An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

his money on her. And he could scarcely wait until

opportunity should provide him with the means of gratifying

himself in this way.

But more interesting and more to his purpose at the time

was the fact that both Hegglund and Ratterer, in spite of, or

possibly because of, a secret sense of superiority which

they detected in Clyde, were inclined to look upon him with

no little interest and to court him and to include him among

all their thoughts of affairs and pleasures. Indeed, shortly

after his first adventure, Ratterer invited him to come to his

home, where, as Clyde most quickly came to see, was a life

very different from his own. At the Griffiths’ all was so

solemn and reserved, the still moods of those who feel the

pressure of dogma and conviction. In Ratterer’s home, the

reverse of this was nearly true. The mother and sister with

whom he lived, while not without some moral although no

particular religious convictions, were inclined to view life

with a great deal of generosity or, as a moralist would have

seen it, laxity. There had never been any keen moral or

characterful direction there at all. And so it was that

Ratterer and his sister Louise, who was two years younger

than himself, now did about as they pleased, and without

thinking very much about it. But his sister chanced to be

shrewd or individual enough not to wish to cast herself

away on just any one.

The interesting part of all this was that Clyde, in spite of a

certain strain of refinement which caused him to look

askance at most of this, was still fascinated by the crude

picture of life and liberty which it offered. Among such as

these, at least, he could go, do, be as he had never gone or

done or been before. And particularly was he pleased and

enlightened—or rather dubiously liberated—in connection

with his nervousness and uncertainty in regard to his charm

An American Tragedy

108

or fascination for girls of his own years. For up to this very

time, and in spite of his recent first visit to the erotic temple

to which Hegglund and the others had led him, he was still

convinced that he had no skill with or charm where girls

were concerned. Their mere proximity or approach was

sufficient to cause him to recede mentally, to chill or

palpitate nervously, and to lose what little natural skill he

had for conversation or poised banter such as other youths

possessed. But now, in his visits to the home of Ratterer,

as he soon discovered, he was to have ample opportunity

to test whether this shyness and uncertainty could be

overcome.

For it was a center for the friends of Ratterer and his sister,

who were more or less of one mood in regard to life.

Dancing, card-playing, love-making rather open and

unashamed, went on there. Indeed, up to this time, Clyde

would not have imagined that a parent like Mrs. Ratterer

could have been as lackadaisical or indifferent as she was,

apparently, to conduct and morals generally. He would not

have imagined that any mother would have countenanced

the easy camaraderie that existed between the sexes in

Mrs. Ratterer’s home.

And very soon, because of several cordial invitations which

were extended to him by Ratterer, he found himself part

and parcel of this group—a group which from one point of

view—the ideas held by its members, the rather wretched

English they spoke—he looked down upon. From another

point of view—the freedom they possessed, the zest with

which they managed to contrive social activities and

exchanges—he was drawn to them. Because, for the first

time, these permitted him, if he chose, to have a girl of his

own, if only he could summon the courage. And this, owing

to the well-meant ministrations of Ratterer and his sister

An American Tragedy

109

and their friends, he soon sought to accomplish. Indeed the

thing began on the occasion of his first visit to the Ratterers.

Louise Ratterer worked in a dry-goods store and often

came home a little late for dinner. On this occasion she did

not appear until seven, and the eating of the family meal

was postponed accordingly. In the meantime, two girl

friends of Louise arrived to consult her in connection with

something, and finding her delayed, and Ratterer and Clyde

there, they made themselves at home, rather impressed

and interested by Clyde and his new finery. For he, at once

girl-hungry and girl-shy, held himself nervously aloof, a

manifestation which they mistook for a conviction of

superiority on his part. And in consequence, arrested by

this, they determined to show how really interesting they

were—vamp him—no less. And he found their crude

briskness and effrontery very appealing—so much so that

he was soon taken by the charms of one, a certain

Hortense Briggs, who, like Louise, was nothing more than a

crude shop girl in one of the large stores, but pretty and

dark and self-appreciative. And yet from the first, he

realized that she was not a little coarse and vulgar—a very

long way removed from the type of girl he had been

imagining in his dreams that he would like to have.

“Oh, hasn’t she come in yet?” announced Hortense, on first

being admitted by Ratterer and seeing Clyde near one of

the front windows, looking out. “Isn’t that too bad? Well,

we’ll just have to wait a little bit if you don’t mind”—this last

with a switch and a swagger that plainly said, who would

mind having us around? And forthwith she began to primp

and admire herself before a mirror which surmounted an

ocher-colored mantelpiece that graced a fireless grate in

the dining-room. And her friend, Greta Miller, added: “Oh,

dear, yes. I hope you won’t make us go before she comes.

An American Tragedy

110

We didn’t come to eat. We thought your dinner would be all

over by now.”

“Where do you get that stuff—‘put you out’?” replied

Ratterer cynically. “As though anybody could drive you two

outa here if you didn’t want to go. Sit down and play the

victrola or do anything you like. Dinner’ll soon be ready and

Louise’ll be here any minute.” He returned to the dining-

room to look at a paper which he had been reading, after

pausing to introduce Clyde. And the latter, because of the

looks and the airs of these two, felt suddenly as though he

had been cast adrift upon a chartless sea in an open boat.

“Oh, don’t say eat to me!” exclaimed Greta Miller, who was

surveying Clyde calmly as though she were debating with

herself whether he was worth-while game or not, and

deciding that he was: “With all the ice-cream and cake and

pie and sandwiches we’ll have to eat yet to-night. We was

just going to warn Louise not to fill up too much. Kittie

Keane’s givin’ a birthday party, you know, Tom, and she’ll

have a big cake an’ everythin’. You’re comin’ down, ain’t

you, afterwards?” she concluded, with a thought of Clyde

and his possible companionship in mind.

“I wasn’t thinkin’ of it,” calmly observed Ratterer. “Me and

Clyde was thinkin’ of goin’ to a show after dinner.”

“Oh, how foolish,” put in Hortense Briggs, more to attract

attention to herself and take it away from Greta than

anything else. She was still in front of the mirror, but turned

now to cast a fetching smile on all, particularly Clyde, for

whom she fancied her friend might be angling, “When you

could come along and dance. I call that silly.”

“Sure, dancing is all you three ever think of—you and

Louise,” retorted Ratterer. “It’s a wonder you don’t give

yourselves a rest once in a while. I’m on my feet all day an’

An American Tragedy

111

I like to sit down once in a while.” He could be most matter-

of-fact at times.

“Oh, don’t say sit down to me,” commented Greta Miller

with a lofty smile and a gliding, dancing motion of her left

foot, “with all the dates we got ahead of us this week. Oh,

gee!” Her eyes and eyebrows went up and she clasped her

hands dramatically before her. “It’s just terrible, all the

dancin’ we gotta do yet, this winter, don’t we, Hortense?

Thursday night and Friday night and Saturday and Sunday

nights.” She counted on her fingers most archly. “Oh, gee!

It is terrible, really.” She gave Clyde an appealing,

sympathy-seeking smile. “Guess where we were the other

night, Tom. Louise and Ralph Thorpe and Hortense and

Bert Gettler, me and Willie Bassick—out at Pegrain’s on

Webster Avenue. Oh, an’ you oughta seen the crowd out

there. Sam Shaffer and Tillie Burns was there. And we

danced until four in the morning. I thought my knees would

break. I ain’t been so tired in I don’t know when.”

“Oh, gee!” broke in Hortense, seizing her turn and lifting her