An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

assure you. Not nearly as hard as you think or as wicked as

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this other way. Don’t forget there is a life there—a human—

if it is really as you think. A human life which you are

seeking to end and that I cannot help you to do. I really

cannot. There may be doctors—I know there are—men

here and there who take their professional ethics a little less

seriously than I do; but I cannot let myself become one of

them. I am sorry—very.

“So now the best I can say is—go home to your parents

and tell them. It may look hard now but you are going to

feel better about it in the long run. If it will make you or them

feel any better about it, let them come and talk to me. I will

try and make them see that this is not the worst thing in the

world, either. But as for doing what you want—I am very,

very sorry, but I cannot. My conscience will not permit me.”

He paused and gazed at her sympathetically, yet with a

determined and concluded look in his eye. And Roberta,

dumbfounded by this sudden termination of all her hopes in

connection with him and realizing at last that not only had

she been misled by Clyde’s information in regard to this

doctor, but that her technical as well as emotional plea had

failed, now walked unsteadily to the door, the terrors of the

future crowding thick upon her. And once outside in the

dark, after the doctor had most courteously and ruefully

closed the door behind her, she paused to lean against a

tree that was there—her nervous and physical strength all

but failing her. He had refused to help her. He had refused

to help her. And now what?

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Chapter 38

THE first effect of the doctor’s decision was to shock and

terrify them both—Roberta and Clyde—beyond measure.

For apparently now here was illegitimacy and disgrace for

Roberta. Exposure and destruction for Clyde. And this had

been their one solution seemingly. Then, by degrees, for

Clyde at least, there was a slight lifting of the heavy pall.

Perhaps, after all, as the doctor had suggested—and once

she had recovered her senses sufficiently to talk, she had

told him—the end had not been reached. There was the

bare possibility, as suggested by the druggist, Short and the

doctor, that she might be mistaken. And this, while not

producing a happy reaction in her, had the unsatisfactory

result of inducing in Clyde a lethargy based more than

anything else on the ever-haunting fear of inability to cope

with this situation as well as the certainty of social exposure

in case he did not which caused him, instead of struggling

all the more desperately, to defer further immediate action.

For, such was his nature that, although he realized clearly

the probably tragic consequences if he did not act, still it

was so hard to think to whom else to apply to without

danger to himself. To think that the doctor had “turned her

down,” as he phrased it, and that Short’s advice should

have been worth as little as that!

But apart from nervous thoughts as to whom to turn to next,

no particular individual occurred to him before the two

weeks were gone, or after. It was so hard to just ask

anywhere. One just couldn’t do it. Besides, of whom could

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he ask now? Of whom? These things took time, didn’t

they? Yet in the meantime, the days going by, both he and

Roberta had ample time to consider what, if any, steps they

must take—the one in regard to the other—in case no

medical or surgical solution was found. For Roberta, while

urging and urging, if not so much by words as by

expression and mood at her work, was determined that she

must not be left to fight this out alone—she could not be.

On the other hand, as she could see, Clyde did nothing. For

apart from what he had already attempted to do, he was

absolutely at a loss how to proceed. He had no intimates

and in consequence he could only think of presenting the

problem as an imaginary one to one individual and another

here or there in the hope of extracting some helpful

information. At the same time, and as impractical and

evasive as it may seem, there was the call of that diverting

world of which Sondra was a part, evenings and Sundays,

when, in spite of Roberta’s wretched state and mood, he

was called to go here and there, and did, because in so

doing he was actually relieving his own mind of the dread

specter of disaster that was almost constantly before it. If

only he could get her out of this! If only he could. But how,

without money, intimates, a more familiar understanding of

the medical or if not that exactly, then the sub rosa world of

sexual free-masonry which some at times—the bell-hops of

the Green-Davidson, for instance, seemed to understand.

He had written to Ratterer, of course, but there had been no

answer, since Ratterer had removed to Florida and as yet

Clyde’s letter had not reached him. And locally all those he

knew best were either connected with the factory or society

—individuals on the one hand too inexperienced or

dangerous, or on the other hand, too remote and

dangerous, since he was not sufficiently intimate with any of

them as yet to command their true confidence and secrecy.

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At the same time he must do something—he could not just

rest and drift. Assuredly Roberta could not long permit him

to do that—faced as she was by exposure. And so from

time to time he actually racked himself—seized upon straws

and what would have been looked upon by most as forlorn

chances. Thus, for instance, an associate foreman,

chancing to reminisce one day concerning a certain girl in

his department who had “gotten in trouble” and had been

compelled to leave, he had been given the opportunity to

inquire what he thought such a girl did in case she could not

afford or did not want to have a child. But this particular

foreman, being as uninformed as himself, merely observed

that she probably had to see a doctor if she knew one or

“go through with it”—which left Clyde exactly where he was.

On another occasion, in connection with a conversation in a

barber shop, relating to a local case reported in The Star

where a girl was suing a local ne’er-do-well for breach of

promise, the remark was made that she would “never have

sued that guy, you bet, unless she had to.” Whereupon

Clyde seized the opportunity to remark hopefully, “But

wouldn’t you think that she could find some way of getting

out of trouble without marrying a fellow she didn’t like?”

“Well, that’s not so easy as you may think, particularly

around here,” elucidated the wiseacre who was trimming

his hair. “In the first place it’s agin’ the law. And next it takes

a lotta money. An’ in case you ain’t got it, well, money

makes the mare go, you know.” He snip-snipped with his

scissors while Clyde, confronted by his own problem,

meditated on how true it was. If he had a lot of money—

even a few hundred dollars—he might take it now and

possibly persuade her—who could tell—to go somewhere

by herself and have an operation performed.

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Yet each day, as on the one before, he was saying to

himself that he must find some one. And Roberta was

saying to herself that she too must act—must not really

depend on Clyde any longer if he were going to act so. One

could not trifle or compromise with a terror of this kind. It

was a cruel imposition on her. It must be that Clyde did not

realize how terribly this affected her and even him. For

certainly, if he were not going to help her out of it, as he had

distinctly said he would do at first, then decidedly she could

not be expected to weather the subsequent storm alone.

Never, never, never! For, after all, as Roberta saw it, Clyde

was a man—he had a good position—it was not he, but

she, who was in this treacherous position and unable to

extricate herself alone.

And beginning with the second day after the second period,

when she discovered for once and all that her worst

suspicions were true, she not only emphasized the fact in

every way that she could that she was distressed beyond

all words, but on the third day announced to him in a note

that she was again going to see the doctor near

Gloversville that evening, regardless of his previous refusal

—so great was her need—and also asking Clyde whether