An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

himself, that he would know of at least one—or should. But

in order to divert suspicion from himself he was going to

add that of course he probably could get news of some one

in his own set, only, the situation being so unusual (any

reference to any such thing in his own world being likely to

set his own group talking), he preferred to ask some one

like Short, who as a favor would keep it quiet.

As it chanced on this occasion, Short himself, owing to his

having done a very fair day’s business, was in an

exceedingly jovial frame of mind. And Clyde having

entered, to buy a pair of socks, perhaps, he began: “Well,

it’s good to see you again, Mr. Griffiths. How are you? I was

just thinking it’s about time you stopped in and let me show

you some of the things I got in since you were here before.

How are things with the Griffiths Company anyhow?”

Short’s manner, always brisk, was on this occasion doubly

reassuring, since he liked Clyde, only now the latter was so

intensely keyed up by the daring of his own project that he

could scarcely bring himself to carry the thing off with the air

he would have liked to have employed.

Nevertheless, being in the store and so, seemingly,

committed to the project, he now began: “Oh, pretty fair.

Can’t kick a bit. I always have all I can do, you know.” At

the same time he began nervously fingering some ties hung

upon movable nickeled rods. But before he had wasted a

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579

moment on these, Mr. Short, turning and spreading some

boxes of very special ties from a shelf behind him on the

glass case, remarked: “Never mind looking at those, Mr.

Griffiths. Look at these. These are what I want to show you

and they won’t cost you any more. Just got ’em in from New

York this morning.” He picked up several bundles of six

each, the very latest, as he explained. “See anything else

like this anywhere around here yet? I’ll say you haven’t.” He

eyed Clyde smilingly, the while he wished sincerely that

such a young man, so well connected, yet not rich like the

others, would be friends with him. It would place him here.

Clyde, fingering the offerings and guessing that what Short

was saying was true, was now so troubled and confused in

his own mind that he could scarcely think and speak as

planned. “Very nice, sure,” he said, turning them over,

feeling that at another time he would have been pleased to

possess at least two. “I think maybe I’ll take this one,

anyhow, and this one, too.” He drew out two and held them

up, while he was thinking how to broach the so much more

important matter that had brought him here. For why should

he be troubling to buy ties, dilly-dallying in this way, when

all he wanted to ask Short about was this other matter? Yet

how hard it was now—how very hard. And yet he really

must, although perhaps not so abruptly. He would look

around a little more at first in order to allay suspicion—ask

about some socks. Only why should he be doing that, since

he did not need anything, Sondra only recently having

presented him with a dozen handkerchiefs, some collars,

ties and socks. Nevertheless every time he decided to

speak he felt a sort of sinking sensation at the pit of his

stomach, a fear that he could not or would not carry the

thing off with the necessary ease and conviction. It was all

so questionable and treacherous—so likely to lead to

exposure and disgrace in some way. He would probably not

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580

be able to bring himself to speak to Short to-night. And yet,

as he argued with himself, how could the occasion ever be

more satisfactory?

Short, in the meantime having gone to the rear of the store

and now returning, with a most engaging and even

sycophantic smile on his face, began with: “Saw you last

Tuesday evening about nine o’clock going into the

Finchleys’ place, didn’t I? Beautiful house and grounds they

have there.”

Clyde saw that Short really was impressed by his social

station here. There was a wealth of admiration mingled with

a touch of servility. And at once, because of this, he took

heart, since he realized that with such an attitude

dominating the other, whatever he might say would be

colored in part at least by his admirer’s awe and respect.

And after examining the socks and deciding that one pair at

least would soften the difficulty of his demand, he added:

“Oh, by the way, before I forget it. There’s something I’ve

been wanting to ask you about. Maybe you can tell me

what I want to know. One of the boys at the factory—a

young fellow who hasn’t been married very long—about

four months now, I guess—is in a little trouble on account of

his wife.” He paused, because of his uncertainty as to

whether he could succeed with this now or not, seeing that

Short’s expression changed ever so slightly. And yet,

having gone so far, he did not know how to recede. So now

he laughed nervously and then added: “I don’t know why

they always come to me with their troubles, but I guess they

think I ought to know all about these things.” (He laughed

again.) “Only I’m about as new and green here as anybody

and so I’m kinda stumped. But you’ve been here longer

than I have, I guess, and so I thought I might ask you.”

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581

His manner as he said this was as nonchalant as he could

make it, the while he decided now that this was a mistake—

that Short would most certainly think him a fool or queer.

Yet Short, taken back by the nature of the query, which he

sensed as odd coming from Clyde to him (he had noted

Clyde’s sudden restraint and slight nervousness), was still

so pleased to think that even in connection with so ticklish a

thing as this, he should be made the recipient of his

confidence, that he instantly recovered his former poise and

affability, and replied: “Why, sure, if it’s anything I can help

you with, Mr. Griffiths, I’ll be only too glad to. Go ahead,

what is it?”

“Well, it’s this way,” began Clyde, not a little revived by the

other’s hearty response, yet lowering his voice in order to

give the dreadful subject its proper medium of obscurity, as

it were. “His wife’s already two months gone and he can’t

afford a kid yet and he doesn’t know how to get rid of it. I

told him last month when he first came to me to try a certain

medicine that usually works”—this to impress Short with his

own personal wisdom and resourcefulness in such

situations and hence by implication to clear his own skirts,

as it were—“But I guess he didn’t handle it right. Anyhow

he’s all worked up about it now and wants to see some

doctor who could do something for her, you see. Only I

don’t know anybody here myself. Haven’t been here long

enough. If it were Kansas City or Chicago now,” he

interpolated securely, “I’d know what to do. I know three or

four doctors out there.” (To impress Short he attempted a

wise smile.) “But down here it’s different. And if I started

asking around in my crowd and it ever got back to my

relatives, they wouldn’t understand. But I thought if you

knew of any one you wouldn’t mind telling me. I wouldn’t

really bother myself, only I’m sorry for this fellow.”

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582

He paused, his face, largely because of the helpful and

interested expression on Short’s, expressing more

confidence than when he had begun. And although Short

was still surprised he was more than pleased to be as

helpful as he could.

“You say it’s been two months now.”

“Yes.”

“And the stuff you suggested didn’t work, eh?”

“No.”

“She’s tried it again this month, has she?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that is bad, sure enough. I guess she’s in bad all

right. The trouble with this place is that I haven’t been here

so very long either, Mr. Griffiths. I only bought this place

about a year and a half ago. Now, if I were over in

Gloversville—” He paused for a moment, as though, like

Clyde, he too were dubious of the wisdom of entering upon

details of this kind, but after a few seconds continued: “You

see a thing like that’s not so easy, wherever you are.

Doctors are always afraid of getting in trouble. I did hear

once of a case over there, though, where a girl went to a

doctor—a fellow who lived a couple miles out. But she was