‘Oh, yes,’ Hazel babbled. ‘I think it would be grand. My, I would like to see this Westminster Cathedral or Monastery or whatever it is where they’re going to have the Coronation. It must be a lovely church. Honestly, do you think we could go . . . for a few weeks?’

‘Could we? Say, we can do any doggone thing we doggone well want to!’ swore Fred.

Sara made her entrance as he was leaving. She was less purposeful and disciplinary this morning; she was, indeed, all one youthful yawn, and she spoke to him tolerantly:

‘Say, Dad, I hate most awfully to bother you, but my allowance is nearly overdrawn. I wonder if you could let me have twenty-five dollars? I had to lend twenty-five to a poor fellow that came in to see Gene and me at the Coheeze yesterday.’

‘Who? Why?’

‘He’s been out in Detroit helping organize the automobile workers, and the cops were after him and he had to scram.’

‘Scram — cops! What kind of language d’you call that, young lady? Think that’s what I sent you to Vassar to learn? Doggone it, I’ll be everlastingly doggoned if I’ll stand for anybody slinging that kind of slang and colloquialisms around this shack! And just kindly lemme call to your attention the fact that I happen to deal in motor cars, and I’m not any too darn rapturous about sit-down strikes and Lord knows what all darn shenanigans that keep me from getting cars to sell!’

‘So you think the poor workers have no right to organize!’

‘Sure they have, if they can get away with it. But we poor God-forsaken bourjoyces also got the right to organize against their sitting down on our pocket-books. Why should I hand twenty-five bucks to your little comrade to help him keep me from making a living! Go on and read the Daily Worker about people like me, girl. It’ll explain that I’m such a dirty dog that it’s a waste of time to expect me to dig down and support a revolution against everything I stand for. That’s all, just a dirty dog, nothing but a dirty dog, just a bourjoyce bum — go on, read your communist paper, just read it, that’s all. Yessir, dirty dog. And your allowance is overdrawn $68.60 already. Good morning!’

Sara stared at the menacing purple aura left behind him when the hall door had closed. Not since she had won the high-school literary medal with an essay on the errors of Thomas Jefferson had her muttonheaded parent dared so to speak to her. Her lips flattened in rage, and she stormed, ‘I see that, for your own sake, darling, so you won’t make yourself publicly ridiculous, you will have to be taken in hand!’

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Last updated Sunday, March 27, 2016 at 11:57

The Prodigal Parents, by Sinclair Lewis

Chapter 13

Despite streets slippery as a soapy bathtub, grey as a kitchen mop, Fred drove merrily to his office.