An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

hotel—not to have to go home ever before twelve, if he did

not wish—to have good clothes—interesting company,

maybe—a good time, gee!

And as he hurried on about his various errands now, it

occurred to him as a final and shrewd and delicious thought

that he need not go home on such nights as he wished to

go to a theater or anything like that. He could just stay

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down-town and say he had to work. And that with free

meals and good clothes—think of that!

The mere thought of all this was so astonishing and

entrancing that he could not bring himself to think of it too

much. He must wait and see. He must wait and see just

how much he would make here in this perfectly marvelous-

marvelous realm.

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Chapter 6

AND as conditions stood, the extraordinary economic and

social inexperience of the Griffiths—Asa and Elvira—

dovetailed all too neatly with his dreams. For neither Asa

nor Elvira had the least knowledge of the actual character

of the work upon which he was about to enter, scarcely any

more than he did, or what it might mean to him morally,

imaginatively, financially, or in any other way. For neither of

them had ever stopped in a hotel above the fourth class in

all their days. Neither one had ever eaten in a restaurant of

a class that catered to other than individuals of their own

low financial level. That there could be any other forms of

work or contact than those involved in carrying the bags of

guests to and from the door of a hotel to its office, and back

again, for a boy of Clyde’s years and temperament, never

occurred to them. And it was naïvely assumed by both that

the pay for such work must of necessity be very small

anywhere, say five or six dollars a week, and so actually

below Clyde’s deserts and his years.

And in view of this, Mrs. Griffiths, who was more practical

than her husband at all times, and who was intensely

interested in Clyde’s economic welfare, as well as that of

her other children, was actually wondering why Clyde

should of a sudden become so enthusiastic about changing

to this new situation, which, according to his own story,

involved longer hours and not so very much more pay, if

any. To be sure, he had already suggested that it might

lead to some superior position in the hotel, some clerkship

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or other, but he did not know when that would be, and the

other had promised rather definite fulfillment somewhat

earlier—as to money, anyhow.

But seeing him rush in on Monday afternoon and announce

that he had secured the place and that forthwith he must

change his tie and collar and get his hair cut and go back

and report, she felt better about it. For never before had

she seen him so enthusiastic about anything, and it was

something to have him more content with himself—not so

moody, as he was at times.

Yet, the hours which he began to maintain now—from six in

the morning until midnight—with only an occasional early

return on such evenings as he chose to come home when

he was not working—and when he troubled to explain that

he had been let off a little early—together with a certain

eager and restless manner—a desire to be out and away

from his home at nearly all such moments as he was not in

bed or dressing or undressing, puzzled his mother and Asa,

also. The hotel! The hotel! He must always hurry off to the

hotel, and all that he had to report was that he liked it ever

so much, and that he was doing all right, he thought. It was

nicer work than working around a soda fountain, and he

might be making more money pretty soon—he couldn’t tell

—but as for more than that he either wouldn’t or couldn’t

say.

And all the time the Griffiths—father and mother—were

feeling that because of the affair in connection with Esta,

they should really be moving away from Kansas City—

should go to Denver. And now more than ever, Clyde was

insisting that he did not want to leave Kansas City. They

might go, but he had a pretty good job now and wanted to

stick to it. And if they left, he could get a room somewhere—

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and would be all right—a thought which did not appeal to

them at all.

But in the meantime what an enormous change in Clyde’s

life. Beginning with that first evening, when at 5:45, he

appeared before Mr. Whipple, his immediate superior, and

was approved—not only because of the fit of his new

uniform, but for his general appearance—the world for him

had changed entirely. Lined up with seven others in the

servants’ hall, immediately behind the general offices in the

lobby, and inspected by Mr. Whipple, the squad of eight

marched at the stroke of six through a door that gave into

the lobby on the other side of the staircase from where

stood Mr. Whipple’s desk, then about and in front of the

general registration office to the long bench on the other

side. A Mr. Barnes, who alternated with Mr. Whipple, then

took charge of the assistant captain’s desk, and the boys

seated themselves—Clyde at the foot—only to be called

swiftly and in turn to perform this, that and the other service

—while the relieved squad of Mr. Whipple was led away

into the rear servants’ hall as before, where they disbanded.

“Cling!”

The bell on the room clerk’s desk had sounded and the first

boy was going.

“Cling!” It sounded again and a second boy leaped to his

feet.

“Front!”—“Center door!” called Mr. Barnes, and a third boy

was skidding down the long marble floor toward that

entrance to seize the bags of an incoming guest, whose

white whiskers and youthful, bright tweed suit were visible

to Clyde’s uninitiated eyes a hundred feet away. A

mysterious and yet sacred vision—a tip!

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“Front!” It was Mr. Barnes calling again. “See what 913

wants—ice-water, I guess.” And a fourth boy was gone.

Clyde, steadily moving up along the bench and adjoining

Hegglund, who had been detailed to instruct him a little,

was all eyes and ears and nerves. He was so tense that he

could hardly breathe, and fidgeted and jerked until finally

Hegglund exclaimed: “Now, don’t get excited. Just hold your

horses, will yuh? You’ll be all right. You’re jist like I was

when I begun—all noives. But dat ain’t de way. Easy’s what

you gotta be aroun’ here. An’ you wants to look as dough

you wasn’t seein’ nobody nowhere—just lookin’ to what ya

got before ya.”

“Front!” Mr. Barnes again. Clyde was scarcely able to keep

his mind on what Hegglund was saying. “115 wants some

writing paper and pens.” A fifth boy had gone.

“Where do you get writing paper and pens if they want

’em?” He pleaded of his instructor, as one who was about

to die might plead.

“Off’n de key desk, I toldja. He’s to de left over dere. He’ll

give ’em to ya. An’ you gits ice-water in de hall we lined up

in just a minute ago—at dat end over dere, see—you’ll see

a little door. You gotta give dat guy in dere a dime oncet in

a while or he’ll get sore.”

“Cling!” The room clerk’s bell. A sixth boy had gone without

a word to supply some order in that direction.

“And now remember,” continued Hegglund, seeing that he

himself was next, and cautioning him for the last time, “if

dey wants drinks of any kind, you get ’em in de grill over

dere off’n de dining-room. An’ be sure and git de names of

de drinks straight or dey’ll git sore. An’ if it’s a room you’re

showing, pull de shades down to-night and turn on de

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lights. An’ if it’s anyt’ing from de dinin’-room you gotta see

de head-waiter—he gets de tip, see.”

“Front!” He was up and gone.

And Clyde was number one. And number four was already

seating himself again by his side—but looking shrewdly

around to see if anybody was wanted anywhere.

“Front!” It was Mr. Barnes. Clyde was up and before him,

grateful that it was no one coming in with bags, but worried

for fear it might be something that he would not understand

or could not do quickly.

“See what 882 wants.” Clyde was off toward one of the two

elevators marked, “employees,” the proper one to use, he

thought, because he had been taken to the twelfth floor that

way, but another boy stepping out from one of the fast

passenger elevators cautioned him as to his mistake.

“Goin’ to a room?” he called. “Use the guest elevators.

Them’s for the servants or anybody with bundles.”