It was a room as superior in comfort to the “parlor” of Babbitt’s boyhood as his motor was superior to his father’s buggy. Though there was nothing in the room that was interesting, there was nothing that was offensive. It was as neat, and as negative, as a block of artificial ice. The fireplace was unsoftened by downy ashes or by sooty brick; the brass fire-irons were of immaculate polish; and the grenadier andirons were like samples in a shop, desolate, unwanted, lifeless things of commerce. Against the wall was a piano, with another piano-lamp, but no one used it save Tinka. The hard briskness of the phonograph contented them; their store of jazz records made them feel wealthy and cultured; and all they knew of creating music was the nice adjustment of a bamboo needle. The books on the table were unspotted and laid in rigid parallels; not one corner of the carpet-rug was curled; and nowhere was there a hockey-stick, a torn picture-book, an old cap, or a gregarious and disorganizing dog. II At home, Babbitt never read with absorption. He was concentrated enough at the office but here he crossed his legs and fidgeted. When his story was interesting he read the best, that is the funniest, paragraphs to his wife; when it did not hold him he coughed, scratched his ankles and his right ear, thrust his left thumb into his vest pocket, jingled his silver, whirled the cigar-cutter and the keys on one end of his watch-chain, yawned, rubbed his nose, and found errands to do. He went upstairs to put on his slippers--his elegant slippers of seal-brown, shaped like medieval shoes. He brought up an apple from the barrel which stood by the trunk-closet in the basement. “An apple a day keeps the doctor away,” he enlightened Mrs. Babbitt, for quite the first time in fourteen hours. “That’s so.” “An apple is Nature’s best regulator.” “Yes, it--” “Trouble with women is, they never have sense enough to form regular habits.” “Well, I--” “Always nibbling and eating between meals.” “George!” She looked up from her reading. “Did you have a light lunch to-day, like you were going to? I did!” This malicious and unprovoked attack astounded him. “Well, maybe it wasn’t as light as-- Went to lunch with Paul and didn’t have much chance to diet. Oh, you needn’t to grin like a chessy cat! If it wasn’t for me watching out and keeping an eye on our diet-- I’m the only member of this family that appreciates the value of oatmeal for breakfast. I--” She stooped over her story while he piously sliced and gulped down the apple, discoursing: “One thing I’ve done: cut down my smoking. “Had kind of a run-in with Graff in the office. He’s getting too darn fresh. I’ll stand for a good deal, but once in a while I got to assert my authority, and I jumped him. ‘Stan,’ I said-- Well, I told him just exactly where he got off. “Funny kind of a day. Makes you feel restless.