An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

putting his arms around her, genuinely moved by his own

dereliction. “You mustn’t cry like that, dearest. You mustn’t.

I didn’t mean to hurt you, honest I didn’t. Truly, I didn’t,

dear. I know you’ve had a hard time, honey. I know how

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you feel, and how you’ve been up against things in one way

and another. Sure I do, Bert, and you mustn’t cry, dearest. I

love you just the same. Truly I do, and I always will. I’m

sorry if I’ve hurt you, honest I am. I couldn’t help it to-night if

I didn’t come, honest, or last Friday either. Why, it just

wasn’t possible. But I won’t be so mean like that any more,

if I can help it. Honest I won’t. You’re the sweetest, dearest

girl. And you’ve got such lovely hair and eyes, and such a

pretty little figure. Honest you have, Bert. And you can

dance too, as pretty as anybody. And you look just as nice,

honest you do, dear. Won’t you stop now, honey? Please

do. I’m so sorry, honey, if I’ve hurt you in any way.”

There was about Clyde at times a certain strain of

tenderness, evoked by experiences, disappointments, and

hardships in his own life, which came out to one and

another, almost any other, under such circumstances as

these. At such times he had a soft and melting voice. His

manner was as tender and gentle almost as that of a

mother with a baby. It drew a girl like Roberta intensely to

him. At the same time, such emotion in him, though vivid,

was of brief duration. It was like the rush and flutter of a

summer storm—soon come and soon gone. Yet in this

instance it was sufficient to cause Roberta to feel that he

fully understood and sympathized with her and perhaps

liked her all the better for it. Things were not so bad for the

moment, anyhow. She had him and his love and sympathy

to a very marked degree at any rate, and because of this

and her very great comfort in it, and his soothing words, she

began to dry her eyes, to say that she was sorry to think

that she was such a cry-baby and that she hoped he would

forgive her, because in crying she had wet the bosom of his

spotless white shirt with her tears. And she would not do it

any more if Clyde would just forgive her this once—the

while, touched by a passion he scarcely believed was

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buried in her in any such volume, he now continued to kiss

her hands, cheeks, and finally her lips.

And between these pettings and coaxings and kissings it

was that he reaffirmed to her, most foolishly and falsely in

this instance (since he was really caring for Sondra in a way

which, while different, was just as vital—perhaps even more

so), that he regarded her as first, last and most in his heart,

always—a statement which caused her to feel that perhaps

after all she might have misjudged him. Also that her

position, if anything, was more secure, if not more

wonderful than ever it had been before—far superior to that

of these other girls who might see him socially perhaps, but

who did not have him to love them in this wonderful way.

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Chapter 32

CLYDE now was actually part and parcel of this local winter

social scene. The Griffiths having introduced him to their

friends and connections, it followed as a matter of course

that he would be received in most homes here. But in this

very limited world, where quite every one who was anything

at all knew every one else, the state of one’s purse was as

much, and in some instances even more, considered than

one’s social connections. For these local families of

distinction were convinced that not only one’s family but

one’s wealth was the be-all and end-all of every happy

union meant to include social security. And in consequence,

while considering Clyde as one who was unquestionably

eligible socially, still, because it had been whispered about

that his means were very slender, they were not inclined to

look upon him as one who might aspire to marriage with

any of their daughters. Hence, while they were to the fore

with invitations, still in so far as their own children and

connections were concerned they were also to the fore with

precautionary hints as to the inadvisability of too numerous

contacts with him.

However, the mood of Sondra and her group being friendly

toward him, and the observations and comments of their

friends and parents not as yet too definite, Clyde continued

to receive invitations to the one type of gathering that most

interested him—that which began and ended with dancing.

And although his purse was short, he got on well enough.

For once Sondra had interested herself in him, it was not

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long before she began to realize what his financial state

was and was concerned to make his friendship for her at

least as inexpensive as possible. And because of this

attitude on her part, which in turn was conveyed to Bertine,

Grant Cranston and others, it became possible on most

occasions for Clyde, especially when the affair was local, to

go here and there without the expenditure of any money.

Even when the affair was at any point beyond Lycurgus and

he consented to go, the car of another was delegated to

pick him up.

Frequently after the New Year’s Eve trip to Schenectady,

which proved to be an outing of real import to both Clyde

and Sondra—seeing that on that occasion she drew nearer

to him affectionately than ever before—it was Sondra

herself who chose to pick him up in her car. He had actually

succeeded in impressing her, and in a way that most

flattered her vanity at the same time that it appealed to the

finest trait in her—a warm desire to have some one, some

youth like Clyde, who was at once attractive and of good

social station, dependent upon her. She knew that her

parents would not countenance an affair between her and

Clyde because of his poverty. She had originally not

contemplated any, though now she found herself wishing

that something of the kind might be.

However, no opportunity for further intimacies occurred until

one night about two weeks after the New Year’s party. They

were returning from a similar affair at Amsterdam, and after

Bella Griffiths and Grant and Bertine Cranston had been

driven to their respective homes, Stuart Finchley had called

back: “Now we’ll take you home, Griffiths.” At once Sondra,

swayed by the delight of contact with Clyde and not willing

to end it so soon, said: “If you want to come over to our

place, I’ll make some hot chocolate before you go home.

Would you like that?”

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“Oh, sure I would,” Clyde had answered gayly.

“Here goes then,” called Stuart, turning the car toward the

Finchley home. “But as for me, I’m going to turn in. It’s way

after three now.”

“That’s a good brother. Your beauty sleep, you know,”

replied Sondra.

And having turned the car into the garage, the three made

their way through the rear entrance into the kitchen. Her

brother having left them, Sondra asked Clyde to be seated

at a servants’ table while she brought the ingredients. But

he, impressed by this culinary equipment, the like of which

he had never seen before, gazed about wondering at the

wealth and security which could sustain it.

“My, this is a big kitchen, isn’t it?” he remarked. “What a lot

of things you have here to cook with, haven’t you?”

And she, realizing from this that he had not been

accustomed to equipment of this order before coming to

Lycurgus and hence was all the more easily to be

impressed, replied: “Oh, I don’t know. Aren’t all kitchens as

big as this?”

Clyde, thinking of the poverty he knew, and assuming from

this that she was scarcely aware of anything less than this,

was all the more overawed by the plethora of the world to

which she belonged. What means! Only to think of being

married to such a girl, when all such as this would become

an everyday state. One would have a cook and servants, a

great house and car, no one to work for, and only orders to

give, a thought which impressed him greatly. It made her

various self-conscious gestures and posings all the more

entrancing. And she, sensing the import of all this to Clyde,

was inclined to exaggerate her own inseparable connection

with it. To him, more than any one else, as she now saw,

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she shone as a star, a paragon of luxury and social

supremacy.

Having prepared the chocolate in a commonplace

aluminum pan, to further impress him she sought out a