Part 35 (1/2)
”Is he in now?”
”Nope.”
”Then if you'll give me his key, I'll wait for him.”
”Can't do that, brother. Wait down here if you wanna.”
Babbitt had spoken with the deference which all the Clan of Good Fellows give to hotel clerks. Now he said with snarling abruptness:
”I may have to wait some time. I'm Riesling's brother-in-law. I'll go up to his room. D' I look like a sneak-thief?”
His voice was low and not pleasant. With considerable haste the clerk took down the key, protesting, ”I never said you looked like a sneak-thief. Just rules of the hotel. But if you want to--”
On his way up in the elevator Babbitt wondered why he was here. Why shouldn't Paul be dining with a respectable married woman? Why had he lied to the clerk about being Paul's brother-in-law? He had acted like a child. He must be careful not to say foolish dramatic things to Paul.
As he settled down he tried to look pompous and placid. Then the thought--Suicide. He'd been dreading that, without knowing it. Paul would be just the person to do something like that. He must be out of his head or he wouldn't be confiding in that--that dried-up hag.
Zilla (oh, d.a.m.n Zilla! how gladly he'd throttle that nagging fiend of a woman!)--she'd probably succeeded at last, and driven Paul crazy.
Suicide. Out there in the lake, way out, beyond the piled ice along the sh.o.r.e. It would be ghastly cold to drop into the water to-night.
Or--throat cut--in the bathroom--
Babbitt flung into Paul's bathroom. It was empty. He smiled, feebly.
He pulled at his choking collar, looked at his watch, opened the window to stare down at the street, looked at his watch, tried to read the evening paper lying on the gla.s.s-topped bureau, looked again at his watch. Three minutes had gone by since he had first looked at it.
And he waited for three hours.
He was sitting fixed, chilled, when the doork.n.o.b turned. Paul came in glowering.
”h.e.l.lo,” Paul said. ”Been waiting?”
”Yuh, little while.”
”Well?”
”Well what? Just thought I'd drop in to see how you made out in Akron.”
”I did all right. What difference does it make?”
”Why, gosh, Paul, what are you sore about?”
”What are you b.u.t.ting into my affairs for?”
”Why, Paul, that's no way to talk! I'm not b.u.t.ting into nothing. I was so glad to see your ugly old phiz that I just dropped in to say howdy.”
”Well, I'm not going to have anybody following me around and trying to boss me. I've had all of that I'm going to stand!”
”Well, gosh, I'm not--”
”I didn't like the way you looked at May Arnold, or the snooty way you talked.”