Before he followed his wife, Babbitt stood at the westernmost window of their room. This residential settlement, Floral Heights, was on a rise; and though
the center of the city was three miles away--Zenith had between three and four hundred thousand inhabitants now--he could see the top of the Second National Tower, an Indiana limestone
building of thirty-five stories.
Its shining walls rose against April sky to a simple cornice
like a streak of white fire. Integrity was in the tower, and decision. It bore its strength
lightly as a tall soldier
. As Babbitt stared, the nervousness was soothed from his face, his slack chin lifted in reverence. All he articulated was "That's one lovely sight!" but he was inspired by the rhythm of the city; his love of it renewed. He beheld the tower as a temple
-spire of the religion
, a faith passionate, exalted, surpassing common men; and as he clumped down to breakfast
he whistled the ballad "Oh, by gee, by gosh, by jingo" as though it were a hymn melancholy and noble.
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