them, he did not object to assisting her in any way that he
could. But in the event that he could not (it was so that his
thoughts raced forward to an entirely possible inimical
conclusion to all this) well, then—well, then—might it not be
possible at least—some fellows, if not himself would—to
deny that he had held any such relationship with her and so
escape. That possibly might be one way out—if only he
were not as treacherously surrounded as he was here.
But the most troublesome thing in connection with all this
was the thought that he knew of nothing that would really
avail in such a case, other than a doctor. Also that that
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probably meant money, time, danger—just what did it
mean? He would see her in the morning, and if she weren’t
all right by then he would act.
And Roberta, for the first time forsaken in this rather casual
and indifferent way, and in such a crisis as this, returned to
her room with her thoughts and fears, more stricken and
agonized than ever before she had been in all her life.
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Chapter 34
BUT the resources of Clyde, in such a situation as this, were
slim. For, apart from Liggett, Whiggam, and a few minor
though decidedly pleasant and yet rather remote
department heads, all of whom were now looking on him as
a distinctly superior person who could scarcely be
approached too familiarly in connection with anything, there
was no one to whom he could appeal. In so far as the
social group to which he was now so eagerly attaching
himself was concerned, it would have been absurd for him
to attempt, however slyly, to extract any information there.
For while the youths of this world at least were dashing
here and there, and because of their looks, taste and
means indulging themselves in phases of libertinism—the
proper wild oats of youth—such as he and others like
himself could not have dreamed of affording, still so far was
he from any real intimacy with any of these that he would
not have dreamed of approaching them for helpful
information.
His sanest thought, which occurred to him almost
immediately after leaving Roberta, was that instead of
inquiring of any druggist or doctor or person in Lycurgus—
more particularly any doctor, since the entire medical
profession here, as elsewhere, appeared to him as remote,
cold, unsympathetic and likely very expensive and
unfriendly to such an immoral adventure as this—was to go
to some near-by city, preferably Schenectady, since it was
larger and as near as any, and there inquire what, if
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anything, could be obtained to help in such a situation as
this. For he must find something.
At the same time, the necessity for decision and prompt
action was so great that even on his way to the Starks’, and
without knowing any drug or prescription to ask for, he
resolved to go to Schenectady the next night. Only that
meant, as he later reasoned, that a whole day must elapse
before anything could be done for Roberta, and that, in her
eyes, as well as his own, would be leaving her open to the
danger that any delay at all involved. Therefore, he decided
to act at once, if he could; excuse himself to the Starks and
then make the trip to Schenectady on the interurban before
the drug-stores over there should close. But once there—
what? How face the local druggist or clerk—and ask for
what? His mind was troubled with hard, abrasive thoughts
as to what the druggist might think, look or say. If only
Ratterer or Hegglund were here! They would know, of
course, and be glad to help him. Or Higby, even. But here
he was now, all alone, for Roberta knew nothing at all.
There must be something though, of course. If not, if he
failed there, he would return and write Ratterer in Chicago,
only in order to keep himself out of this as much as possible
he would say that he was writing for a friend.
Once in Schenectady, since no one knew him there, of
course he might say (the thought came to him as an
inspiration) that he was a newly married man—why not? He
was old enough to be one, and that his wife, and that in the
face of inability to care for a child now, was “past her
time” (he recalled a phrase that he had once heard Higby
use), and that he wanted something that would permit her
to escape from that state. What was so wrong with that as
an idea? A young married couple might be in just such a
predicament. And possibly the druggist would, or should be
stirred to a little sympathy by such a state and might be
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glad to tell him of something. Why not? That would be no
real crime. To be sure, one and another might refuse, but a
third might not. And then he would be rid of this. And then
never again, without knowing a lot more than he did now,
would he let himself drift into any such predicament as this.
Never! It was too dreadful.
He betook himself to the Stark house very nervous and
growing more so every moment. So much so that, the
dinner being eaten, he finally declared as early as nine-
thirty that at the last moment at the factory a very
troublesome report, covering a whole month’s activities,
had been requested of him. And since it was not anything
he could do at the office, he was compelled to return to his
room and make it out there—a bit of energetic and
ambitious commercialism, as the Starks saw it, worthy of
their admiration and sympathy. And in consequence he was
excused.
But arrived at Schenectady, he had barely time to look
around a little before the last car for Lycurgus should be
leaving. His nerve began to fail him. Did he look enough
like a young married man to convince any one that he was
one? Besides were not such preventatives considered very
wrong—even by druggists?
Walking up and down the one very long Main Street still
brightly lighted at this hour, looking now in one drug-store
window and another, he decided for different reasons that
each particular one was not the one. In one, as he saw at a
glance, stood a stout, sober, smooth-shaven man of fifty
whose bespectacled eyes and iron gray hair seemed to
indicate to Clyde’s mind that he would be most certain to
deny such a youthful applicant as himself—refuse to
believe that he was married—or to admit that he had any
such remedy, and suspect him of illicit relations with some
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young, unmarried girl into the bargain. He looked so sober,
God-fearing, ultra-respectable and conventional. No, it
would not do to apply to him. He had not the courage to
enter and face such a person.
In another drug-store he observed a small, shriveled and
yet dapper and shrewd-looking man of perhaps thirty-five,
who appeared to him at the time as satisfactory enough,
only, as he could see from the front, he was being briskly
assisted by a young woman of not more than twenty or
twenty-five. And assuming that she would approach him
instead of the man—an embarrassing and impossible
situation—or if the man waited on him, was it not probable
that she would hear? In consequence he gave up that
place, and a third, a fourth, and a fifth, for varying and yet
equally cogent reasons—customers inside, a girl and a boy
at a soda fountain in front, an owner posed near the door
and surveying Clyde as he looked in and thus disconcerting
him before he had time to consider whether he should enter
or not.
Finally, however, after having abandoned so many, he
decided that he must act or return defeated, his time and
carfare wasted. Returning to one of the lesser stores in a
side street, in which a moment before he had observed an
undersized chemist idling about, he entered, and
summoning all the bravado he could muster, began: “I want
to know something. I want to know if you know of anything
—well, you see, it’s this way—I’m just married and my wife
is past her time and I can’t afford to have any children now
if I can help it. Is there anything a person can get that will
get her out of it?”
His manner was brisk and confidential enough, although
tinged with nervousness and the inner conviction that the
druggist must guess that he was lying. At the same time,
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although he did not know it, he was talking to a confirmed
religionist of the Methodist group who did not believe in
interfering with the motives or impulses of nature. Any such