An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

out to him. “Just take this camera. It’s yours even though

you did swear that it wasn’t—and look at those two hairs

there. See them?” And he poked the camera at Clyde as

though he might strike him with it “They were caught in there

—presumably—at the time you struck her so lightly that it

made all those wounds on her face. Can’t you tell the jury

whether those hairs are hers or not?”

“I can’t say,” replied Clyde most weakly.

“What’s that? Speak up. Don’t be so much of a moral and

mental coward. Are they or are they not?”

“I can’t say,” repeated Clyde—but not even looking at them.

“Look at them. Look at them. Compare them with these

others. We know these are hers. And you know that these

in this camera are, don’t you? Don’t be so squeamish.

You’ve often touched her hair in real life. She’s dead. They

won’t bite you. Are these two hairs—or are they not—the

same as these other hairs here—which we know are hers—

the same color—same feel—all? Look! Answer! Are they or

are they not?”

But Clyde, under such pressure and in spite of Belknap,

being compelled to look and then feel them too. Yet

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cautiously replying, “I wouldn’t be able to say. They look

and feel a little alike, but I can’t tell.”

“Oh, can’t you? And even when you know that when you

struck her that brutal vicious blow with that camera—these

two hairs caught there and held.”

“But I didn’t strike her any vicious blow,” insisted Clyde, now

observing Jephson—“and I can’t say.” He was saying to

himself that he would not allow himself to be bullied in this

way by this man—yet, at the same time, feeling very weak

and sick. And Mason, triumphant because of the

psychologic effect, if nothing more, returning the camera

and lock to the table and remarking, “Well, it’s been amply

testified to that those two hairs were in that camera when

found in the water. And you yourself swear that it was last

in your hands before it reached the water.”

He turned to think of something else—some new point with

which to rack Clyde and now began once more:

“Griffiths, in regard to that trip south through the woods,

what time was it when you got to Three Mile Bay?”

“About four in the morning, I think—just before dawn.”

“And what did you do between then and the time that boat

down there left?”

“Oh, I walked around.”

“In Three Mile Bay?”

“No, sir—just outside of it.”

“In the woods, I suppose, waiting for the town to wake up

so you wouldn’t look so much out of place. Was that it?”

“Well, I waited until after the sun came up. Besides I was

tired and I sat down and rested for a while.”

“Did you sleep well and did you have pleasant dreams?”

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“I was tired and I slept a little—yes.”

“And how was it you knew so much about the boat and the

time and all about Three Mile Bay? Hadn’t you familiarized

yourself with this data beforehand?”

“Well, everybody knows about the boat from Sharon to

Three Mile Bay around there.”

“Oh, do they? Any other reason?”

“Well, in looking for a place to get married, both of us saw

it,” returned Clyde, shrewdly, “but we didn’t see that any

train went to it. Only to Sharon.”

“But you did notice that it was south of Big Bittern?”

“Why, yes—I guess I did,” replied Clyde.

“And that that road west of Gun Lodge led south toward it

around the lower edge of Big Bittern?”

“Well, I noticed after I got up there that there was a road of

some kind or a trail anyhow—but I didn’t think of it as a

regular road.”

“I see. How was it then that when you met those three men

in the woods you were able to ask them how far it was to

Three Mile Bay?”

“I didn’t ask ’em that,” replied Clyde, as he had been

instructed by Jephson to say. “I asked ’em if they knew any

road to Three Mile Bay, and how far it was. I didn’t know

whether that was the road or not.”

“Well, that wasn’t how they testified here.”

“Well, I don’t care what they testified to, that’s what I asked

’em just the same.”

“It seems to me that according to you all the witnesses are

liars and you are the only truthful one in the bunch…. Isn’t

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that it? But, when you reached Three Mile Bay, did you stop

to eat? You must have been hungry, weren’t you?”

“No, I wasn’t hungry,” replied Clyde, simply.

“You wanted to get away from that place as quickly as

possible, wasn’t that it? You were afraid that those three

men might go up to Big Bittern and having heard about

Miss Alden, tell about having seen you—wasn’t that it?”

“No, that wasn’t it. But I didn’t want to stay around there.

I’ve said why.”

“I see. But after you got down to Sharon where you felt a

little more safe—a little further away, you didn’t lose any

time in eating, did you? It tasted pretty good all right down

there, didn’t it?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I had a cup of coffee and a

sandwich.”

“And a piece of pie, too, as we’ve already proved here,”

added Mason. “And after that you joined the crowd coming

up from the depot as though you had just come up from

Albany, as you afterwards told everybody. Wasn’t that it?”

“Yes, that was it.”

“Well, now for a really innocent man who only so recently

experienced a kindly change of heart, don’t you think you

were taking an awful lot of precaution? Hiding away like

that and waiting in the dark and pretending that you had

just come up from Albany.”

“I’ve explained all that,” persisted Clyde.

Mason’s next tack was to hold Clyde up to shame for

having been willing, in the face of all she had done for him,

to register Roberta in three different hotel registers as the

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unhallowed consort of presumably three different men in

three different days.

“Why didn’t you take separate rooms?”

“Well, she didn’t want it that way. She wanted to be with

me. Besides I didn’t have any too much money.”

“Even so, how could you have so little respect for her there,

and then be so deeply concerned about her reputation after

she was dead that you had to run away and keep the secret

of her death all to yourself, in order, as you say, to protect

her name and reputation?”

“Your Honor,” interjected Belknap, “this isn’t a question. It’s

an oration.”

“I withdraw the question,” countered Mason, and then went

on. “Do you admit, by the way, that you are a mental and

moral coward, Griffiths—do you?”

“No, sir. I don’t.”

“You do not?”

“No, sir.”

“Then when you lie, and swear to it, you are just the same

as any other person who is not a mental and moral coward,

and deserving of all the contempt and punishment due a

person who is a perjurer and a false witness. Is that

correct?”

“Yes, sir. I suppose so.”

“Well, if you are not a mental and moral coward, how can

you justify your leaving that girl in that lake—after as you

say you accidentally struck her and when you knew how

her parents would soon be suffering because of her loss—

and not say one word to anybody—just walk off—and hide

the tripod and your suit and sneak away like an ordinary

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murderer? Wouldn’t you think that that was the conduct of a

man who had plotted and executed murder and was trying

to get away with it—if you had heard of it about some one

else? Or would you think it was just the sly, crooked trick of

a man who was only a mental and moral coward and who

was trying to get away from the blame for the accidental

death of a girl whom he had seduced and news of which

might interfere with his prosperity? Which?”

“Well, I didn’t kill her, just the same,” insisted Clyde.

“Answer the question!” thundered Mason.

“I ask the court to instruct the witness that he need not

answer such a question,” put in Jephson, rising and fixing

first Clyde and then Oberwaltzer with his eye. “It is purely an

argumentative one and has no real bearing on the facts in

this case.”

“I so instruct,” replied Oberwaltzer. “The witness need not

answer.” Whereupon Clyde merely stared, greatly

heartened by this unexpected aid.

“Well, to go on,” proceeded Mason, now more nettled and

annoyed than ever by this watchful effort on the part of

Belknap and Jephson to break the force and significance of

his each and every attack, and all the more determined not