“But gooooooosh, Dad, if they did!”

Mrs. Babbitt chirped, “Well, if they did, I wouldn’t do them the honor of paying any attention to them!  Besides, they never do.  You always hear about these women that get followed and insulted and all, but I don’t believe a word of it, or it’s their own fault, the way some women look at a person.  I certainly never ’ve been insulted by—­”

“Aw shoot.  Mother, just suppose you were sometime!  Just suppose!  Can’t you suppose something?  Can’t you imagine things?”

“Certainly I can imagine things!  The idea!”

“Certainly your mother can imagine things—­and suppose things!  Think you’re the only member of this household that’s got an imagination?” Babbitt demanded.  “But what’s the use of a lot of supposing?  Supposing never gets you anywhere.  No sense supposing when there’s a lot of real facts to take into considera—­”

“Look here, Dad.  Suppose—­I mean, just—­just suppose you were in your office and some rival real-estate man—­”

“Realtor!”

“—­some realtor that you hated came in—­”

“I don’t hate any realtor.”

“But suppose you did!”

“I don’t intend to suppose anything of the kind!  There’s plenty of fellows in my profession that stoop and hate their competitors, but if you were a little older and understood business, instead of always going to the movies and running around with a lot of fool girls with their dresses up to their knees and powdered and painted and rouged and God knows what all as if they were chorus-girls, then you’d know—­and you’d suppose—­that if there’s any one thing that I stand for in the real-estate circles of Zenith, it is that we ought to always speak of each other only in the friendliest terms and institute a spirit of brotherhood and cooperation, and so I certainly can’t suppose and I can’t imagine my hating any realtor, not even that dirty, fourflushing society sneak, Cecil Rountree!”

“But—­”

“And there’s no If, And or But about it!  But if I were going to lambaste somebody, I wouldn’t require any fancy ducks or swimming-strokes before a mirror, or any of these doodads and flipflops!  Suppose you were out some place and a fellow called you vile names.  Think you’d want to box and jump around like a dancing-master?  You’d just lay him out cold (at least I certainly hope any son of mine would!) and then you’d dust off your hands and go on about your business, and that’s all there is to it, and you aren’t going to have any boxing-lessons by mail, either!”

“Well but—­Yes—­I just wanted to show how many different kinds of correspondence-courses there are, instead of all the camembert they teach us in the High.”

“But I thought they taught boxing in the school gymnasium.”

“That’s different.  They stick you up there and some big stiff amuses himself pounding the stuffin’s out of you before you have a chance to learn.  Hunka!  Not any!  But anyway—­Listen to some of these others.”