a great pain, not hate. Her mother—no doubt of it. Oh, what
a situation was this! How unthinkably miserable! His heart
fluttered. His hands trembled.
So now to stay himself, he looked down, first at the hands
of Belknap and Jephson on the table before him, since
each was toying with a pencil poised above the pad of
paper before them, as they gazed at Mason and whoever
was in the jury box before him—a foolish-looking fat man
now. What a difference between Jephson’s and Belknap’s
hands—the latter so short and soft and white, the former’s
so long and brown and knotty and bony. And Belknap’s
pleasant and agreeable manner here in court—his voice—“I
think I will ask the juror to step down”—as opposed to
Mason’s revolver-like “Excused!” or Jephson’s slow and yet
powerful, though whispered, “Better let him go, Alvin.
Nothing in him for us.” And then all at once Jephson saying
to him: “Sit up! Sit up! Look around! Don’t sag down like
that. Look people in the eye. Smile naturally, Clyde, if you’re
going to smile at all. Just look ’em in the eye. They’re not
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936
going to hurt you. They’re just a lot of farmers out
sightseeing.”
But Clyde, noting at once that several reporters and artists
were studying and then sketching or writing of him, now
flushed hotly and weakly, for he could feel their eager eyes
and their eager words as clearly as he could hear their
scratching pens. And all for the papers—his blanching face
and trembling hands—they would have that down—and his
mother in Denver and everybody else there in Lycurgus
would see and read—how he had looked at the Aldens and
they had looked at him and then he had looked away again.
Still—still—he must get himself better in hand—sit up once
more and look about—or Jephson would be disgusted with
him. And so once more he did his best to crush down his
fear, to raise his eyes and then turn slightly and look about.
But in doing so, there next to the wall, and to one side of
that tall window, and just as he had feared, was Tracy
Trumbull, who evidently because of the law interest or his
curiosity and what not—no pity or sympathy for him, surely
—had come up for this day anyhow, and was looking, not at
him for the moment, thank goodness, but at Mason, who
was asking the fat man some questions. And next to him
Eddie Sells, with nearsighted eyes equipped with thick
lenses of great distance-power, and looking in Clyde’s
direction, yet without seeing him apparently, for he gave no
sign. Oh, how trying all this!
And five rows from them again, in another direction, Mr.
and Mrs. Gilpin, whom Mason had found, of course. And
what would they testify to now? His calling on Roberta in
her room there? And how secret it had all been? That
would be bad, of course. And of all people, Mr. and Mrs.
George Newton! What were they going to put them on the
stand for? To tell about Roberta’s life before she got to
An American Tragedy
937
going with him, maybe? And that Grace Marr, whom he had
seen often but met only once out there on Crum Lake, and
whom Roberta had not liked any more. What would she
have to say? She could tell how he had met Roberta, of
course, but what else? And then—but, no, it could not be—
and yet—yet, it was, too—surely—that Orrin Short, of whom
he had asked concerning Glenn. Gee!—he was going to tell
about that now, maybe—no doubt of it. How people
seemed to remember things—more than ever he would
have dreamed they would have.
And again, this side of that third window from the front, but
beyond that dreaded group of the Aldens, that very large
and whiskered man who looked something like an old-time
Quaker turned bandit—Heit was his name. He had met him
at Three Mile Bay, and again on that day on which he had
been taken up to Big Bittern against his will. Oh, yes, the
coroner he was. And beside him, that innkeeper up there
who had made him sign the register that day. And next to
him the boathouse-keeper who had rented him the boat.
And next to him, that tall, lank guide who had driven him
and Roberta over from Gun Lodge, a brown and wiry and
loutish man who seemed to pierce him now with small,
deep-set, animal-like eyes, and who most certainly was
going to testify to all the details of that ride from Gun Lodge.
Would his nervousness on that day, and his foolish qualms,
be as clearly remembered by him as they were now by
himself, And if so, how would that affect his plea of a
change of heart? Would he not better talk all that over
again with Jephson?
But this man Mason! How hard he was! How energetic! And
how he must have worked to get all of these people here to
testify against him! And now here he was, exclaiming as he
chanced to look at him, and as he had in at least the last
dozen cases (yet with no perceptible result in so far as the
An American Tragedy
938
jury box was concerned), “Acceptable to the People!” But,
invariably, whenever he had done so, Jephson had merely
turned slightly, but without looking, and had said: “Nothing
in him for us, Alvin. As set as a bone.” And then Belknap,
courteous and bland, had challenged for cause and usually
succeeded in having his challenge sustained.
But then at last, and oh, how agreeably, the clerk of the
court announcing in a clear, thin, rasping and aged voice, a
recess until two P. M. And Jephson smilingly turning to
Clyde with: “Well, Clyde, that’s the first round—not so very
much to it, do you think? And not very hard either, is it?
Better go over there and get a good meal, though. It’ll be
just as long and dull this afternoon.”
And in the meantime, Kraut and Sissel, together with the
extra deputies, pushing close and surrounding him. And
then the crowding and swarming and exclaiming: “There he
is! There he is! Here he comes! Here Here!” And a large
and meaty female pushing as close as possible and staring
directly into his face, exclaiming as she did so: “Let me see
him! I just want to get a good look at you, young man. I
have two daughters of my own.” But without one of all those
of Lycurgus or Twelfth Lake whom he had ecognized in the
public benches, coming near him. And no glimpse of
Sondra anywhere, of course. For as both Belknap and
Jephson had repeatedly assured him, she would not
appear. Her name was not even to be mentioned, if
possible. The Griffiths, as well as the Finchleys, were
opposed.
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939
Chapter 20
AND then five entire days consumed by Mason and Belknap
in selecting a jury. But at last the twelve men who were to
try Clyde, sworn and seated. And such men—odd and
grizzled, or tanned and wrinkled, farmers and country
storekeepers, with here and there a Ford agent, a keeper of
an inn at Tom Dixon’s Lake, a salesman in Hamburger’s dry
goods store at Bridgeburg, and a peripatetic insurance
agent residing in Pur-day just north of Grass Lake. And with
but one exception, all married. And with but one exception,
all religious, if not moral, and all convinced of Clyde’s guilt
before ever they sat down, but still because of their almost
unanimous conception of themselves as fair and open-
minded men, and because they were so interested to sit as
jurors in this exciting case, convinced that they could pass
fairly and impartially on the facts presented to them.
And so, all rising and being sworn in.
And at once Mason rising and beginning: “Gentlemen of the
jury.”
And Clyde, as well as Belknap and Jephson, now gazing at
them and wondering what the impression of Mason’s
opening charge was likely to be. For a more dynamic and
electric prosecutor under these particular circumstances
was not to be found. This was his opportunity. Were not the
eyes of all the citizens of the United States upon him? He
believed so. It was as if some one had suddenly exclaimed:
“Lights! Camera!”
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“No doubt many of you have been wearied, as well as
puzzled, at times during the past week,” he began, “by the
exceeding care with which the lawyers in this case have
passed upon the panels from which you twelve men have
been chosen. It has been no light matter to find twelve men
to whom all the marshaled facts in this astonishing cause
could be submitted and by them weighed with all the
fairness and understanding which the law commands. For
my part, the care which I have exercised, gentlemen, has