Bourgeois Thin

His name was George F. Babbit.

Bourgeois Thin Italic

He was forty-six years old now, in April, 1920, and he made nothing in particular, neither butter nor shoes nor poetry, but he was nimble in the calling of selling houses for more than people could afford to pay.

Bourgeois Light

His large head was pink, his hair thin.

Bourgeois Light Italic

His face was babyish in slumber, despite his wrinkles and the red spectacle-dents on the slopes of his nose. He was not fat but he was exceedingly well fed; his cheeks were pads, and the unroughened hand which lay helpless upon the khaki-colored blanket was slightly puffy.

Bourgeois Medium

He seemed prosperous, extremely married and unromantic.

Bourgeois Medium Italic

Altogether unromantic appeared this sleeping-porch, which looked on one sizable elm, two respectable grass-plots, a cement driveway, and a corrugated iron garage. Yet Babbitt was again dreaming of the fairy child, a dream more romantic than scarlet pagodas by a silver sea.

Bourgeois Bold

For years the fairy child had come to him. Where others saw but Georgie Babbitt, she discerned gallant youth.

Bourgeois Bold Italic

She waited for him, in the darkness beyond mysterious groves. When at last he could slip away from the crowded house he darted to her. His wife, his clamoring friends, sought to follow, but he escaped.

Bourgeois UltraBold

She was so white, so eager!

Bourgeois UltraBold Italic

Babbitt moaned; turned over; struggled back toward his dream. He could see only her face now, beyond misty waters. The furnace-man slammed the basement door. A dog barked in the next yard. As Babbitt sank blissfully into a dim warm tide, the paper-carrier went by whistling, and the rolled-up Advocate thumped the front door.

Bourgeois Heavy

Babbitt roused, his stomach constricted with alarm.

Bourgeois Heavy Italic

As he relaxed, he was pierced by the familiar and irritating rattle of some one cranking a Ford: snap-ah-ah, snap-ah-ah, snap-ah-ah. Himself a pious motorist, Babbitt cranked with the unseen driver, with him waited through taut hours for the roar of the starting engine.

Bourgeois Thin Condensed

Not till the rising voice of the motor told him that the Ford was moving was he released from the tension.

Bourgeois Thin Condensed Italic

He glanced once at his favorite tree, elm twigs against the gold patina of sky, and fumbled for sleep as for a drug. He who had been a boy very credulous of life was no longer greatly interested in the possible and improbable adventures of each new day.

Bourgeois Light Condensed

The alarm-clock rang at seven-twenty.

Bourgeois Light Condensed Italic

It was the best of nationally advertised alarm-clocks, with all modern attachments, including cathedral chime, intermittent alarm, and a phosphorescent dial. Babbitt was proud of being awakened by such a rich device.

Bourgeois Medium Condensed

He sulkily admitted now that there was no more escape, but he lay and detested the grind of the real-estate business, and disliked his family, and disliked himself for disliking them.

Bourgeois Medium Condensed Italic

The evening before, he had played poker at Vergil Gunch's till midnight, and after such holidays he was irritable before breakfast. It may have been the tremendous home-brewed beer of the prohibition-era and the cigars to which that beer enticed him.

Bourgeois Bold Condensed

It may have been resentment of return from this fine, bold man-world to a restricted region of wives and stenographers.

Bourgeois Bold Condensed Italic

From the bedroom beside the sleeping-porch, his wife's detestably cheerful “Time to get up, Georgie boy,” and the itchy sound, the brisk and scratchy sound, of combing hairs out of a stiff brush. He grunted; he dragged his thick legs, in faded baby-blue pajamas, from under the khaki blanket.

Bourgeois UltraBold Condensed

He sat on the edge of the cot, running his fingers through his wild hair, while his plump feet mechanically felt for his slippers.

Bourgeois UltraBold Condensed Italic

He looked regretfully at the blanket – forever a suggestion to him of freedom and heroism. He had bought it for a camping trip which had never come off. It symbolized gorgeous loafing, gorgeous cursing, virile flannel shirts.

Bourgeois Heavy Condensed

He creaked to his feet, groaning at the waves of pain which passed behind his eyeballs. Though he waited for their scorching recurrence, he looked blurrily out at the yard.

Bourgeois Heavy Condensed Italic

It delighted him, as always; it was the neat yard of a successful business man of Zenith, that is, it was perfection, and made him also perfect.