix what he believed to be his individuality.  These standard advertised wares—­toothpastes, socks, tires, cameras, instantaneous hot-water heaters—­were his symbols and proofs of excellence; at first the signs, then the substitutes, for joy and passion and wisdom.

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Project Gutenberg
Babbit from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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