He patted Gunch’s shoulder, and next day he became a member of the Good Citizens’ League.
Within two weeks no one in the League was more violent regarding the wickedness of Seneca Doane, the crimes of labor unions, the perils of immigration, and the delights of golf, morality, and bank-accounts than was George F. Babbitt.
CHAPTER XXXIV I
THE Good Citizens’ League had spread through the country, but nowhere was it so effective and well esteemed as in cities of the type of Zenith, commercial cities of a few hundred thousand inhabitants, most of which—though not all—lay inland, against a background of cornfields and mines and of small towns which depended upon them for mortgage-loans, table-manners, art, social philosophy and millinery.
To the League belonged most of the prosperous citizens of Zenith.
They were not all of the kind who called themselves “Regular Guys.”
Besides these hearty fellows, these salesmen of prosperity, there were the aristocrats, that is, the men who were richer or had been rich for more generations: the presidents of banks and of factories, the land-owners, the corporation lawyers, the fashionable doctors, and the few young-old men who worked not at all but, reluctantly remaining in Zenith, collected luster-ware and first editions as though they were back in Paris.
All of them agreed that the working-classes must be kept in their place; and all of them perceived that American Democracy did not imply any equality of wealth, but did demand a wholesome sameness of thought, dress, painting, morals, and vocabulary.
In this they were like the ruling-class of any other country, particularly of Great Britain, but they differed in being more vigorous and in actually trying to produce the accepted standards which all classes, everywhere, desire, but usually despair of realizing.
The longest struggle of the Good Citizens’ League was against the Open Shop—which was secretly a struggle against all union labor.
Accompanying it was an Americanization Movement, with evening classes in English and history and economics, and daily articles in the newspapers, so that newly arrived foreigners might learn that the true-blue and one hundred per cent. American way of settling labor-troubles was for workmen to trust and love their employers.
The League was more than generous in approving other organizations which agreed with its aims.
It helped the Y.M. C.A. to raise a two-hundred-thousand-dollar fund for a new building.
Babbitt, Vergil Gunch, Sidney Finkelstein, and even Charles McKelvey told the spectators at movie theaters how great an influence for manly Christianity the “good old Y.” had been in their own lives; and the hoar and mighty Colonel Rutherford Snow, owner of the Advocate-Times, was photographed clasping the hand of Sheldon Smeeth of the Y.M.C.A.
It is true that afterward, when Smeeth lisped,
“You must come to one of our prayer-meetings,” the ferocious Colonel bellowed,
“What the hell would I do that for?
I’ve got a bar of my own,” but this did not appear in the public prints.
The League was of value to the American Legion at a time when certain of the lesser and looser newspapers were criticizing that organization of veterans of the Great War.
One evening a number of young men raided the Zenith Socialist Headquarters, burned its records, beat the office staff, and agreeably dumped desks out of the window.
All of the newspapers save the Advocate-Times and the Evening Advocate attributed this valuable but perhaps hasty direct-action to the American Legion.
Then a flying squadron from the Good Citizens’ League called on the unfair papers and explained that no ex-soldier could possibly do such a thing, and the editors saw the light, and retained their advertising.
When Zenith’s lone Conscientious Objector came home from prison and was righteously run out of town, the newspapers referred to the perpetrators as an “unidentified mob.” II
In all the activities and triumphs of the Good Citizens’ League Babbitt took part, and completely won back to self-respect, placidity, and the affection of his friends.
But he began to protest,
“Gosh, I’ve done my share in cleaning up the city.
I want to tend to business.
Think I’ll just kind of slacken up on this G.C.L. stuff now.”
He had returned to the church as he had returned to the Boosters’ Club.
He had even endured the lavish greeting which Sheldon Smeeth gave him.
He was worried lest during his late discontent he had imperiled his salvation.
He was not quite sure there was a Heaven to be attained, but Dr. John Jennison Drew said there was, and Babbitt was not going to take a chance.
One evening when he was walking past Dr. Drew’s parsonage he impulsively went in and found the pastor in his study.
“Jus’ minute—getting ‘phone call,” said Dr. Drew in businesslike tones, then, aggressively, to the telephone: “‘Lo—‘lo!
This Berkey and Hannis?
Reverend Drew speaking.
Where the dickens is the proof for next Sunday’s calendar?
Huh?
Y’ ought to have it here.
Well, I can’t help it if they’re ALL sick!
I got to have it to-night.
Get an A.D.T. boy and shoot it up here quick.”
He turned, without slackening his briskness.
“Well, Brother Babbitt, what c’n I do for you?”
“I just wanted to ask—Tell you how it is, dominie: Here a while ago I guess I got kind of slack.
Took a few drinks and so on.
What I wanted to ask is: How is it if a fellow cuts that all out and comes back to his senses?
Does it sort of, well, you might say, does it score against him in the long run?”
The Reverend Dr. Drew was suddenly interested.
“And, uh, brother—the other things, too?