An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

word! Why, if he were put to any real test—an officer

descending on him unexpectedly and asking him where he

had been yesterday and what he knew of Roberta’s death—

why, he would mumble, shiver, not be able to talk, maybe—

and so give his whole case away wouldn’t he! He must

brace up, try to look natural, happy—mustn’t he—for this

first day at least.

Fortunately in the speed and excitement of the play, the

others seemed not to notice the startling effect of the

remark upon him, and he managed by degrees to recover

his outward composure. Then the launch approached the

Casino and Sondra, wishing to execute some last showy

stunt, jumped up and catching the rail pulled herself up,

while the boat rolled past only to reverse later. And Clyde,

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because of a happy smile in his direction, was seized by an

uncontrollable desire for her—her love, sympathy,

generosity, courage. And so now, to match her smiles, he

jumped up and after assisting Jill to the steps, quickly

climbed up after her, pretending a gayety and enthusiasm

that was as hollow inwardly as outwardly it was accurate.

“Gee! Some athlete you are!”

And then on the links a little later with her, and under her

guidance and direction, playing as successful a game as it

was possible with his little experience and as troubled as he

was. And she, because of the great delight of having him all

to herself in shadowy hazards where they might kiss and

embrace, beginning to tell him of a proposed camping trip

which she, Frank Harriet, Wynette Phant, Burchard Taylor,

her brother Stuart, Grant Cranston and Bertine, as well as

Harley Baggott, Perley Haynes, Jill Trumbull and Violet

Taylor, had been organizing for a week, and which was to

begin on the morrow afternoon, with a motor trip thirty miles

up the lake and then forty miles east to a lake known as

Bear, along which, with tents and equipment, they were to

canoe to certain beaches and scenes known only to Harley

and Frank. Different days, different points. The boys would

kill squirrels and catch fish for food. Also there would be

moonlight trips to an inn that could be reached by boat, so

they said. A servant or two or three from different homes

was to accompany them, as well as a chaperon or two. But,

oh, the walks in the woods! The opportunities for love—

canoe trips on the lake—hours of uninterrupted love-

making for at least a week!

In spite of all that had occurred thus far to give him pause,

he could not help thinking that whatever happened, was it

not best to go? How wonderful to have her love him so!

And what else here could he do? It would take him out of

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this, would it not—farther and farther from the scene of the

—of the—accident and in case any one were looking for

any one who looked like him, for instance—well, he would

not be around where he could be seen and commented

upon. Those three men.

Yet, as it now instantly occurred to him, under no

circumstances must he leave here without first finding out

as definitely as possible whether any one was as yet

suspected. And once at the Casino, and for the moment left

alone, he learned on inquiring at the news stand that there

would be no Albany, Utica, or any local afternoon paper

there until seven or seven-thirty. He must wait until then to

know.

And so although after the lunch there was swimming and

dancing, then a return to the Cranstons with Harley Baggott

and Bertine—Sondra going to Pine Point, with an

agreement to meet him afterwards at the Harriets’ for dinner

—still his mind was on the business of getting these papers

at the first possible opportunity. Yet unless, as he now saw,

he was so fortunate as to be able to stop on his way from

the Cranstons’ to the Harriets’ and so obtain one or all, he

must manage to come over to this Casino in the morning

before leaving for Bear Lake. He must have them. He must

know what, if anything, was either being said or done so far

in regard to that drowned couple.

But on his way to Harriets’ he was not able to get the

papers. They had not come. And none at the Harriets’

either, when he first arrived. Yet sitting on the veranda

about a half hour later, talking with the others although

brooding as to all this, Sondra herself appeared and said:

“Oh, say, people! I’ve got something to tell you. Two people

were drowned this morning or yesterday up at Big Bittern,

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so Blanche Locke was telling me just now over the phone.

She’s up at Three Mile Bay to-day and she says they’ve

found the body of the girl but not the man yet. They were

drowned in the south part of the lake somewhere, she said.”

At once Clyde sat up, rigid and white, his lips a bloodless

line, his eyes fixed not on anything here but rather the

distant scene at Big Bittern—the tall pines, the dark water

closing over Roberta. Then they had found her body. And

now would they believe that his body was down there, too,

as he had planned? But, listen! He must hear in spite of his

dizziness.

“Gee, that’s tough!” observed Burchard Taylor, stopping his

strumming on a mandolin. “Anybody we know?”

“She says she didn’t hear yet.”

“I never did like that lake,” put in Frank Harriet. “It’s too

lonely. Dad and I and Mr. Randall were up there fishing last

summer, but we didn’t stay long. It’s too gloomy.”

“We were up there three weeks ago—don’t you remember,

Sondra?” added Harley Baggott. “You didn’t care for it.”

“Yes, I remember,” replied Sondra. “A dreadfully lonely

place. I can’t imagine any one wanting to go up there for

anything.”

“Well, I only hope it isn’t any one we know from around

here,” added Burchard, thoughtfully. “It would put a crimp in

the fun around here for a while, anyhow.”

And Clyde unconsciously wet his dry lips with his tongue

and swallowed to moisten his already dry throat.

“I don’t suppose any of to-day’s papers would have

anything about it yet. Has any one looked?” inquired

Wynette Phant, who had not heard Sondra’s opening

remark.

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“There ain’t no papers,” commented Burchard Taylor.

“Besides, it’s not likely yet, didn’t Sondra say she just heard

it from Blanche Locke over the phone? She’s up near there.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right.”

And yet might not that small local afternoon paper of Sharon

— The Banner, wasn’t it—have something as to this? If only

he could see it yet to-night!

But another thought! For Heaven’s sake! It came to him

now for the first time. His footprints! Were there any in the

mud of that shore? He had not even stopped to look,

climbing out so hastily as he did. And might there not have

been? And then would they not know and proceed to follow

him—the man those three men saw? Clifford Golden! That

ride down this morning. His going out to the Cranstons’ in

their car. That wet suit over in the room at the Cranstons’!

Had any one in his absence been in his room as yet to look,

examine, inquire—open his bag, maybe? An officer? God!

It was there in his bag. But why in his bag or anywhere else

near him now? Why had he not hidden it before this—

thrown it in the lake here, maybe, with a stone in it? That

would keep it down. God! What was he thinking in the face

of such a desperate situation as this? Supposing he did

need the suit!

He was now up, standing—mentally and physically frozen

really—his eyes touched with a stony glaze for the moment.

He must get out of here. He must go back there, at once,

and dispose of that suit—drop it in the lake—hide it

somewhere in those woods beyond the house! And yet—he

could not do that so swiftly, either—leave so instantly after

this light conversation about the drowning of those two

people. How would that look?

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And as instantly there came the thought—no—be calm—

show no trace of excitement of any kind, if you can manage

it—appear cool—make some unimportant remark, if you

can.

And so now, mustering what nervous strength he had, and

drawing near to Sondra, he said: “Too bad, eh?” Yet in a

voice that for all its thinly-achieved normality was on the

borderline of shaking and trembling. His knees and his

hands, also.

“Yes, it certainly is,” replied Sondra, turning to him alone

now. “I always hate to hear of anything like that, don’t you?

Mother worries so about Stuart and me fooling around

these lakes as it is.”