In the midst of these more diffident invitations,
the golden doors of the ballroom opened with a blatting
of trumpets, and a circus parade rolled in. It
was composed of the Zenith brokers, dressed as cowpunchers,
bareback riders, Japanese jugglers. At the head
was big Warren Whitby, in the bearskin and gold-and-crimson
coat of a drum-major. Behind him, as a clown,
beating a bass drum, extraordinarily happy and noisy,
was Babbitt.
Warren Whitby leaped on the platform, made merry play
with his baton, and observed, “Boyses and girlses,
the time has came to get down to cases. A dyed-in-the-wool
Zenithite sure loves his neighbors, but we’ve
made up our minds to grab this convention off our neighbor
burgs like we’ve grabbed the condensed-milk
business and the paper-box business and—”
J. Harry Barmhill, the convention chairman, hinted,
“We’re grateful to you, Mr. Uh, but you
must give the other boys a chance to hand in their
bids now.”
A fog-horn voice blared, “In Eureka we’ll
promise free motor rides through the prettiest country—”
Running down the aisle, clapping his hands, a lean
bald young man cried, “I’m from Sparta!
Our Chamber of Commerce has wired me they’ve
set aside eight thousand dollars, in real money, for
the entertainment of the convention!”
A clerical-looking man rose to clamor, “Money
talks! Move we accept the bid from Sparta!”
It was accepted.
The Committee on Resolutions was reporting. They
said that Whereas Almighty God in his beneficent mercy
had seen fit to remove to a sphere of higher usefulness
some thirty-six realtors of the state the past year,
Therefore it was the sentiment of this convention assembled
that they were sorry God had done it, and the secretary
should be, and hereby was, instructed to spread these
resolutions on the minutes, and to console the bereaved
families by sending them each a copy.
A second resolution authorized the president of the
S.A.R.E.B. to spend fifteen thousand dollars in lobbying
for sane tax measures in the State Legislature.
This resolution had a good deal to say about Menaces
to Sound Business and clearing the Wheels of Progress
from ill-advised and shortsighted obstacles.
The Committee on Committees reported, and with startled
awe Babbitt learned that he had been appointed a member
of the Committee on Torrens Titles.
He rejoiced, “I said it was going to be a great
year! Georgie, old son, you got big things ahead
of you! You’re a natural-born orator and
a good mixer and—Zowie!”
There was no formal entertainment provided for the
last evening. Babbitt had planned to go home,
but that afternoon the Jered Sassburgers of Pioneer
suggested that Babbitt and W. A. Rogers have tea with
them at the Catalpa Inn.
