‘Huh. Oh, Hazel — jus’ second — almost forgot — phone the Kamerkinks about Sunday — c’mon, jus’ second,’ he blurted. As Hazel opened her mouth, he pinched her arm in caution, and she followed him into the hall. He led her not to the telephone but to the coat closet.

‘Eh?’ she wondered.

‘Hush. Take a swig of this. Maybe it’ll get us through the intelligence test without our kicking Sara.’

He had taken from the inside pocket of an aged raincoat a bottle of gin; he gargled at it and handed it over.

‘Oh, so that’s where you keep it! No. I can’t drink the beastly stuff . . . Straight? I never heard — I never heard of . . . My, that has got a kick . . . I do feel better!’

They read through the editorials, two of which began:

So-called modern ingenuity is producing a wealth of mechanical gadgets which, if they were conceived of as serving the Proletariat and as vehicles for sound Propaganda, would be triumphs of popular achievement. Such innovations as trailers, easily transported and opening out into four — or five-room houses, television, and the probable future of propulsion of airships by rockets, so that one could go from New York State to Moscow in six or eight hours, should institute a new civilization, but to the dull, greedy, cruel and unimaginative mind of the American ‘business man’ they are nothing but future sources of profit wherewith he can the better contribute to the funds of the Fascist armies threatening Russia.

And:

A sardonically amusing revelation of the mind of the American ‘business man’ is found in the fact that as soon as he can pile up the swag, he betrays his real lack of interest in his calling by hoping to retire. Naturally! He has none of the deep inner satisfaction felt by Soviet experts in building permanently and for the people.

‘Now who do you suppose could have written those two gems?’ said Fred. ‘Sara!’

Coolly: ‘Yes?’

‘I’ve been looking at your new Coheeze paper.’

‘Yes?’

‘I’ve got a new title for it; same alliteration: “Prig and Prattle”.’

‘Are you being humorous, Father?’

‘Not very. When you get a real communist fanatic that’s as het up as a prohibition reformer or a censorship maniac, and let him also use machine-guns and firing squads the way he wants to, maybe it sounds humorous, but I don’t suppose it is.’

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

The Prodigal Parents, by Sinclair Lewis

Chapter 16

Her mother had gone to bed; her father, Sara guessed, with just a little uneasiness, had shown unusual powers of keeping his mouth shut and, without any lecture on the subject, had made it clear that he would not contribute to the Coheeze. But that was only part of her troubles, and she said to him coaxingly:

‘Sometimes you think I don’t appreciate how hard you work, Father, but I do. I’ve been learning about real work. Not only at the Coheeze . . . I don’t suppose you care to talk much about that. But I have so many other activities, too. Did you know I’m going to enter the club tennis tournament this summer?’