come, although I don’t suppose you do, you could. I’d
like to see you and talk to you again if you care to,
before we start. It all seems so funny to me, Clyde,
having these clothes made and wishing to see you so
much and yet knowing that you would rather not do
this. And yet I hope you are satisfied now that you have
succeeded in making me leave Lycurgus and come up
here and are having what you call a good time. Are
they so very much better than the ones we used to
have last summer when we went about to the lakes
An American Tragedy
643
and everywhere? But whatever they are, Clyde, surely
you can afford to do this for me without feeling too bad.
I know it seems hard to you now, but you don’t want to
forget either that if I was like some that I know, I might
and would ask more. But as I told you I’m not like that
and never could be. If you don’t really want me after
you have helped me out like I said, you can go.
Please write me, Clyde, a long, cheery letter, even
though you don’t want to, and tell me all about how you
have not thought of me once since I’ve been away or
missed me at all—you used to, you know, and how you
don’t want me to come back and you can’t possibly
come up before two weeks from Saturday if then.
Oh, dear, I don’t mean the horrid things I write, but I’m
so blue and tired and lonely that I can’t help it at times.
I need some one to talk to—not just any one here,
because they don’t understand, and I can’t tell anybody.
But there, I said I wouldn’t be blue or gloomy or cross
and yet I haven’t done so very well this time, have I?
But I promise to do better next time—tomorrow or next
day, because it relieves me to write to you, Clyde. And
won’t you please write me just a few words to cheer me
up while I’m waiting, whether you mean it or not, I need
it so. And you will come, of course. I’ll be so happy and
grateful and try not to bother you too much in any way.
Your lonely
BERT
And it was the contrast presented by these two scenes
which finally determined for him the fact that he would
never marry Roberta—never—nor even go to her at Biltz, or
let her come back to him here, if he could avoid that. For
would not his going, or her return, put a period to all the
joys that so recently in connection with Sondra had come to
him here—make it impossible for him to be with Sondra at
An American Tragedy
644
Twelfth Lake this summer—make it impossible for him to
run away with and marry her? In God’s name was there no
way? No outlet from this horrible difficulty which now
confronted him?
And in a fit of despair, having found the letters in his room
on his return from work one warm evening in June, he now
threw himself upon his bed and fairly groaned. The misery
of this! The horror of his almost insoluble problem! Was
there no way by which she could be persuaded to go away
—and stay—remain at home, maybe for a while longer,
while he sent her ten dollars a week, or twelve, even—a full
half of all his salary? Or could she go to some neighboring
town—Fonda, Gloversville, Schenectady—she was not so
far gone but what she could take care of herself well
enough as yet, and rent a room and remain there quietly
until the fatal time, when she could go to some doctor or
nurse? He might help her to find some one like that when
the time came, if only she would be willing not to mention
his name.
But this business of making him come to Biltz, or meeting
her somewhere, and that within two weeks or less. He
would not, he would not. He would do something desperate
if she tried to make him do that—run away—or—maybe go
up to Twelfth Lake before it should be time for him to go to
Biltz, or before she would think it was time, and then
persuade Sondra if he could—but oh, what a wild, wild
chance was that—to run away with and marry him, even if
she wasn’t quite eighteen—and then—and then—being
married, and her family not being able to divorce them, and
Roberta not being able to find him, either, but only to
complain—well, couldn’t he deny it—say that it was not so—
that he had never had any relationship, other than that
which any department head might have with any girl
working for him. He had not been introduced to the Gilpins,
An American Tragedy
645
nor had he gone with Roberta to see that Dr. Glenn near
Gloversville, and she had told him at the time, she had not
mentioned his name.
But the nerve of trying to deny it!
The courage it would take.
The courage to try to face Roberta when, as he knew, her
steady, accusing, horrified, innocent blue eyes would be
about as difficult to face as anything in all the world. And
could he do that? Had he the courage? And would it all
work out satisfactorily if he did? Would Sondra believe him
—once she heard?
But just the same in pursuance of this idea, whether finally
he executed it or not, even though he went to Twelfth Lake,
he must write Sondra a letter saying that he was coming.
And this he did at once, writing her passionately and
yearningly. At the same time he decided not to write
Roberta at all. Maybe call her on long distance, since she
had recently told him that there was a neighbor near-by
who had a telephone, and if for any reason he needed to
reach her, he could use that. For writing her in regard to all
this, even in the most guarded way, would place in her
hands, and at this time, exactly the type of evidence in
regard to this relationship which she would most need, and
especially when he was so determined not to marry her.
The trickery of all this! It was low and shabby, no doubt. Yet
if only Roberta had agreed to be a little reasonable with
him, he would never have dreamed of indulging in any such
low and tricky plan as this. But, oh, Sondra! Sondra! And
the great estate that she had described, lying along the
west shore of Twelfth Lake. How beautiful that must be! He
could not help it! He must act and plan as he was doing! He
must!
An American Tragedy
646
And forthwith he arose and went to mail the letter to
Sondra. And then while out, having purchased an evening
paper and hoping via the local news of all whom he knew,
to divert his mind for the time being, there, upon the first
page of the Times-Union of Albany, was an item which read:
ACCIDENTAL DOUBLE TRAGEDY AT PASS LAKE—
UPTURNED CANOE AND FLOATING HATS REVEAL
PROBABLE LOSS OF TWO LIVES AT RESORT
NEAR PITTSFIELD—UNIDENTIFIED BODY OF GIRL
RECOVERED—THAT OF COMPANION STILL
MISSING
Because of his own great interest in canoeing, and indeed
in any form of water life, as well as his own particular skill
when it came to rowing, swimming, diving, he now read
with interest:
Pancoast, Mass., June 7th…. What proved to be a fatal
boat ride for two, apparently, was taken here day
before yesterday by an unidentified man and girl who
came presumably from Pittsfield to spend the day at
Pass Lake, which is fourteen miles north of this place.
Tuesday morning a man and a girl, who said to Thomas
Lucas, who conducts the Casino Lunch and Boat
House there, that they were from Pittsfield, rented a
small row-boat about ten o’clock in the morning and
with a basket, presumably containing lunch, departed
for the northern end of the lake. At seven o’clock last
evening, when they did not return, Mr. Lucas, in
company with his son Jeffrey, made a tour of the lake in
his motor boat and discovered the row-boat upside
down in the shallows near the north shore, but no trace
of the occupants. Thinking at the time that it might be
another instance of renters having decamped in order
to avoid payment, he returned the boat to his own dock.
An American Tragedy
647
But this morning, doubtful as to whether or not an
accident had occurred, he and his assistant, Fred
Walsh, together with his son, made a second tour of
the north shore and finally came upon the hats of both
the girl and the man floating among some rushes near
the shore. At once a dredging party was organized, and