An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

And Clyde, noting it, gazed as one in a trance. His ultra-

pale face now blanched gray again, his long thin fingers

opened and shut, the red and swollen and weary lids of his

eyes blinked and blinked to break the strain of the damning

fact before him.

“I don’t know,” he said, a little weakly, after a time. “It must

have been in the Renfrew House rack.”

“Oh, must it? And if I bring two witnesses here to swear that

on July third—three days before you left Lycurgus for Fonda

—you were seen by them to enter the Lycurgus House and

take four or five folders from the rack there, will you still say

that it ‘musta been in the rack at the Renfrew House’ on

July sixth?” As he said this, Mason paused and looked

triumphantly about as much as to say: There, answer that if

you can! and Clyde, shaken and stiff and breathless for the

time being was compelled to wait at least fifteen seconds

before he was able sufficiently to control his nerves and

voice in order to reply: “Well, it musta been. I didn’t get it in

Lycurgus.”

“Very good. But in the meantime we’ll just let these

gentlemen here look at this,” and he now turned the folder

over to the foreman of the jury, who in turn passed it to the

juryman next to him, and so on, the while a distinct whisper

and buzz passed over the entire courtroom.

And when they had concluded—and much to the surprise

of the audience, which was expecting more and more

attacks and exposures, almost without cessation—Mason

turned and explained: “That’s all.” And at once many of the

spectators in the room beginning to whisper: “Trapped!

Trapped!” And Justice Oberwaltzer at once announcing that

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because of the lateness of the hour, and in the face of a

number of additional witnesses for the defense, as well as a

few in rebuttal for the prosecution, he would prefer it if the

work for the day ended here. And both Belknap and Mason

gladly agreeing. And Clyde—the doors of the courtroom

being stoutly locked until he should be in his cell across the

way—being descended upon by Kraut and Sissel and by

them led through and down the very door and stairs which

for days he had been looking at and pondering about. And

once he was gone, Belknap and Jephson looking at each

other but not saying anything until once more safely locked

in their own office, when Belknap began with: “… not

carried off with enough of an air. The best possible defense

but not enough courage. It just isn’t in him, that’s all.” And

Jephson, flinging himself heavily into a chair, his overcoat

and hat still on, and saying: “No, that’s the real trouble, no

doubt. It musta been that he really did kill her. But I

suppose we can’t give up the ship now. He did almost

better than I expected, at that.” And Belknap adding: “Well,

I’ll do my final best and damnedest in my summing up, and

that’s all I can do.” And Jephson replying, a little wearily:

“That’s right, Alvin, it’s mostly up to you now, I’m sorry. But

in the meantime, I think I’ll go around to the jail and try and

hearten ‘im up a bit. It won’t do to let him look too winged or

lame tomorrow. He has to sit up and make the jury feel that

he, himself, feels that he isn’t guilty whatever they think.”

And rising he shoved his hands in the side pockets of his

long coat and proceeded through the winter’s dark and cold

of the dreary town to see Clyde.

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Chapter 26

THE remainder of the trial consisted of the testimony of

eleven witnesses—four for Mason and seven for Clyde.

One of the latter—a Dr. A. K. Sword, of Rehobeth—

chancing to be at Big Bittern on the day that Roberta’s body

was returned to the boat-house, now declared that he had

seen and examined it there and that the wounds, as they

appeared then, did not seem to him as other than such as

might have been delivered by such a blow as Clyde

admitted to having struck accidentally, and that

unquestionably Miss Alden had been drowned while

conscious—and not unconscious, as the state would have

the jury believe—a result which led Mason into an inquiry

concerning the gentleman’s medical history, which, alas,

was not as impressive as it might have been. He had been

graduated from a second-rate medical school in Oklahoma

and had practised in a small town ever since. In addition to

him—and entirely apart from the crime with which Clyde

was charged—there was Samuel Yearsley, one of the

farmers from around Gun Lodge, who, driving over the road

which Roberta’s body had traveled in being removed from

Big Bittern to Gun Lodge, now earnestly swore that the

road, as he had noticed in driving over it that same

morning, was quite rough—making it possible for Belknap,

who was examining him, to indicate that this was at least an

approximate cause of the extra-severity of the wounds upon

Roberta’s head and face. This bit of testimony was later

contradicted, however, by a rival witness for Mason—the

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driver for Lutz Brothers, no less, who as earnestly swore

that he found no ruts or rough places whatsoever in the

road. And again there were Liggett and Whiggam to say

that in so far as they had been able to note or determine,

Clyde’s conduct in connection with his technical efforts for

Griffiths & Company had been attentive, faithful and

valuable. They had seen no official harm in him. And then

several other minor witnesses to say that in so far as they

had been able to observe his social comings and goings,

Clyde’s conduct was most circumspect, ceremonious and

guarded. He had done no ill that they knew of. But, alas, as

Mason in cross-examining them was quick to point out, they

had never heard of Roberta Alden or her trouble or even of

Clyde’s social relationship with her.

Finally many small and dangerous and difficult points

having been bridged or buttressed or fended against as

well as each side could, it became Belknap’s duty to say his

last word for Clyde. And to this he gave an entire day, most

carefully, and in the spirit of his opening address, retracing

and emphasizing every point which tended to show how,

almost unconsciously, if not quite innocently, Clyde had

fallen into the relationship with Roberta which had ended so

disastrously for both. Mental and moral cowardice, as he

now reiterated, inflamed or at least operated on by various

lacks in Clyde’s early life, plus new opportunities such as

previously had never appeared to be within his grasp, had

affected his “perhaps too pliable and sensual and

impractical and dreamy mind.” No doubt he had not been

fair to Miss Alden. No question as to that. He had not. But

on the other hand—and as had been most clearly shown by

the confession which the defense had elicited—he had not

proved ultimately so cruel or vile as the prosecution would

have the public and this honorable jury believe. Many men

were far more cruel in their love life than this young boy had

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ever dreamed of being, and of course they were not

necessarily hung for that. And in passing technically on

whether this boy had actually committed the crime charged,

it was incumbent upon this jury to see that no generous

impulse relating to what this poor girl might have suffered in

her love-relations with this youth be permitted to sway them

to the belief or decision that for that this youth had

committed the crime specifically stated in the indictment.

Who among both sexes were not cruel at times in their love

life, the one to the other?

And then a long and detailed indictment of the purely

circumstantial nature of the evidence—no single person

having seen or heard anything of the alleged crime itself,

whereas Clyde himself had explained most clearly how he

came to find himself in the peculiar situation in which he did

find himself. And after that, a brushing aside of the incident

of the folder, as well as Clyde’s not remembering the price

of the boat at Big Bittern, his stopping to bury the tripod and

his being so near Roberta and not aiding her, as either

being mere accidents of chance, or memory, or, in the case

of his failing to go to her rescue, of his being dazed,

confused, frightened—“hesitating fatally but not criminally at

the one time in his life when he should not have hesitated”—

a really strong if jesuitical plea which was not without its

merits and its weight.

And then Mason, blazing with his conviction that Clyde was

a murderer of the coldest and blackest type, and spending