An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

impressive-looking car, was waiting for her father who was

still in the Stark Building opposite. And Miss Stark,

fashionably outfitted according to the season, her world and

her own pretentious taste, was affectedly posed at the

wheel, not only for the benefit of Clyde but the public in

general. And to Roberta, who by now was reduced to the

verge of distraction between Clyde’s delay and her

determination to compel him to act in her behalf, she

appeared to be little less than an epitome of all the security,

luxury and freedom from responsibility which so enticed and

hence caused Clyde to delay and be as indifferent as

possible to the dire state which confronted her. For, alas,

apart from this claim of her condition, what had she to offer

him comparable to all he would be giving up in case he

acceded to her request? Nothing—a thought which was far

from encouraging.

Yet, at this moment contrasting her own wretched and

neglected state with that of this Miss Stark, for example,

she found herself a prey to an even more complaining and

antagonistic mood than had hitherto characterized her. It

was not right. It was not fair. For duing the several weeks

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that had passed since last they had discussed this matter,

Clyde had scarcely said a word to her at the factory or

elsewhere, let alone called upon her at her room, fearing as

he did the customary inquiry which he could not satisfy. And

this caused her to feel that not only was he neglecting but

resenting her most sharply.

And yet as she walked home from this trivial and fairly

representative scene, her heart was not nearly so angry as

it was sad and sore because of the love and comfort that

had vanished and was not likely ever to come again … ever

… ever … ever. Oh, how terrible, … how terrible!

On the other hand, Clyde, and at approximately this same

time, was called upon to witness a scene identified with

Roberta, which, as some might think, only an ironic and

even malicious fate could have intended or permitted to

come to pass. For motoring north the following Sunday to

Arrow Lake to the lodge of the Trumbulls’ to take

advantage of an early spring week-end planned by Sondra,

the party on nearing Biltz, which was in the direct line of the

trip, was compelled to detour east in the direction of

Roberta’s home. And coming finally to a north and south

road which ran directly from Trippettsville past the Alden

farm, they turned north into that. And a few minutes later,

came directly to the corner adjoining the Alden farm, where

an east and west road led to Biltz. Here Tracy Trumbull,

driving at the time, requested that some one should get out

and inquire at the adjacent farm-house as to whether this

road did lead to Biltz. And Clyde, being nearest to one door,

jumped out. And then, glancing at the name on the mail-

box which stood at the junction and evidently belonged to

the extremely dilapidated old farm-house on the rise above,

he was not a little astonished to note that the name was

that of Titus Alden—Roberta’s father. Also, as it instantly

came to him, since she had described her parents as being

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near Biltz, this must be her home. It gave him pause,

caused him for the moment to hesitate as to whether to go

on or not, for once he had given Roberta a small picture of

himself, and she might have shown it up here. Again the

mere identification of this lorn, dilapidated realm with

Roberta and hence himself, was sufficient to cause him to

wish to turn and run.

But Sondra, who was sitting next him in the car and now

noting his hesitation, called: “What’s the matter, Clyde?

Afraid of the bow-wow?” And he, realizing instantly that they

would comment further on his actions if he did not proceed

at once, started up the path. But the effect of this house,

once he contemplated it thoroughly, was sufficient to

arouse in his brain the most troubled and miserable of

thoughts. For what a house, to be sure! So lonely and bare,

even in this bright, spring weather! The decayed and

sagging roof. The broken chimney to the north—rough

lumps of cemented field stones lying at its base; the

sagging and semi-toppling chimney to the south, sustained

in place by a log chain. The unkempt path from the road

below, which slowly he ascended! He was not a little

dejected by the broken and displaced stones which served

as steps before the front door. And the unpainted

dilapidated out-buildings, all the more dreary because of

these others.

“Gee!” To think that this was Roberta’s home. And to think,

in the face of all that he now aspired to in connection with

Sondra and this social group at Lycurgus, she should be

demanding that he marry her! And Sondra in the car with

him here to see—if not know. The poverty! The reduced

grimness of it all. How far he had traveled away from just

such a beginning as this!

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With a weakening and sickening sensation at the pit of his

stomach, as of some blow administered there, he now

approached the door. And then, as if to further distress him,

if that were possible, the door was opened by Titus Alden,

who, in an old, thread-bare and out-at-elbows coat, as well

as baggy, worn, jean trousers and rough, shineless, ill-

fitting country shoes, desired by his look to know what he

wanted. And Clyde, being taken aback by the clothes, as

well as a marked resemblance to Roberta about the eyes

and mouth, now as swiftly as possible asked if the east and

west road below ran through Biltz and joined the main

highway north. And although he would have preferred a

quick “yes” so that he might have turned and gone, Titus

preferred to step down into the yard and then, with a

gesture of the arm, indicate that if they wanted to strike a

really good part of the road, they had better follow this

Trippettsville north and south road for at least two more

miles, and then turn west. Clyde thanked him briefly and

turned almost before he had finished and hurried away.

For, as he now recalled, and with an enormous sense of

depression, Roberta was thinking and at this very time, that

soon now, and in the face of all Lycurgus had to offer him—

Sondra—the coming spring and summer—the love and

romance, gayety, position, power—he was going to give all

that up and go away with and marry her. Sneak away to

some out-of-the-way place! Oh, how horrible! And with a

child at his age! Oh, why had he ever been so foolish and

weak as to identify himself with her in this intimate way?

Just because of a few lonely evenings! Oh, why, why

couldn’t he have waited and then this other world would

have opened up to him just the same? If only he could have

waited!

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And now unquestionably, unless he could speedily and

easily disengage himself from her, all this other splendid

recognition would be destined to be withdrawn from him,

and this other world from which he sprang might extend its

gloomy, poverty-stricken arms to him and envelop him once

more, just as the poverty of his family had enveloped and

almost strangled him from the first. And it even occurred to

him, in a vague way for the first time, how strange it was

that this girl and he, whose origin had been strikingly

similar, should have been so drawn to each other in the

beginning. Why should it have been? How strange life was,

anyway? But even more harrowing than this, was the

problem of a way out that was before him. And his mind

from now on, on this trip, was once more searching for

some solution. A word of complaint from Roberta or her

parents to his uncle or Gilbert, and assuredly he would be

done for.

The thought so troubled him that once in the car, and

although previously he had been chattering along with the

others about what might be in store ahead in the way of

divertissement, he now sat silent. And Sondra, who sat next

to him and who previously had been whispering at intervals

of her plans for the summer, now, instead of resuming the

patter, whispered: “What come over de sweet

phing?” (When Clyde appeared to be the least reduced in

mind she most affected this patter with him, since it had an

almost electric, if sweetly tormenting effect on him. “His

baby-talking girl,” he sometimes called her.) “Facey all dark

now. Little while ago facey all smiles. Come make facey all

nice again. Smile at Sondra. Squeeze Sondra’s arm like