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DRAGON'S

TEETH

Upton Sinclair

The Viking Press New York

1942

Contents

Book One: The Morning Opes Her Golden Gates

I. THE OLD BEGINNING

3

II. THOSE FRIENDS THOU HAST 22

III. AND THEIR ADOPTION TRIED 42

IV CAN CALL SPIRITS

64

V. FROM THE VASTY DEEP

82

Book Two: A Cloud That's Dragonish

VI. DEUTSCHLAND ERWACHE!

103

VII. I HAVE SEEN TEMPESTS 126

VIII. TO GIVE AND TO SHARE 147

IX. LAND WHERE MY FATHERS DIED

167

X. CONSCIENCE DOTH MAKE COWARDS

188

Book Three: Blow, Winds, and Crack Your Cheeks

XI. 'TIS WOMAN'S WHOLE EXISTENCE

211

XII. PLEASURE AT THE HELM 234

XIII. EVEN TO THE EDGE OF DOOM 255

XIV. THE STORMY WINDS DO BLOW

276

XV. DIE STRASSE FREI299

Book Four: As on a Darkling Plain

XVI.

ROOT OF ALL EVIL

323

XVII.

WILL YOU WALK INTO MY PARLOR? 346

XVIII.

I AM A JEW

369

XIX.

NO PEACE IN ZION

392

XX.

SUFFERANCE IS THE BADGE 415

Book Five: This Is the Way the World Ends

XXI. IN FRIENDSHIP'S NAME

441

XXII. STILL GET MONEY, BOY!

463

XXIII. ALL THE KINGDOMS OF THE WORLD

483

XXIV. DIE JUDEN SIND SCHULD

503

Book Six: Blood Hath Been Shed

XXV.

GRASPING AT AIR

531

XXVI.

OUT OF THIS NETTLE, DANGER

553

XXVII. A DEED OF DREADFUL NOTE 575

XXVIII. BLOODY INSTRUCTIONS

594

XXIX.

TOO DEEP FOR TEARS 6 l l

BOOK ONE

The Morning Opens Her Golden Gates

1

The Old Beginning

I

LANNY BUDD was the only occupant of a small-sized reception-room. He was seated in a well-padded armchair, and had every reason to be comfortable, but did not appear so. He fidgeted a good deal, and found occasions for looking at his watch; then he would examine his fingernails, which needed no attention; he would look for specks of lint on his tropical worsted trousers, from which he had removed the last speck some time ago. He would look out of the window, which gave on one of the fashionable avenues of the city of Cannes; but he had already become familiar with the view, and it did not change. He had a popular novel on his knee, and every now and then would find that he could not interest himself in the conversation of a set of smart society people.

Now and then one of several white-clad nurses would pass through the room. Lanny had

asked them so many questions that he was ashamed to speak again. He knew that all husbands

behave irrationally at this time; he had seen a group of them in a stage play, slightly risqué but

harmless. They all fidgeted and consulted their watches; they all got up and walked about

needlessly; they all bored the nurses with futile questions. The nurses had stereotyped replies,

which, except for the language, were the same all over the world. "Oui, oui, monsieur. . . . Tout

va bien. . . . Il faut laisser faire. . . . Ilfaut du temps. . . . C’est la nature."

Many times Lanny had heard that last statement in the Midi; it was a formula which excused

many things. He had heard it more than once that afternoon, but it failed to satisfy him. He

was in rebellion against nature and her ways. He hadn't had much suffering in his own life,

and didn't want other people to suffer; he thought that if he had been consulted he could have

suggested many improvements in the ways of this fantastic universe. The business of having

people grow old and pass off the scene, and new ones having to be supplied! He knew persons

who had carefully trained and perfected themselves; they were beautiful to look at, or

possessed knowledge and skills, yet they had to die before long — and, knowing that fact, must

provide a new lot to take their places.

Lanny Budd belonged to the leisure classes. You could tell it by a single glance at his smiling

unlined face, his tanned skin with signs of well-nourished blood in it, his precise little mustache,

his brown hair neatly trimmed and brushed, his suit properly tailored and freshly pressed, his

shirt and tie, shoes and socks, harmonizing in color and of costly materials. It had been some time

since he had seen any bloodshed or experienced personal discomfort. His life had been arranged

to that end, and the same was true of his wife. But now this damnable messy business, this

long-drawn-out strain and suffering—good God, what were doctors and scientists for if they

couldn't devise something to take the place of this! It was like a volcanic eruption in a well-ordered

and peaceful community; not much better because you could foresee the event, going in advance

to an immaculate hospice de la maternité and engaging a room at so much per week, an

accoucheur at so much for the job.

A surgeon! A fellow with a lot of shiny steel instruments, prepared to assist nature in opening

a woman up and getting a live and kicking infant out of her! It had seemed incredible to Lanny