An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

there, not to kill her at all, but to try to persuade her, that’s

all. And I didn’t upset the boat—at least, I didn’t mean to.

The wind blew my hat off, and we—she and I—got up at

the same time to reach for it and the boat upset—that’s all.

And the side of it hit her on the head. I saw it, only I was too

frightened the way she was struggling about in the water to

go near her, because I was afraid that if I did she might

drag me down. And then she went down. And I swam

ashore. And that’s the God’s truth!”

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His face, as he talked, had suddenly become all flushed,

and his hands also. Yet his eyes were tortured, terrified

pools of misery. He was thinking—but maybe there wasn’t

any wind that afternoon and maybe they would find that out.

Or the tripod hidden under a log. If they found that, wouldn’t

they think he hit her with that? He was wet and trembling.

But already Mason was beginning to question him again.

“Now, let’s see as to this a minute. You say you didn’t take

her up there with any intention of killing her?”

“No, sir, I didn’t.”

“Well, then, how was it that you decided to write your name

two different ways on those registers up there at Big Bittern

and Grass Lake?”

“Because I didn’t want any one to know that I was up there

with her.”

“Oh, I see. Didn’t want any scandal in connection with the

condition she was in?”

“No, sir. Yes, sir, that is.”

“But you didn’t mind if her name was scandalized in case

she was found afterwards?”

“But I didn’t know she was going to be drowned,” replied

Clyde, slyly and shrewdly, sensing the trap in time.

“But you did know that you yourself weren’t coming back, of

course. You knew that, didn’t you?”

“Why, no, sir, I didn’t know that I wasn’t coming back. I

thought I was.”

“Pretty clever. Pretty clever,” thought Mason to himself, but

not saying so, and then, rapidly: “And so in order to make

everything easy and natural as possible for you to come

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back, you took your own bag with you and left hers up

there. Is that the way? How about that?”

“But I didn’t take it because I was going away. We decided

to put our lunch in it.”

“We, or you?”

“We.”

“And so you had to carry that big bag in order to take a little

lunch along, eh? Couldn’t you have taken it in a paper, or in

her bag?”

“Well, her bag was full, and I didn’t like to carry anything in

a paper.”

“Oh, I see. Too proud and sensitive, eh? But not too proud

to carry a heavy bag all the way, say twelve miles, in the

night to Three Mile Bay, and not ashamed to be seen doing

it, either, were you?”

“Well, after she was drowned and I didn’t want to be known

as having been up there with her, and had to go along——”

He paused while Mason merely looked at him, thinking of

the many, many questions he wanted to ask him—so many,

many more, and which, as he knew or guessed, would be

impossible for him to explain. Yet it was getting late, and

back in the camp were Clyde’s as yet unclaimed belongings

—his bag and possibly that suit he had worn that day at Big

Bittern—a gray one as he had heard—not this one. And to

catechize him here this way in the dusk, while it might be

productive of much if only he could continue it long enough,

still there was the trip back, and en route he would have

ample time to continue his questionings.

And so, although he disliked much so to do at the moment,

he now concluded with: “Oh, well, I tell you, Griffiths, we’ll

let you rest here for the present. It may be that what you are

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saying is so—I don’t know. I most certainly hope it is, for

your sake. At any rate, you go along there with Mr. Kraut.

He’ll show you where to go.”

And then turning to Swenk and Kraut, he exclaimed: “All

right, boys. I’ll tell you how we’ll do. It’s getting late and we’ll

have to hurry a little if we expect to get anywhere yet

tonight. Mr. Kraut, suppose you take this young man down

where those other two boats are and wait there. Just halloo

a little as you go along to notify the sheriff and Sissel that

we’re ready. And then Swenk and I’ll be along in the other

boat as soon as we can.”

And so saying and Kraut obeying, he and Swenk

proceeded inward through the gathering dusk to the camp,

while Kraut with Clyde went west, hallooing for the sheriff

and his deputy until a response was had.

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Chapter 10

THE effect of Mason’s re-appearance in the camp with the

news, announced first to Frank Harriet, next to Harley

Baggott and Grant Cranston, that Clyde was under arrest—

that he actually had confessed to having been with Roberta

at Big Bittern, if not to having killed her, and that he, Mason,

was there with Swenk to take possession of his property—

was sufficient to destroy this pretty outing as by a breath.

For although amazement and disbelief and astounded

confusion were characteristic of the words of all,

nevertheless here was Mason demanding to know where

were Clyde’s things, and asserting that it was at Clyde’s

request only that he was not brought here to identify his

own possessions.

Frank Harriet, the most practical of the group, sensing the

truth and authority of this, at once led the way to Clyde’s

tent, where Mason began an examination of the contents of

the bag and clothes, while Grant Cranston, as well as

Baggott, aware of Sondra’s intense interest in Clyde,

departed first to call Stuart, then Bertine, and finally Sondra

—moving apart from the rest the more secretly to inform

her as to what was then occurring. And she, following the

first clear understanding as to this, turning white and

fainting at the news, falling back in Grant’s arms and being

carried to her tent, where, after being restored to

consciousness, she exclaimed: “I don’t believe a word of it!

It’s not true! Why, it couldn’t be! That poor boy! Oh, Clyde!

Where is he? Where have they taken him?” But Stuart and

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Grant, by no means as emotionally moved as herself,

cautioning her to be silent. It might be true at that.

Supposing it were! The others would hear, wouldn’t they?

And supposing it weren’t—he could soon prove his

innocence and be released, couldn’t he? There was no use

in carrying on like this now.

But then, Sondra in her thoughts going over the bare

possibility of such a thing—a girl killed by Clyde at Big

Bittern—himself arrested and being taken off in this way—

and she thus publicly—or at least by this group—known to

be so interested in him,—her parents to know, the public

itself to know—maybe——

But Clyde must be innocent. It must be all a mistake. And

then her mind turning back and thinking of that news of the

drowned girl she had first heard over the telephone there at

the Harriets’. And then Clyde’s whiteness—his illness—his

all but complete collapse. Oh, no!—not that! Yet his delay in

coming from Lycurgus until the Friday before. His failure to

write from there. And then, the full horror of the charge

returning, as suddenly collapsing again, lying perfectly still

and white while Grant and the others agreed among

themselves that the best thing to be done was to break up

the camp, either now or early in the morning, and depart for

Sharon.

And Sondra returning to consciousness after a time tearfully

announcing that she must get out of here at once, that she

couldn’t “endure this place,” and begging Bertine and all the

others to stay close to her and say nothing about her having

fainted and cried, since it would only create talk. And

thinking all the time of how, if this were all true, she could

secure those letters she had written him! Oh, heavens! For

supposing now at this time they should fall into the hands of

the police or the newspapers, and be published? And yet

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moved by her love for him and for the first time in her young

life shaken to the point where the grim and stern realities of

life were thrust upon her gay and vain notice.

And so it was immediately arranged that she leave with

Stuart, Bertine and Grant for the Metissic Inn at the eastern

end of the Lake, since from there, at dawn, according to

Baggott, they might leave for Albany—and so, in a