An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

they had inquired after Clyde’s parents and had learned

that in so far as the Griffiths of Lycurgus were concerned,

there lay a deep objection to bringing on any member of

this western branch of the family. There was, as he

explained, a great social gap between them, which it would

not please the Lycurgus Griffiths to have exploited here.

Besides, who could say but that once Clyde’s parents were

notified or discovered by the yellow press, they might not

lend themselves to exploitation. Both Samuel and Gilbert

Griffths, as Brookhart now informed Belknap, had

suggested that it was best, if Clyde did not object, to

keeping his immediate relatives in the background. In fact,

on this, in some measure at least, was likely to depend the

extent of their financial aid to Clyde.

Clyde was in accord with this wish of the Griffiths, although

no one who talked with him sufficiently or heard him

express how sorry he was on his mother’s account that all

this had happened, could doubt the quality of the blood and

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911

emotional tie that held him and his mother together. The

complete truth was that his present attitude toward her was

a mixture of fear and shame because of the manner in

which she was likely to view his predicament—his moral if

not his social failure. Would she be willing to believe the

story prepared by Belknap and Jephson as to his change of

heart? But even apart from that, to have her come here

now and look at him through these bars when he was so

disgraced—to be compelled to face her and talk to her day

after day! Her clear, inquiring, tortured eyes! Her doubt as

to his innocence, since he could feel that even Belknap and

Jephson, in spite of all their plans for him, were still a little

dubious as to that unintentional blow of his. They did not

really believe it, and they might tell her that. And would his

religious, God-fearing, crime-abhorring mother be more

credulous than they?

Being asked again what he thought ought to be done about

his parents, he replied that he did not believe he could face

his mother yet—it would do no good and would only torture

both.

And fortunately, as he saw it, apparently no word of all that

had befallen him had yet reached his parents in Denver.

Because of their peculiar religious and moral beliefs, all

copies of worldly and degenerate daily papers were

consistently excluded from their home and Mission. And the

Lycurgus Griffiths had had no desire to inform them.

Yet one night, at about the time that Belknap and Jephson

were most seriously debating the absence of his parents

and what, if anything, should be done about it, Esta, who

some time after Clyde had arrived in Lycurgus had married

and was living in the southeast portion of Denver, chanced

to read in The Rocky Mountain News— and this just

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912

subsequent to Clyde’s indictment by the Grand Jury at

Bridgeburg:

BOY SLAYER OF WORKING GIRL INDICTED

Bridgeburg, N. Y., Aug. 6: A special Grand Jury

appointed by Governor Stouderback, of this state, to sit

in the case of Clyde Griffiths, the nephew of the

wealthy collar manufacturer of the same name, of

Lycurgus, New York, recently charged with the killing of

Miss Roberta Alden, of Biltz, New York, at Big Bittern

Lake in the Adirondacks on July 8th last, to-day

returned an indictment charging murder in the first

degree.

Subsequent to the indictment, Griffiths, who in spite of

almost overwhelming evidence, has persisted in

asserting that the alleged crime was an accident, and

who, accompanied by his counsel, Alvin Belknap, and

Reuben Jephson, of this city, was arraigned before

Supreme Court Justice Oberwaltzer, pleaded not guilty.

He was remanded for trial, which was set for October

15th.

Young Griffiths, who is only twenty-two years of age,

and up to the day of his arrest a respected member of

Lycurgus smart society, is alleged to have stunned and

then drowned his working-girl sweetheart, whom he

had wronged and then planned to desert in favor of a

richer girl. The lawyers in this case have been retained

by his wealthy uncle of Lycurgus, who has hitherto

remained aloof. But apart from this, it is locally

asserted, no relative has come forward to aid in his

defense.

Esta forthwith made a hurried departure for her mother’s

home. Despite the directness and clarity of this she was not

willing to believe it was Clyde. Still there was the damning

force of geography and names—the rich Lycurgus Griffiths,

the absence of his own relatives.

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913

As quickly as the local street car would carry her, she now

presented herself at the combined lodging house and

mission known as the “Star of Hope,” in Bildwell Street,

which was scarcely better than that formerly maintained in

Kansas City. For while it provided a number of rooms for

wayfarers at twenty-five cents a night, and was supposed to

be self-supporting, it entailed much work with hardly any

more profit. Besides, by now, both Frank and Julia, who

long before this had become irked by the drab world in

which they found themselves, had earnestly sought to free

themselves of it, leaving the burden of the mission work on

their father and mother. Julia, now nineteen, was cashiering

for a local downtown restaurant, and Frank, nearing

seventeen, had but recently found work in a fruit and

vegetable commission house. In fact, the only child about

the place by day was little Russell, the illegitimate son of

Esta—now between three and four years of age, and most

reservedly fictionalized by his grandparents as an orphan

whom they had adopted in Kansas City. He was a dark-

haired child, in some ways resembling Clyde, who, even at

this early age, as Clyde had been before him, was being

instructed in those fundamental verities which had irritated

Clyde in his own childhood.

At the time that Esta, now a decidedly subdued and

reserved wife, entered, Mrs. Griffiths was busy sweeping

and dusting and making up beds. But on sight of her

daughter at this unusual hour approaching, and with

blanched cheeks signaling her to come inside the door of a

vacant room, Mrs. Griffiths, who,because of years of

difficulties of various kinds, was more or less accustomed

to scenes such as this, now paused in wonder, the swiftly

beclouding mist of apprehension shining in her eyes. What

new misery or ill was this? For decidedly Esta’s weak gray

eyes and manner indicated distress. And in her hand was

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914

folded a paper, whichshe opened and after giving her

mother a most solicitous look, pointed to the item, toward

which Mrs. Griffiths now directed her look. But what was

this?

BOY SLAYER OF WORKING-GIRL

SWEETHEART INDICTED.

CHARGED WITH THE KILLING OF MISS

ROBERTA ALDEN AT BIG BITTERN LAKE IN

THE ADIRONDACKS ON JULY 8 LAST.

RETURNED INDICTMENT CHARGING

MURDER IN THE FIRST DEGREE.

IN SPITE OF ALMOST OVERWHELMING

CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE.

PLEADED NOT GUILTY.

REMANDED FOR TRIAL. SET FOR OCTOBER

15.

STUNNED AND DROWNED HIS WORKING-

GIRL SWEETHEART.

NO RELATIVE HAS COME FORWARD.

It was thus that her eye and her mind automatically

selected the most essential lines. And then as swiftly going

over them again.

CLYDE GRIFFITHS, NEPHEW OF THE

WEALTHY OLLAR MANUFACTURER OF

LYCURGUS, NEW YORK.

Clyde—her son! And only recently—but no, over a month

ago—(and they had been worrying a little as to that, she

and Asa, because he had not—) July 8th! And it was now

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915

August 11th! Then—yes! But not her son! Impossible!

Clyde the murderer of a girl who was his sweetheart! But he

was not like that! He had written to her how he was getting

along—the head of a large department, with a future. But of

no girl. But now! And yet that other little girl there in Kansas

City. Merciful God! And the Griffiths, of Lycurgus, her

husband’s brother, knowing of this and not writing!

Ashamed, disgusted, no doubt. Indifferent. But no, he had

hired two lawyers. Yet the horror! Asa! Her other children!

What the papers would say! This mission! They would have

to give it up and go somewhere else again. Yet was he

guilty or not guilty? She must know that before judging or

thinking. This paper said he had pleaded not guilty. Oh, that

wretched, worldly, showy hotel in Kansas City! Those other

bad boys! Those two years in which he wandered here and

there, not writing, passing as Harry Tenet. Doing what?

Learning what?

She paused, full of that intense misery and terror which no

faith in the revealed and comforting verities of God and

mercy and salvation which she was always proclaiming,

could for the moment fend against. Her boy! Her Clyde! In

jail, accused of murder! She must wire! She must write!

She must go, maybe. But how to get the money! What to