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with figures all in
rows and with precedents from Poland and New Zealand, that the
street-car company loved the Public and yearned over its employees;
that all its stock was owned by Widows and Orphans; and that
whatever it desired to do would benefit property-owners by
increasing rental values, and help the poor by lowering rents. All
his acquaintances turned to Littlefield when they desired to know
the date of the battle of Saragossa, the definition of the word
"sabotage," the future of the German mark, the translation of "hinc
illae lachrimae," or the number of products of coal tar. He awed
Babbitt by confessing that he often sat up till midnight reading
the figures and footnotes in Government reports, or skimming (with
amusement at the author's mistakes) the latest volumes of
chemistry, archeology, and ichthyology.
      But Littlefield's great value was as a spiritual
example. Despite his strange learnings he was as strict a
Presbyterian and as firm a Republican as George F. Babbitt. He
confirmed the business men in the faith. Where they knew only by
passionate instinct that their system of industry and manners was
perfect, Dr. Howard Littlefield proved it to them, out of history,
economics, and the confessions of reformed radicals.
      Babbitt had a good deal of honest pride in being the
neighbor of such a savant, and in Ted's intimacy with Eunice
Littlefield. At sixteen Eunice was interested in no statistics save
those regarding the ages and salaries of motion-picture stars, but
- as Babbitt definitively put it - "she was her father's
daughter."
      The difference between a light man like Sam
Doppelbrau and a really fine character like Littlefield was
revealed in their appearances. Doppelbrau was disturbingly young
for a man of forty-eight. He wore his derby on the back of his
head, and his red face was wrinkled with meaningless laughter. But
Littlefield was old for a man of forty-two. He was tall, broad,
thick; his gold-rimmed spectacles were engulfed in the folds of his
long face; his hair was a tossed mass of greasy blackness; he
puffed and rumbled as he talked; his Phi Beta Kappa key shone
against a spotty black vest; he smelled of old pipes; he was
altogether funereal and archidiaconal; and to real-estate brokerage
and the jobbing of bathroom-fixtures he added an aroma of
sanctity.
      This morning he was in front of his house,
inspecting the grass parking between the curb and the broad cement
sidewalk. Babbitt stopped his car and leaned out to shout
"Mornin'!" Littlefield lumbered over and stood with one foot up on
the running-board.
      "Fine morning," said Babbitt, lighting - illegally
early - his second cigar of the day.
      "Yes, it's a mighty fine morning," said
Littlefield.
      "Spring coming along fast now."
      "Yes, it's real spring now, all right," said
Littlefield.
      "Still cold nights, though. Had to have a couple
blankets, on the sleeping-porch last night."
      "Yes, it wasn't any too warm last night," said
Littlefield.
      "But I don't anticipate we'll have any more real
cold weather now."
      "No, but still, there was snow at Tiflis, Montana,
yesterday," said the Scholar, "and you remember the blizzard they
had out West three days ago - thirty inches of snow at Greeley,
Colorado - and two years ago we had a snow-squall right here in
Zenith on the twenty-fifth of April."
      "Is that a fact! Say, old man, what do you think
about the Republican candidate? Who'll they nominate for president?
Don't you think it's about time we had a real business
administration?"
      "In my opinion, what the country needs, first and
foremost, is a good, sound, business-like conduct of its affairs.
What we need is - a business administration!" said Littlefield.
      "I'm glad to hear you say that! I certainly am glad
to hear you say that! I didn't know how you'd feel about it, with
all your associations with colleges and so on, and I'm glad you
feel that way. What the country needs - just at this