An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

and hopefully.

“Yes, sir. About that maybe. I couldn’t be quite sure.”

“And now with you over there and the boat here, where was

Miss Alden at that time?”

And Clyde now sensed that Mason must have some

geometric or mathematic scheme in mind whereby he

proposed to establish his guilt. And at once he was on his

guard, and looking in the direction of Jephson. At the same

time he could not see how he was to put Roberta too far

away either. He had said she couldn’t swim. Wouldn’t she

be nearer the boat than he was? Most certainly. He leaped

foolishly—wildly—at the thought that it might be best to say

that she was about half that distance—not more, very likely.

And said so. And at once Mason proceeded with:

“Well, then she was not more than fifteen feet or so from

you or the boat.”

“No, sir, maybe not. I guess not.”

“Well then, do you mean to say that you couldn’t have

swum that little distance and buoyed her up until you could

reach the boat just fifteen feet beyond her?”

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“Well, as I say, I was a little dazed when I came up and she

was striking about and screaming so.”

“But there was that boat—not more than thirty-five feet

away, according to your own story—and a mighty long way

for a boat to move in that time, I’ll say. And do you mean to

say that when you could swim five hundred feet to shore

afterwards that you couldn’t have swum to that boat and

pushed it to her in time for her to save herself? She was

struggling to keep herself up, wasn’t she?”

“Yes, sir. But I was rattled at first,” pleaded Clyde, gloomily,

conscious of the eyes of all the jurors and all the spectators

fixed upon his face, “and … and …” (because of the general

strain of the suspicion and incredulity now focused as a

great force upon him, his nerve was all but failing him, and

he was hesitating and stumbling) …“I didn’t think quite

quick enough I guess, what to do. Besides I was afraid if I

went near her …”

“I know. A mental and moral coward,” sneered Mason.

“Besides very slow to think when it’s to your advantage to

be slow and swift when it’s to your advantage to be swift. Is

that it?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, then, if it isn’t, just tell me this, Griffiths, why was it,

after you got out of the water a few moments later you had

sufficient presence of mind to stop and bury that tripod

before starting through the woods, whereas, when it came

to rescuing her you got rattled and couldn’t do a thing? How

was it that you could get so calm and calculating the

moment you set your foot on land? What can you say to

that?”

“Well … a … I told you that afterwards I realized that there

was nothing else to do.”

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“Yes, we know all about that. But doesn’t it occur to you that

it takes a pretty cool head after so much panic in the water

to stop at a moment like that and take such a precaution as

that—burying that tripod? How was it that you could think

so well of that and not think anything about the boat a few

moments before?”

“Well … but …”

“You didn’t want her to live, in spite of your alleged change

of heart! Isn’t that it?” yelled Mason. “Isn’t that the black,

sad truth? She was drowning, as you wanted her to drown,

and you just let her drown! Isn’t that so?”

He was fairly trembling as he shouted this, and Clyde, the

actual boat before him and Roberta’s eyes and cries as she

sank coming back to him with all their pathetic and horrible

force, now shrank and cowered in his seat—the closeness

of Mason’s interpretation of what had really happened

terrifying him. For never, even to Jephson and Belknap,

had he admitted that when Roberta was in the water he

had not wished to save her. Changelessly and secretively

he insisted he had wanted to but that it had all happened so

quickly, and he was so dazed and frightened by her cries

and movements, that he had not been able to do anything

before she was gone.

“I … I wanted to save her,” he mumbled, his face quite

gray, “but … but … as I said, I was dazed … and … and

and …”

“Don’t you know that you’re lying!” shouted Mason, leaning

still closer, his stout arms aloft, his disfigured face glowering

and scowling like some avenging nemesis or fury of

gargoyle design—“that you deliberately and with cold-

hearted cunning allowed that poor, tortured girl to die there

when you might have rescued her as easily as you could

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have swum fifty of those five hundred feet you did swim in

order to save yourself?” For by now he was convinced that

he knew just how Clyde had actually slain Roberta,

something in his manner and mood convincing him, and he

was determined to drag it out of him if he could. And

although Belknap was instantly on his feet with a protest

that his client was being unfairly prejudiced in the eyes of

the jury and that he was really entitled to—and now

demanded—a mistrial—which complaint Justice

Oberwaltzer eventually overruled—still Clyde had time to

reply, but most meekly and feebly: “No! No! I didn’t. I

wanted to save her if I could.” Yet his whole manner, as

each and every juror noted, was that of one who was not

really telling the truth, who was really all of the mental and

moral coward that Belknap had insisted he was—but worse

yet, really guilty of Roberta’s death. For after all, asked

each juror of himself as he listened, why couldn’t he have

saved her if he was strong enough to swim to shore

afterwards—or at least have swum to and secured the boat

and helped her to take hold of it?

“She only weighed a hundred pounds, didn’t she?” went on

Mason feverishly.

“Yes, I think so.”

“And you—what did you weigh at the time?”

“About a hundred and forty,” replied Clyde.

“And a hundred and forty pound man,” sneered Mason,

turning to the jury, “is afraid to go near a weak, sick,

hundred-pound little girl who is drowning, for fear she will

cling to him and drag him under! And a perfectly good boat,

strong enough to hold three or four up, within fifteen or

twenty feet! How’s that?”

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And to emphasize it and let it sink in, he now paused, and

took from his pocket a large white handkerchief, and after

wiping his neck and face and wrists—since they were quite

damp from his emotional and physical efforts—turned to

Burton Burleigh and called: “You might as well have this

boat taken out of here, Burton. We’re not going to need it

for a little while anyhow.” And forthwith the four deputies

carried it out.

And then, having recovered his poise, he once more turned

to Clyde and began with: “Griffiths, you knew the color and

feel of Roberta Alden’s hair pretty well, didn’t you? You

were intimate enough with her, weren’t you?”

“I know the color of it or I think I do,” replied Clyde wincing—

an anguished chill at the thought of it affecting him almost

observably.

“And the feel of it, too, didn’t you?” persisted Mason. “In

those very loving days of yours before Miss X came along—

you must have touched it often enouh.”

“I don’t know whether I did or not,” replied Clyde, catching a

glance from Jephson.

“Well, roughly. You must know whether it was coarse or fine

—silky or coarse. You know that, don’t you?”

“It was silky, yes.”

“Well, here’s a lock of it,” he now added more to torture

Clyde than anything else—to wear him down nervously—

and going to his table where was an envelope and from it

extracting a long lock of light brown hair. “Don’t that look

like her hair?” And now he shoved it forward at Clyde who

shocked and troubled withdrew from it as from some

unclean or dangerous thing—yet a moment after sought to

recover himself—the watchful eyes of the jury having noted

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all. “Oh, don’t be afraid,” persisted Mason, sardonically. “It’s

only your dead love’s hair.”

And shocked by the comment—and noting the curious eyes

of the jury, Clyde took it in his hand. “That looks and feels

like her hair, doesn’t it?” went on Mason.

“Well, it looks like it anyhow,” returned Clyde shakily.

“And now here,” continued Mason, stepping quickly to the

table and returning with the camera in which between the

lid and the taking mechanism were caught the two threads

of Roberta’s hair put there by Burleigh, and then holding it