Produced by K Nordquist, Jacqueline Jeremy and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print project.) THE JOB AN AMERICAN NOVEL BY SINCLAIR LEWIS AUTHOR OF MAIN STREET, BABBITT, ETC. GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS     NEW YORK Made in the United States of America Copyright, 1917, by Harper & Brothers Printed in the United States of America Published February, 1917 TO MY WIFE WHO HAS MADE "THE JOB" POSSIBLE AND LIFE ITSELF QUITE BEAUTIFULLY IMPROBABLE CONTENTS Page Part I 3 THE CITY Part II 133 THE OFFICE Part III 251 MAN AND WOMAN Part I THE CITY CHAPTER I Captain Lew Golden would have saved any foreign observer a great deal of trouble in studying America. He was an almost perfect type of the petty small-town middle-class lawyer. He lived in Panama, Pennsylvania. He had never been "captain" of anything except the Crescent Volunteer Fire Company, but he owned the title because he collected rents, wrote insurance, and meddled with lawsuits. He carried a quite visible mustache-comb and wore a collar, but no tie. On warm days he appeared on the street in his shirt-sleeves, and discussed the comparative temperatures of the past thirty years with Doctor Smith and the Mansion House 'bus-driver. He never used the word "beauty" except in reference to a setter dog--beauty of words or music, of faith or rebellion, did not exist for him. He rather fancied large, ambitious, banal, red-and-gold sunsets, but he merely glanced at them as he straggled home, and remarked that they were "nice." He believed that all Parisians, artists, millionaires, and socialists were immoral. His entire system of theology was comprised in the Bible, which he never read, and the Methodist Church, which he rarely attended; and he desired no system of economics beyond the current platform of the Republican party. He was aimlessly industrious, crotchety but kind, and almost quixotically honest. He believed that "Panama, Pennsylvania, was good enough for anybody." This last opinion was not shared by his wife, nor by his daughter Una. Mrs. Golden was one of the women who aspire just enough to be vaguely discontented; not enough to make them toil at the acquisition of understanding and knowledge. She had floated into a comfortable semi-belief in a semi-Christian Science, and she read novels with a conviction that she would have been a romantic person "if she hadn't married Mr. Golden--not but what he's a fine man and very bright and all, but he hasn't got much imagination or any, well, _romance_!"