An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

entirely. And then, turning to see if he could not get back as

he had come, there directly behind him were arrayed an

entangled mass of snakes that at first looked more like a

pile of brush. But above it waved the menacing heads of at

least a score of reptiles, forked tongues and agate eyes.

And in front now, as he turned swiftly, a horned and savage

animal—huge, it was—its heavy tread crushing the brush—

blocked the path in that direction. And then, horrified and

crying out in hopeless desperation, once more he awoke—

not to sleep again that night.

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Chapter 43

YET a thought such as that of the lake, connected as it was

with the predicament by which he was being faced, and

shrink from it though he might, was not to be dismissed as

easily as he desired. Born as it was of its accidental relation

to this personal problem that was shaking and troubling and

all but disarranging his own none-too-forceful mind, this

smooth, seemingly blameless, if dreadful, blotting out of two

lives at Pass Lake, had its weight. That girl’s body—as

some peculiar force in his own brain now still compelled

him to think—being found, but the man’s not. In that

interesting fact—and this quite in spite of himself—lurked a

suggestion that insisted upon obtruding itself on his mind—

to wit, that it might be possible that the man’s body was not

in that lake at all. For, since evil-minded people did

occasionally desire to get rid of other people, might it not be

possible that that man had gone there with that girl in order

to get rid of her? A very smooth and devilish trick, of

course, but one which, in this instance at least, seemed to

have succeeded admirably.

But as for him accepting such an evil suggestion and acting

upon it … never! Yet here was his own problem growing

hourly more desperate, since every day, or at least every

other day, brought him either letters from Roberta or a note

from Sondra—their respective missives maintaining the

same relative contrast between ease and misery, gayety of

mood and the somberness of defeat and uncertainty.

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To Roberta, since he would not write her, he was

telephoning briefly and in as non-committal a manner as

possible. How was she? He was so glad to hear from her

and to know that she was out in the country and at home,

where it must be much nicer than in the factory here in this

weather. Everything was going smoothly, of course, and

except for a sudden rush of orders which made it rather

hard these last two days, all was as before. He was doing

his best to save a certain amount of money for a certain

project about which she knew, but otherwise he was not

worrying about anything—and she must not. He had not

written before because of the work, and could not write

much—there were so many things to do—but he missed

seeing her in her old place, and was looking forward to

seeing her again soon. If she were coming down toward

Lycurgus as she said, and really thought it important to see

him, well, that could be arranged, maybe—but was it

necessary right now? He was so very busy and expected to

see her later, of course.

But at the same time he was writing Sondra that assuredly

on the eighteenth, and the week-end following, if possible,

he would be with her.

So, by virtue of such mental prestidigitation and

tergiversation, inspired and animated as it was by his desire

for Sondra, his inability to face the facts in connection with

Roberta, he achieved the much-coveted privilege of again

seeing her, over one week-end at least, and in such a

setting as never before in his life had he been privileged to

witness.

For as he came down to the public dock at Sharon,

adjoining the veranda of the inn at the foot of Twelfth Lake,

he was met by Bertine and her brother as well as Sondra,

who, in Grant’s launch, had motored down the Chain to pick

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him up. The bright blue waters of the Indian Chain. The tall,

dark, spear pines that sentineled the shores on either side

and gave to the waters at the west a band of black shadow

where the trees were mirrored so clearly. The small and

large, white and pink and green and brown lodges on every

hand, with their boathouses. Pavilions by the shore. An

occasional slender pier reaching out from some spacious

and at times stately summer lodge, such as those now

owned by the Cranstons, Finchleys and others. The green

and blue canoes and launches. The gay hotel and pavilion

at Pine Point already smartly attended by the early arrivals

here! And then the pier and boathouse of the Cranston

Lodge itself, with two Russian wolfhounds recently acquired

by Bertine lying on the grass near the shore, apparently

awaiting her return, and a servant John, one of a half dozen

who attended the family here, waiting to take the single bag

of Clyde, his tennis racquet and golf sticks. But most of all

he was impressed by the large rambling and yet smartly-

designed house, with its bright geranium-bordered walks,

its wide, brown, wicker-studded veranda commanding a

beautiful view of the lake; the cars and personalities of the

various guests, who in golf, tennis or lounging clothes were

to be seen idling here and there.

At Bertine’s request, John at once showed him to a

spacious room overlooking the lake, where it was his

privilege now to bathe and change for tennis with Sondra,

Bertine and Grant. After dinner, as explained by Sondra,

who was over at Bertine’s for the occasion, he was to come

over with Bertine and Grant to the Casino, where he would

be introduced to such as all here knew. There was to be

dancing. To-morrow, in the morning early, before breakfast,

if he chose—he should ride with her and Bertine and Stuart

along a wonderful woodland trail through the forests to the

west which led to Inspiration Point and a more distant view

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of the lake. And, as he now learned, except for a few such

paths as this, the forest was trackless for forty miles.

Without a compass or guide, as he was told, one might

wander to one’s death even—so evasive were directions to

those who did not know. And after breakfast and a swim

she and Bertine and Nina Temple would demonstrate their

new skill with Sondra’s aquaplane. After that, lunch, tennis,

or golf, a trip to the Casino for tea. After dinner at the lodge

of the Brookshaws of Utica across the lake, there was to be

dancing.

Within an hour after his arrival, as Clyde could see, the

program for the week-end was already full. But that he and

Sondra would contrive not only moments but possibly hours

together he well knew. And then he would see what new

delight, in connection with her many-faceted temperament,

the wonderful occasion would provide. To him, in spite of

the dour burden of Roberta, which for this one week-end at

least he could lay aside, it was as though he were in

Paradise.

And on the tennis grounds of the Cranstons, it seemed as

though never before had Sondra, attired in a short, severe

white tennis skirt and blouse, with a yellow-and-green

dotted handkerchief tied about her hair, seemed so gay,

graceful and happy. The smile that was upon her lips! The

gay, laughing light of promise that was in her eyes

whenever she glanced at him! And now and then, in

running to serve him, it was as though she were poised bird-

like in flight—her racquet arm high, a single toe seeming

barely to touch the ground, her head thrown back, her lips

parted and smiling always. And in calling twenty love, thirty

love, forty love, it was always with a laughing accent on the

word love, which at once thrilled and saddened him, as he

saw, and rejoiced in from one point of view, she was his to

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take, if only he were free to take her now. But this other

black barrier which he himself had built!

And then this scene, where a bright sun poured a flood of

crystal light upon a greensward that stretched from tall

pines to the silver rippling waters of a lake. And off shore in

a half dozen different directions the bright white sails of

small boats—the white and green and yellow splashes of

color, where canoes paddled by idling lovers were passing

in the sun! Summertime—leisure—warmth—color—ease—

beauty—love—all that he had dreamed of the summer

before, when he was so very much alone.

At moments it seemed to Clyde that he would reel from

very joy of the certain fulfillment of a great desire, that was