An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

eagerly through his light hair and looked across the grass of

the public square to the jail where Clyde was, then toward

Belknap again.

“All very good, but how?” queried Belknap.

“There’s no other way, I tell you,” went on Jephson quite to

himself, and ignoring his senior, “and I think this will do it.”

He turned to look out the window again, and began as

though talking to some one outside: “He goes up there, you

see, because he’s frightened and because he has to do

something or be exposed. And he signs those registers just

as he did because he’s afraid to have it known by anybody

down there in Lycurgus that he is up there. And he has this

plan about confessing to her about this other girl. BUT,” and

now he paused and looked fixedly at Belknap, “and this is

the keystone of the whole thing—if this won’t hold water,

then down we go! Listen! He goes up there with her,

frightened, and not to marry her or to kill her but to argue

with her to go away. But once up there and he sees how

sick she is, and tired, and sad—well, you know how much

she still loves him, and he spends two nights with her, see?”

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“Yes, I see,” interrupted Belknap, curiously, but not quite so

dubiously now. “And that might explain those nights.”

“MIGHT? Would!” replied Jephson, slyly and calmly, his

harebell eyes showing only cold, eager, practical logic, no

trace of emotion or even sympathy of any kind, really.

“Well, while he’s up there with her under those conditions—

so close to her again, you see” (and his facial expression

never altered so much as by a line) “he experiences a

change of heart. You get me? He’s sorry for her. He’s

ashamed of himself—his sin against her. That ought to

appeal to these fellows around here, these religious and

moral people, oughtn’t it?”

“It might,” quietly interpolated Belknap, who by now was

very much interested and a little hopeful.

“He sees that he’s done her a wrong,” continued Jephson,

intent, like a spider spinning a web, on his own plan, “and in

spite of all his affection for this other girl, he’s now ready to

to the right thing by this Alden girl, do you see, because

he’s sorry and ashamed of himself. That takes the black

look off his plotting to kill her while spending those two

nights in Utica and Grass Lake with her.”

“He still loves the other girl, though?” interjected Belknap.

“Well, sure. He likes her at any rate, has been fascinated by

that life down there and sort of taken out of himself, made

over into a different person, but now he’s ready to marry

Roberta, in case, after telling her all about this other girl and

his love for her, she still wants him to.”

“I see. But how about the boat now and that bag and his

going up to this Finchley girl’s place afterwards?”

“Just a minute! Just a minute! I’ll tell you about that,”

continued Jephson, his blue eyes boring into space like a

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powerful electric ray. “Of course, he goes out in the boat

with her, and of course he takes that bag, and of course he

signs those registers falsely, and walks away through those

woods to that other girl, after Roberta is drowned. But why?

Why? Do you want to know why? I’ll tell you! He felt sorry

for her, see, and he wanted to marry her, or at least he

wanted to do the right thing by her at the very last there.

Not before, not before, remember, but after he had spent a

night with her in Utica and another one in Grass Lake. But

once she was drowned—and accidentally, of course, as he

says, there was his love for that other girl. He hadn’t ceased

loving her even though he was willing to sacrifice her in

order to do the right thing by Roberta. See?”

“I see.”

“And how are they going to prove that he didn’t experience

a change of heart if he says he did and sticks to it?”

“I see, but he’ll have to tell a mighty convincing story,”

added Belknap, a little heavily. “And how about those two

hats? They’re going to have to be explained.”

“Well, I’m coming to those now. The one he had was a little

soiled. And so he decided to buy another. As for that story

he told Mason about wearing a cap, well, he was frightened

and lied because he thought he would have to get out of it.

Now, of course, before he goes to that other girl afterwards

—while Roberta is still alive, I mean, there’s his relationship

with the other girl, what he intends to do about her. He’s

talking to Roberta, now you see,” he continued, “and that

has to be disposed of in some way. But, as I see it, that’s

easy, for of course after he experiences a change of heart

and wants to do the right thing by Roberta, all he has to do

is to write that other girl or go to her and tell her—about the

wrong he has done Roberta.”

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“Yes.”

“For, as I see it now, she can’t be kept out of the case

entirely, after all. We’ll have to ring her in, I’m afraid.”

“All right; then we have to,” said Belknap.

“Because you see, if Roberta still feels that he ought to

marry her—he’ll go first and tell that Finchley girl that he

can’t marry her—that he’s going away—that is, if Roberta

doesn’t object to his leaving her that long, don’t you see?”

“Yes.”

“If she does, he’ll marry her, either at Three Mile Bay or

some other place.”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t want to forget that while she’s still alive he’s

puzzled and distressed. And it’s only after that second

night, at Grass Lake, that he begins to see how wrong all

his actions have been, you understand. Something

happens. Maybe she cries or talks about wanting to die, like

she does in those letters.”

“Yes.”

“And so he wants a quiet place where they can sit down in

peace and talk, where no one else will see or hear them.”

“Yes, yes—go on.”

“Well, he thinks of Big Bittern. He’s been up there once

before or they’re near there, then, and just below there,

twelve miles, is Three Mile Bay, where, if they decide to

marry, they can.”

“I see.”

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“If not, if she doesn’t want to marry him after his full

confession, he can row her back to the inn, can’t he, and he

or she can stay there or go on.”

“Yes, yes.”

“In the meantime, not to have any delay or be compelled to

hang about that inn—it’s rather expensive, you know, and

he hasn’t any too much money—he takes that lunch in his

bag. Also his camera, because he wants to take some

pictures. For if Mason should turn up with that camera, it’s

got to be explained, and it will be better explained by us

than it will be by him, won’t it?”

“I see, I see,” exclaimed Belknap, intensely interested by

now and actually smiling and beginning to rub his hands.

“So they go out on the lake.”

“Yes.”

“And they row around.”

“Yes.”

“And finally after lunch on shore, some pictures taken——”

“Yes.”

“He decides to tell her just how things stand with him. He’s

ready, willing——”

“I get you.”

“Only just before doing that, he wants to take one or two

more pictures of her there in the boat, just off shore.”

“Yes.”

“And then he’ll tell her, see?”

“Yes.”

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“And so they go out in the boat again for a little row, just as

he did, see?”

“Yes.”

“But because they intend to go ashore again for some

flowers; he’s left the bag there, see? That explains the bag.”

“Yes.”

“But before taking any more pictures there, in the boat on

the water, he begins to tell her about his love for this other

girl—that if she wants him to, now he’ll marry her and then

write this Sondra a letter. Or, if she feels she doesn’t want

to marry him with him loving this other girl …”

“Yes, go on!” interrupted Belknap, eagerly.

“Well,” continued Jephson, “he’ll do his best to take care of

her and support her out of the money he’ll have after he

marries the rich girl.”

“Yes.”

“Well, she wants him tomarry her and drop this Miss

Finchley!”

“I see.”

“And he agrees?”

“Sure.”

“Also she’s so grateful that in her excitement, or gratitude,

she jumps up to come toward him, you see?”

“Yes.”

“And the boat rocks a little, and he jumps up to help her

because he’s afraid she’s going to fall, see?”

“Yes, I see.”