as well cut and attractive.
Similarly, a not unrelated and yet different effect was
produced by that same youth who had first introduced
Clyde to the work here—Hegglund—who was one of the
older and more experienced bell-hops, and of considerable
influence with the others because of his genial and devil-
may-care attitude toward everything, outside the exact line
of his hotel duties. Hegglund was neither as schooled nor
as attractive as some of the others, yet by reason of a most
avid and dynamic disposition—plus a liberality where
money and pleasure were concerned, and a courage,
strength and daring which neither Doyle nor Ratterer nor
Kinsella could match—a strength and daring almost entirely
divested of reason at times—he interested and charmed
Clyde immensely. As he himself related to Clyde, after a
time, he was the son of a Swedish journeyman baker who
some years before in Jersey City had deserted his mother
and left her to make her way as best she could. In
consequence neither Oscar nor his sister Martha had had
any too much education or decent social experience of any
kind. On the contrary, at the age of fourteen he had left
Jersey City in a box car and had been making his way ever
since as best he could. And like Clyde, also, he was
insanely eager for all the pleasures which he had imagined
he saw swirling around him, and was for prosecuting
adventures in every direction, lacking, however, the
nervous fear of consequence which characterized Clyde.
Also he had a friend, a youth by the name of Sparser,
somewhat older than himself, who was chauffeur to a
wealthy citizen of Kansas City, and who occasionally
managed to purloin a car and so accommodate Hegglund
in the matter of brief outings here and there; which
courtesy, unconventional and dishonest though it might be,
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77
still caused Hegglund to feel that he was a wonderful fellow
and of much more importance than some of these others,
and to lend him in their eyes a luster which had little of the
reality which it suggested to them.
Not being as attractive as Doyle, it was not so easy for him
to win the attention of girls, and those he did succeed in
interesting were not of the same charm or import by any
means. Yet he was inordinately proud of such contacts as
he could effect and not a little given to boasting in regard to
them, a thing which Clyde took with more faith than would
most, being of less experience. For this reason Hegglund
liked Clyde, almost from the very first, sensing in him
perhaps a pleased and willing auditor.
So, finding Clyde on the bench beside him from time to
time, he had proceeded to continue his instructions. Kansas
City was a fine place to be if you knew how to live. He had
worked in other cities—Buffalo, Cleveland, Detroit, St. Louis
—before he came here, but he had not liked any of them
any better, principally—which was a fact which he did not
trouble to point out at the time—because he had not done
as well in those places as he had here. He had been a
dishwasher, car-cleaner, plumber’s helper and several
other things before finally, in Buffalo, he had been inducted
into the hotel business. And then a youth, working there,
but who was now no longer here, had persuaded him to
come on to Kansas City. But here:
“Say—de tips in dis hotel is as big as you’ll git anywhere, I
know dat. An’ what’s more, dey’s nice people workin’ here.
You do your bit by dem and dey’ll do right by you. I been
here now over a year an’ I ain’t got no complaint. Dat guy
Squires is all right if you don’t cause him no trouble. He’s
hard, but he’s got to look out for hisself, too—dat’s natural.
But he don’t fire nobody unless he’s got a reason. I know
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78
dat, too. And as for de rest dere’s no trouble. An’ when your
work’s troo, your time’s your own. Dese fellows here are
good sports, all o’ dem. Dey’re no four-flushers an’ no
tightwads, eider. Whenever dere’s anyting on—a good time
or sumpin’ like dat, dey’re on—nearly all of ’em. An’ dey
don’t mooch or grouch in case tings don’t work out right,
neider. I know dat, cause I been wit ’em now, lots o’ times.”
He gave Clyde the impression that these youths were all
the best of friends—close—all but Doyle, who was a little
standoffish, but not coldly so. “He’s got too many women
chasin’ him, dat’s all.” Also that they went here and there
together on occasion—to a dance hall, a dinner, a certain
gambling joint down near the river, a certain pleasure resort
—“Kate Sweeney’s”—where were some peaches of girls—
and so on and so forth, a world of such information as had
never previously been poured into Clyde’s ear, and that set
him meditating, dreaming, doubting, worrying and
questioning as to the wisdom, charm, delight to be found in
all this—also the permissibility of it in so far as he was
concerned. For had he not been otherwise instructed in
regard to all this all his life long? There was a great thrill
and yet a great question involved in all to which he was
now listening so attentively.
Again there was Thomas Ratterer, who was of a type which
at first glance, one would have said, could scarcely prove
either inimical or dangerous to any of the others. He was
not more than five feet four plump, with black hair and olive
skin, and with an eye that was as limpid as water and as
genial as could be. He, too, as Clyde learned after a time,
was of a nondescript family, and so had profited by no
social or financial advantages of any kind. But he had a
way, and was liked by all of these youths—so much so that
he was consulted about nearly everything. A native of
Wichita, recently moved to Kansas City, he and his sister
An American Tragedy
79
were the principal support of a widowed mother. During
their earlier and formative years, both had seen their very
good-natured and sympathetic mother, of whom they were
honestly fond, spurned and abused by a faithless husband.
There had been times when they were quite without food.
On more than one occasion they had been ejected for non-
payment of rent. None too continuously Tommy and his
sister had been maintained in various public schools.
Finally, at the age of fourteen he had decamped to Kansas
City, where he had secured different odd jobs, until he
succeeded in connecting himself with the Green-Davidson,
and was later joined by his mother and sister who had
removed from Wichita to Kansas City to be with him.
But even more than by the luxury of the hotel or these
youths, whom swiftly and yet surely he was beginning to
decipher, Clyde was impressed by the downpour of small
change that was tumbling in upon him and making a small
lump in his right-hand pants pocket—dimes, nickels,
quarters and half-dollars even, which increased and
increased even on the first day until by nine o’clock he
already had over four dollars in his pocket, and by twelve,
at which hour he went off duty, he had over six and a half—
as much as previously he had earned in a week.
And of all this, as he then knew, he need only hand Mr.
Squires one—no more, Hegglund had said—and the rest,
five dollars and a half, for one evening’s interesting—yes,
delightful and fascinating—work, belonged to himself. He
could scarcely believe it. It seemed fantastic, Aladdinish,
really. Nevertheless, at twelve, exactly, of that first day a
gong had sounded somewhere—a shuffle of feet had been
heard and three boys had appeared—one to take Barnes’
place at the desk, the other two to answer calls. And at the
command of Barnes, the eight who were present were
ordered to rise, right dress and march away. And in the hall
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80
outside, and just as he was leaving, Clyde approached Mr.
Squires and handed him a dollar in silver. “That’s right,” Mr.
Squires remarked. No more. Then, Clyde, along with the
others, descended to his locker, changed his clothes and
walked out into the darkened streets, a sense of luck and a
sense of responsibility as to future luck so thrilling him as to
make him rather tremulous—giddy, even.
To think that now, at last, he actually had such a place. To
think that he could earn this much every day, maybe. He
began to walk toward his home, his first thought being that
he must sleep well and so be fit for his duties in the
morning. But thinking that he would not need to return to
the hotel before 11:30 the next day, he wandered into an all-