“Hang it, you’re always letting on that Paul goes round chasing skirts.
He doesn’t, in the first place, and if he did, it would prob’ly be because you keep hinting at him and dinging at him so much.
I hadn’t meant to, Zilla, but since Paul is away, in Akron—”
“He really is in Akron?
I know he has some horrible woman that he writes to in Chicago.”
“Didn’t I tell you I saw him in Akron?
What ‘re you trying to do?
Make me out a liar?”
“No, but I just—I get so worried.”
“Now, there you are!
That’s what gets me!
Here you love Paul, and yet you plague him and cuss him out as if you hated him.
I simply can’t understand why it is that the more some folks love people, the harder they try to make ‘em miserable.”
“You love Ted and Rone—I suppose—and yet you nag them.”
“Oh. Well.
That. That’s different.
Besides, I don’t nag ‘em.
Not what you’d call nagging.
But zize saying: Now, here’s Paul, the nicest, most sensitive critter on God’s green earth.
You ought to be ashamed of yourself the way you pan him.
Why, you talk to him like a washerwoman.
I’m surprised you can act so doggone common, Zilla!”
She brooded over her linked fingers.
“Oh, I know.
I do go and get mean sometimes, and I’m sorry afterwards.
But, oh, Georgie, Paul is so aggravating!
Honestly, I’ve tried awfully hard, these last few years, to be nice to him, but just because I used to be spiteful—or I seemed so; I wasn’t, really, but I used to speak up and say anything that came into my head—and so he made up his mind that everything was my fault.
Everything can’t always be my fault, can it?
And now if I get to fussing, he just turns silent, oh, so dreadfully silent, and he won’t look at me—he just ignores me.
He simply isn’t human!
And he deliberately keeps it up till I bust out and say a lot of things I don’t mean.
So silent—Oh, you righteous men!
How wicked you are!
How rotten wicked!”
They thrashed things over and over for half an hour. At the end, weeping drably, Zilla promised to restrain herself.
Paul returned four days later, and the Babbitts and Rieslings went festively to the movies and had chop suey at a Chinese restaurant.
As they walked to the restaurant through a street of tailor shops and barber shops, the two wives in front, chattering about cooks, Babbitt murmured to Paul,
“Zil seems a lot nicer now.”
“Yes, she has been, except once or twice.
But it’s too late now.
I just—I’m not going to discuss it, but I’m afraid of her.
There’s nothing left. I don’t ever want to see her.
Some day I’m going to break away from her.
Somehow.”
CHAPTER XXI
THE International Organization of Boosters’ Clubs has become a world-force for optimism, manly pleasantry, and good business.
Chapters are to be found now in thirty countries. Nine hundred and twenty of the thousand chapters, however, are in the United States.
None of these is more ardent than the Zenith Boosters’ Club.
The second March lunch of the Zenith Boosters was the most important of the year, as it was to be followed by the annual election of officers.
There was agitation abroad.