on carburetors. The only "human people" whom she invited, Babbitt
raged, were the Littlefields; and Howard Littlefield at times became so
statistical that Babbitt longed for the refreshment of Gunch's, "Well,
old lemon-pie-face, what's the good word?"

Immediately after lunch Mrs. Babbitt began to set the table for the
seven-thirty dinner to the McKelveys, and Babbitt was, by order, home at
four. But they didn't find anything for him to do, and three times Mrs.
Babbitt scolded, "Do please try to keep out of the way!" He stood in the
door of the garage, his lips drooping, and wished that Littlefield or
Sam Doppelbrau or somebody would come along and talk to him. He saw Ted
sneaking about the corner of the house.

"What's the matter, old man?" said Babbitt.

"Is that you, thin, owld one? Gee, Ma certainly is on the warpath!
I told her Rone and I would jus' soon not be let in on the fiesta
to-night, and she bit me. She says I got to take a bath, too. But, say,
the Babbitt men will be some lookers to-night! Little Theodore in a
dress-suit!"

"The Babbitt men!" Babbitt liked the sound of it. He put his arm about
the boy's shoulder. He wished that Paul Riesling had a daughter, so that
Ted might marry her. "Yes, your mother is kind of rouncing round, all
right," he said, and they laughed together, and sighed together, and
dutifully went in to dress.

The McKelveys were less than fifteen minutes late.

Babbitt hoped that the Doppelbraus would see the McKelveys' limousine,
and their uniformed chauffeur, waiting in front.

The dinner was well cooked and incredibly plentiful, and Mrs. Babbitt
had brought out her grandmother's silver candlesticks. Babbitt worked
hard. He was good. He told none of the jokes he wanted to tell. He
listened to the others. He started Maxwell off with a resounding, "Let's
hear about your trip to the Yellowstone." He was laudatory, extremely
laudatory. He found opportunities to remark that Dr. Angus was a
benefactor to humanity, Maxwell and Howard Littlefield profound
scholars, Charles McKelvey an inspiration to ambitious youth, and Mrs.
McKelvey an adornment to the social circles of Zenith, Washington, New
York, Paris, and numbers of other places.

But he could not stir them. It was a dinner without a soul. For no
reason that was clear to Babbitt, heaviness was over them and they spoke
laboriously and unwillingly.

He concentrated on Lucille McKelvey, carefully not looking at her
blanched lov