he had a glimpse of the appealing scene. Only now one of
the couples was dancing to a tune sung and whistled by the
other two.
But what interested him as much as the visits to and
glimpses of individuals in the different rooms, was the
moving panorama of the main lobby—the character of the
clerks behind the main desk—room clerk, key clerk, mail
clerk, cashier and assistant cashier. And the various stands
about the place—flower stand, news stand, cigar stand,
telegraph office, taxicab office, and all manned by
individuals who seemed to him curiously filled with the
atmopshere of this place. And then around and between all
these walking or sitting were such imposing men and
women, young men and girls all so fashionably dressed, all
so ruddy and contented looking. And the cars or other
vehicles in which some of them appeared about dinner time
and later. It was possible for him to see them in the flare of
the lights outside. The wraps, furs, and other belongings in
which they appeared, or which were often carried by these
other boys and himself across the great lobby and into the
cars or the dining-room or the several elevators. And they
were always of such gorgeous textures, as Clyde saw
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them. Such grandeur. This, then, most certainly was what it
meant to be rich, to be a person of consequence in the
world—to have money. It meant that you did what you
pleased. That other people, like himself, waited upon you.
That you possessed all of these luxuries. That you went
how, where and when you pleased.
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Chapter 7
AND so, of all the influences which might have come to
Clyde at this time, either as an aid or an injury to his
development, perhaps the most dangerous for him,
considering his temperament, was this same Green-
Davidson, than which no more materially affected or gaudy
a realm could have been found anywhere between the two
great American mountain ranges. Its darkened and
cushioned tea-room, so somber and yet tinted so gayly with
colored lights, was an ideal rendezvous, not only for such
inexperienced and eager flappers of the period who were to
be taken by a show of luxury, but also for those more
experienced and perhaps a little faded beauties, who had a
thought for their complexions and the advantages of dim
and uncertain lights. Also, like most hotels of its kind, it was
frequented by a certain type of eager and ambitious male of
not certain age or station in life, who counted upon his
appearance here at least once, if not twice a day, at certain
brisk and interesting hours, to establish for himself the
reputation of man-about-town, or rounder, or man of wealth,
or taste, or attractiveness, or all.
And it was not long after Clyde had begun to work here that
he was informed by these peculiar boys with whom he was
associated, one or more of whom was constantly seated
with him upon the “hop-bench,” as they called it, as to the
evidence and presence even here—it was not long before
various examples of the phenomena were pointed out to
him—of a certain type of social pervert, morally disarranged
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and socially taboo, who sought to arrest and interest boys
of their type, in order to come into some form of illicit
relationship with them, which at first Clyde could not grasp.
The mere thought of it made him ill. And yet some of these
boys, as he was now informed—a certain youth in
particular, who was not on the same watch with him at this
time—were supposed to be of the mind that “fell for it,” as
one of the other youths phrased it
And the talk and the palaver that went on in the lobby and
the grill, to say nothing of the restaurants and rooms, were
sufficient to convince any inexperienced and none-too-
discerning mind that the chief business of life for any one
with a little money or social position was to attend a theater,
a ball-game in season, or to dance, motor, entertain friends
at dinner, or to travel to New York, Europe, Chicago,
California. And there had been in the lives of most of these
boys such a lack of anything that approached comfort or
taste, let alone luxury, that not unlike Clyde, they were
inclined to not only exaggerate the import of all that they
saw, but to see in this sudden transition an opportunity to
partake of it all. Who were these people with money, and
what had they done that they should enjoy so much luxury,
where others as good seemingly as themselves had
nothing? And wherein did these latter differ so greatly from
the successful? Clyde could not see. Yet these thoughts
flashed through the minds of every one of these boys.
At the same time the admiration, to say nothing of the
private overtures of a certain type of woman or girl, who
inhibited perhaps by the social milieu in which she found
herself, but having means, could invade such a region as
this, and by wiles and smiles and the money she
possessed, ingratiate herself into the favor of some of the
more attractive of these young men here, was much
commented upon.
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Thus a youth named Ratterer—a hall-boy here—sitting
beside him the very next afternoon, seeing a trim, well-
formed blonde woman of about thirty enter with a small dog
upon her arm, and much bedecked with furs, first nudged
him and, with a faint motion of the head indicating her
vicinity, whispered, “See her? There’s a swift one. I’ll tell
you about her sometime when I have time. Gee, the things
she don’t do!”
“What about her?” asked Clyde, keenly curious, for to him
she seemed exceedingly beautiful, most fascinating.
“Oh, nothing, except she’s been in with about eight different
men around here since I’ve been here. She fell for Doyle”—
another hall-boy whom by this time Clyde had already
observed as being the quintessence of Chesterfieldian
grace and airs and looks, a youth to imitate—“for a while,
but now she’s got some one else.”
“Really?” inquired Clyde, very much astonished and
wondering if such luck would ever come to him.
“Surest thing you know,” went on Ratterer. “She’s a bird
that way—never gets enough. Her husband, they tell me,
has a big lumber business somewhere over in Kansas, but
they don’t live together no more. She has one of the best
suites on the sixth, but she ain’t in it half the time. The maid
told me.”
This same Ratterer, who was short and stocky but good-
looking and smiling, was so smooth and bland and
generally agreeable that Clyde was instantly drawn to him
and wished to know him better. And Ratterer reciprocated
that feeling, for he had the notion that Clyde was innocent
and inexperienced and that he would like to do some little
thing for him if he could.
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The conversation was interrupted by a service call, and
never resumed about this particular woman, but the effect
on Clyde was sharp. The woman was pleasing to look
upon, and exceedingly well-groomed, her skin clear, her
eyes bright. Could what Ratterer had been telling him really
be true? She was so pretty. He sat and gazed, a vision of
something which he did not care to acknowledge even to
himself tingling the roots of his hair.
And then the temperaments and the philosophy of these
boys—Kinsella, short and thick and smooth-faced and a
little dull, as Clyde saw it, but good-looking and virile, and
reported to be a wizard at gambling, who, throughout the
first three days at such times as other matters were not
taking his attention, had been good enough to continue
Hegglund’s instructions in part. He was a more suave,
better spoken youth than Hegglund, though not so
attractive as Ratterer, Clyde thought, without the latter’s
sympathetic outlook, as Clyde saw it.
And again, there was Doyle—Eddie—whom Clyde found
intensely interesting from the first, and of whom he was not
a little jealous, because he was so very good-looking, so
trim of figure, easy and graceful of gesture, and with so soft
and pleasing a voice. He went about with an indescribable
air which seemed to ingratiate him instantly with all with
whom he came in contact—the clerks behind the counter
no less than the strangers who entered and asked this or
that question of him. His shoes and collar were so clean
and trim, and his hair cut and brushed and oiled after a
fashion which would have become a moving-picture actor.
From the first Clyde was utterly fascinated by his taste in
the matter of dress—the neatest of brown suits, caps, with
ties and socks to match. He should wear a brown-belted
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coat just like that. He should have a brown cap. And a suit