Verona and Kenneth Escott were eventually and hesitatingly married. For the wedding Babbitt was dressed as carefully as was Verona; he was crammed into the morning-coat he wore to teas thrice a year; and with a certain relief, after Verona and Kenneth had driven away in a limousine, he returned to the house, removed the morning coat, sat with his aching feet up on the davenport, and reflected that his wife and he could have the living-room to themselves now, and not have to listen to Verona and Kenneth worrying, in a cultured collegiate manner, about minimum wages and the Drama League. But even this sinking into peace was less consoling than his return to being one of the best-loved men in the Boosters’ Club. IV President Willis Ijams began that Boosters’ Club luncheon by standing quiet and staring at them so unhappily that they feared he was about to announce the death of a Brother Booster. He spoke slowly then, and gravely: “Boys, I have something shocking to reveal to you; something terrible about one of our own members.” Several Boosters, including Babbitt, looked disconcerted. “A knight of the grip, a trusted friend of mine, recently made a trip up-state, and in a certain town, where a certain Booster spent his boyhood, he found out something which can no longer be concealed. In fact, he discovered the inward nature of a man whom we have accepted as a Real Guy and as one of us. Gentlemen, I cannot trust my voice to say it, so I have written it down.” He uncovered a large blackboard and on it, in huge capitals, was the legend: George Follansbee Babbitt--oh you Folly! The Boosters cheered, they laughed, they wept, they threw rolls at Babbitt, they cried, “Speech, speech! Oh you Folly!” President Ijams continued: “That, gentlemen, is the awful thing Georgie Babbitt has been concealing all these years, when we thought he was just plain George F. Now I want you to tell us, taking it in turn, what you’ve always supposed the F. stood for.” Flivver, they suggested, and Frog-face and Flathead and Farinaceous and Freezone and Flapdoodle and Foghorn. By the joviality of their insults Babbitt knew that he had been taken back to their hearts, and happily he rose. “Boys, I’ve got to admit it. I’ve never worn a wrist-watch, or parted my name in the middle, but I will confess to ‘Follansbee.’ My only justification is that my old dad--though otherwise he was perfectly sane, and packed an awful wallop when it came to trimming the City Fellers at checkers--named me after the family doc, old Dr. Ambrose Follansbee. I apologize, boys. In my next what-d’you-call-it I’ll see to it that I get named something really practical--something that sounds swell and yet is good and virile--something, in fact, like that grand old name so familiar to every household--that bold and almost overpowering name, Willis Jimjams Ijams!”