An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

recently he ought to have plunged. To safety.

“Very well, then,” replied the redoubtable Kraut. “So long as

you come along peaceful.” And he took Clyde by one of his

almost palsied arms.

“Do you mind if I ask you something else,” asked Clyde,

weakly and fearsomely, as they now proceeded, the

thought of Sondra and the others shimmering blindingly and

reducingly before his eyes. Sondra! Sondra! To go back

there an arrested murderer! And before her and Bertine!

Oh, no! “Are you, are you intending to take me to that camp

back there?”

“Yes, sir, that’s where I’m intending to take you now.

Them’s my orders. That’s where the district attorney and

the sheriff of Cataraqui County are just now.”

“Oh, I know, I know,” pleaded Clyde, hysterically, for by now

he had lost almost all poise, “but couldn’t you—couldn’t you

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—so long as I go along just as you want—those are all my

friends, you know, back there, and I’d hate … couldn’t you

just take me around the camp somewhere to wherever you

want to take me? I have a very special reason—that is—I—

I, oh, God, I hope you won’t take me back there right now—

will you please, Mr. Kraut?”

He seemed to Kraut very boyish and weak now—clean of

feature, rather innocent as to eye, well-dressed and well-

mannered—not at all the savage and brutal or murderous

type he had expected to find. Indeed quite up to the class

whom he (Kraut) was inclined to respect. And might he not

after all be a youth of very powerful connections? The

conversations he had listened to thus far had indicated that

this youth was certainly identified with one of the best

families in Lycurgus. And in consequence he was now

moved to a slight show of courtesy and so added: “Very

well, young man, I don’t want to be too hard on you. After

all, I’m not the sheriff or the district attorney—just the

arresting officer. There are others down there who are

going to be able to say what to do about you—and when

we get down to where they are, you can ask ’em, and it

may be that they won’t find it necessary to take you back in

there. But how about your clothes? They’re back there, ain’t

they?”

“Oh, yes, but that doesn’t matter,” replied Clyde, nervously

and eagerly. “I can get those any time. I just don’t want to

go back now, if I can help it.”

“All right, then, come along,” replied Mr. Kraut.

And so it was that they walked on together now in silence,

the tall shafts of the trees in the approaching dusk making

solemn aisles through which they proceeded as might

worshipers along the nave of a cathedral, the eyes of Clyde

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contemplating nervously and wearily a smear of livid red

still visible through the trees to the west.

Charged with murder! Roberta dead! And Sondra dead—to

him! And the Griffiths! And his uncle! And his mother! and

all those people in that camp!

Oh, oh, God, why was it that he had not run, when that

something, whatever it was, had so urged him?

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Chapter 9

IN THE absence of Clyde, the impressions taken by Mr.

Mason of the world in which he moved here,

complementing and confirming those of Lycurgus and

Sharon, were sufficient to sober him in regard to the ease

(possibly) with which previously he had imagined it might be

possible to convict him. For about him was such a scene as

suggested all the means as well as the impulse to quiet

such a scandal as this. Wealth. Luxury. Important names

and connections to protect no doubt. Was it not possible

that the rich and powerful Griffiths, their nephew seized in

this way and whatever his crime, would take steps to

secure the best legal talent available, in order to protect

their name? Unquestionably—and then with such

adjournments as it was possible for such talent to secure,

might it not be possible that long before he could hope to

convict him, he himself would automatically be disposed of

as a prosecutor and without being nominated for and

elected to the judgeship he so craved and needed.

Sitting before the circle of attractive tents that faced the

lake and putting in order a fishing-pole and reel, was Harley

Baggott, in a brightly-colored, sweater and flannel trousers.

And through the open flies of several tents, glimpses of

individuals—Sondra, Bertine, Wynette and others—busy

about toilets necessitated by the recent swim. Being

dubious because of the smartness of the company as to

whether it was politically or socially wise to proclaim openly

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the import of his errand, he chose to remain silent for a

time, reflecting on the difference between the experiences

of his early youth and that of Roberta Alden and these

others. Naturally as he saw it a man of this Griffiths’

connections would seek to use a girl of Roberta’s

connections thus meanly and brutally and hope to get away

with it. Yet, eager to make as much progress as he could

against whatever inimical fates might now beset him, he

finally approached Baggott, and most acidly, yet with as

much show of genial and appreciative sociability as he

could muster, observed:

“A delightful place for a camp, eh?”

“Yeh, we think so.”

“Just a group from the estates and hotels about Sharon, I

suppose?”

“Yeh. The south and west shore principally.”

“Not any of the Griffiths, other than Mr. Clyde, I presume?”

“No, they’re still over at Greenwood, I think.”

“You know Mr. Clyde Griffiths personally, I suppose?”

“Oh, sure—he’s one of the party.”

“You don’t happen to know how long he’s been up here this

time, I presume—up with the Cranstons, I mean.”

“Since Friday, I think. I saw him Friday morning, any-how.

But he’ll be back here soon and you can ask him yourself,”

concluded Baggott, beginning to sense that Mr. Mason was

a little too inquisitive and in addition not of either his or

Clyde’s world.

And just then, Frank Harriet, with a tennis racquet under his

arm, striding across the foreground. “Where to, Frankie?”

“To try those courts Harrison laid out up here this morning.”

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“Who with?”

“Violet, Nadine and Stuart.”

“Any room for another court?”

“Sure, there’s two. Why not get Bert, and Clyde, and

Sondra, and come up?”

“Well, maybe, after I get this thing set.”

And Mason at once thinking: Clyde and Sondra. Clyde

Griffiths and Sondra Finchley—the very girl whose notes

and cards were in one of his pockets now. And might he not

see her here, along with Clyde—possibly later talk to her

about him?

But just then, Sondra and Bertine and Wynette coming out

of their respective tents. And Bertine calling: “Oh, say,

Harley, seen Nadine anywhere?”

“No, but Frank just went by. He said he was going up to the

courts to play with her and Violet and Stew.”

“Yes? Well, then, come on, Sondra. You too, Wynette.

We’ll see how it looks.”

Bertine, as she pronounced Sondra’s name, turned to take

her arm, which gave Mason the exact information and

opportunity he desired—that of seeing and studying for a

moment the girl who had so tragically and no doubt all

unwittingly replaced Roberta in Clyde’s affections. And, as

he could see for himself, more beautiful, more richly

appareled than ever the other could have hoped to be. And

alive, as opposed to the other now dead and in a morgue in

Bridgeburg.

But even as he gazed, the three tripping off together arm in

arm, Sondra calling back to Harley: “If you see Clyde, tell

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him to come on up, will you?” And he replying: “Do you

think that shadow of yours needs to be told?”

Mason, impressed by the color and the drama, looked

intently and even excitedly about. Now it was all so plain

why he wanted to get rid of the girl—the true, underlying

motive. That beautiful girl there, as well as this luxury to

which he aspired. And to think that a young man of his

years and opportunities would stoop to such a horrible trick

as that! Unbelievable! And only four days after the murder

of the other poor girl, playing about with this beautiful girl in

this fashion, and hoping to marry her, as Roberta had

hoped to marry him. The unbelievable villainies of life!

Now, half-determining since Clyde did not appear, that he

would proclaim himself and proceed to search for and seize

his belongings here, Ed Swenk re-appearing and with a

motion of the head indicating that Mason was to follow him.

And once well within the shadow of the surrounding trees,

indicating no less an individual than Nicholas Kraut,

attended by a slim, neatly-dressed youth of about Clyde’s

reported years, who, on the instant and because of the