It was at that moment that Fred almost joined the communists. And he felt thus for a second time when Howard dragged in his playful friend, Ben Bogey, whose slogan was ‘Homes that are nice at lowest price’.

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

The Prodigal Parents, by Sinclair Lewis

Chapter 17

Having had words with the dean on the matter of tooting his horn in front of Henry Ward Beecher Hall at dawn, Howard came down to Sachem and the Coheeze office to have company during the agony of being solitary and rebellious.

It was all off with Annabel; she had told him that she regarded his well-considered plan of studying finger-prints and becoming a G-man as less than practical; love’s labour was lost and Annabel could go to the devil.

There were but two weeks before commencement, but he still had his lamentable senior year to undergo, and he hit on the good new notion that it would be sensible to spend it in Moscow. Gene Silga hadn’t exactly said so, but Howard was fairly sure that he remembered hearing somebody say that, in Russia, university students spent most of their time shooting, leaping out of aeroplanes with absolutely safe parachutes, and bathing with lady students who were crazy about Americans.

At a cost in oil, gasoline, depreciation and sustaining hot dogs — to omit the interest and overhead — of approximately seven times what it would have cost to have the envelopes addressed professionally, Howard had come down from Truxon and was sitting now on a small box in front of a big box, addressing Coheeze letters which informed their ‘friends and loyal supporters’ that if they could just come through once more, Protest & Progress would get along prosperously for ever. Gene was telephoning to the local liberal pastor; Sara was picking out on a portable typewriter an editorial revealing that Kathleen Norris, Andrew Mellon and Dizzy Dean were plotting against the independence of Mexico.

Their happy hour of conspiracy was interrupted by the entrance of a bald but youthful male in spats and a belted coat, who handed to each of them a card:

BEN BUTLER BOGEY
Saringham & Peters
Optimists Bank Bldg.
‘Homes That Are Nice
At Lowest Price’

‘What would I do with a home?’ said Gene.

‘Too much home already,’ said Sara.

‘Can I sell you a subscription to Protest & Progress?’ said Howard.

‘You bet; I’ll take a subscription right now!’ said Ben.

‘Well, I’ll be darned . . . How much does one cost?’ Howard inquired of Gene.

Ben Bogey cheerfully handed over two dollars and a half, which was more real money than that office had seen for a week; he popped his hat off his head in greeting to Sara; he patted it back on again with a gesture like a vaudeville hoofer’s; he sat on the edge of Sara’s table and went into action:

‘The home I’m thinking of just now isn’t for you folks personally. You can kid me, but I’m sure you’ve got cosy little hideaways of your own. The home I’m thinking about is for your magazine, and your society, this International Workers’ whatever-it-is — I forget. My firm is developing a new development on a new principle of developing. It’s going to be the first addition in the world that’s got culture for a selling point. We don’t want to contact brokers or even bankers, but docs and lawyers and advertising men and radio announcers and real intellectuals like that. I can offer you a whole floor in a fine, made-over, old, ancient house, built back in 1890 but with all necessary modern improvements, including electric ice-water cooler, for a mere two hundred dollars a month.