Hortense, who was with Gettler, and hating his rival
because of this; but still attempting to be civil to Louise and
Greta, who bestowed sufficient attention on him to make
him feel at ease. Ratterer, having noticed his extreme
preference and being alone with him for a moment, said:
“You better not get too stuck on that Hortense Briggs. I
don’t think she’s on the level with anybody. She’s got that
fellow Gettler and others. She’ll only work you an’ you might
not get anything, either.”
But Clyde, in spite of this honest and well-meant caution,
was not to be dissuaded. On sight, and because of the
witchery of a smile, the magic and vigor of motion and
youth, he was completely infatuated and would have given
or done anything for an additional smile or glance or hand
pressure. And that despite the fact that he was dealing with
a girl who no more knew her own mind than a moth, and
who was just reaching the stage where she was finding it
convenient and profitable to use boys of her own years or a
little older for whatever pleasures or clothes she desired.
The party proved nothing more than one of those ebullitions
of the youthful mating period. The house of Kittie Keane
was little more than a cottage in a poor street under bare
December trees. But to Clyde, because of the passion for a
An American Tragedy
117
pretty face that was suddenly lit in him, it had the color and
the form and gayety of romance itself. And the young girls
and boys that he met there—girls and boys of the Ratterer,
Hegglund, Hortense stripe—were still of the very substance
and texture of that energy, ease and forwardness which he
would have given his soul to possess. And curiously
enough, in spite of a certain nervousness on his part, he
was by reason of his new companions made an integral
part of the gayeties.
And on this occasion he was destined to view a type of girl
and youth in action such as previously it had not been his
fortune or misfortune, as you will, to see. There was, for
instance, a type of sensual dancing which Louise and
Hortense and Greta indulged in with the greatest
nonchalance and assurance. At the same time, many of
these youths carried whisky in a hip flask, from which they
not only drank themselves, but gave others to drink—boys
and girls indiscriminately.
And the general hilarity for this reason being not a little
added to, they fell into more intimate relations—spooning
with one and another—Hortense and Louise and Greta
included. Also to quarreling at times. And it appeared to be
nothing out of the ordinary, as Clyde saw, for one youth or
another to embrace a girl behind a door, to hold her on his
lap in a chair in some secluded corner, to lie with her on a
sofa, whispering intimate and unquestionably welcome
things to her. And although at no time did he espy Hortense
doing this—still, as he saw, she did not hesitate to sit on the
laps of various boys or to whisper with rivals behind doors.
And this for a time so discouraged and at the same time
incensed him that he felt he could not and would not have
anything more to do with her—she was too cheap, vulgar,
inconsiderate.
An American Tragedy
118
At the same time, having partaken of the various drinks
offered him—so as not to seem less worldly wise than the
others—until brought to a state of courage and daring not
ordinarily characteristic of him, he ventured to half plead
with and at the same time half reproach her for her too lax
conduct.
“You’re a flirt, you are. You don’t care who you jolly, do
you?” This as they were dancing together after one o’clock
to the music of a youth named Wilkens, at the none too
toneful piano. She was attempting to show him a new step
in a genial and yet coquettish way, and with an amused,
sensuous look.
“What do you mean, flirt? I don’t get you.”
“Oh, don’t you?” replied Clyde, a little crossly and still
attempting to conceal his real mood by a deceptive smile.
“I’ve heard about you. You jolly ’em all.”
“Oh, do I?” she replied quite irritably. “Well, I haven’t tried to
jolly you very much, have I?”
“Well, now, don’t get mad,” he half pleaded and half
scolded, fearing, perhaps, that he had ventured too far and
might lose her entirely now. “I don’t mean anything by it.
You don’t deny that you let a lot of these fellows make love
to you. They seem to like you, anyway.”
“Oh, well, of course they like me, I guess. I can’t help that,
can I?”
“Well, I’ll tell you one thing,” he blurted boastfully and
passionately. “I could spend a lot more on you than they
could. I got it.” He had been thinking only the moment
before of fifty-five dollars in bills that snuggled comfortably
in his pocket.
An American Tragedy
119
“Oh, I don’t know,” she retorted, not a little intrigued by this
cash offer, as it were, and at the same time not a little set
up in her mood by the fact that she could thus inflame
nearly all youths in this way. She was really a little silly, very
lightheaded, who was infatuated by her own charms and
looked in every mirror, admiring her eyes, her hair, her
neck, her hands, her figure, and practising a peculiarly
fetching smile.
At the same time, she was not unaffected by the fact that
Clyde was not a little attractive to look upon, although so
very green. She liked to tease such beginners. He was a bit
of a fool, as she saw him. But he was connected with the
Green-Davidson, and he was well-dressed, and no doubt
he had all the money he said and would spend it on her.
Some of those whom she liked best did not have much
money to spend.
“Lots of fellows with money would like to spend it on me.”
She tossed her head and flicked her eyes and repeated her
coyest smile.
At once Clyde’s countenance darkened. The witchery of her
look was too much for him. The skin of his forehead
crinkled and then smoothed out. His eyes burned lustfully
and bitterly, his old resentment of life and deprivation
showing. No doubt all she said was true. There were others
who had more and would spend more. He was boasting
and being ridiculous and she was laughing at him.
After a moment, he added, weakly, “I guess that’s right, too.
But they couldn’t want you more than I do.”
The uncalculated honesty of it flattered her not a little. He
wasn’t so bad after all. They were gracefully gliding about
as the music continued.
An American Tragedy
120
“Oh, well, I don’t flirt everywhere like I do here. These
fellows and girls all know each other. We’re always going
around together. You mustn’t mind what you see here.”
She was lying artfully, but it was soothing to him none the
less. “Gee, I’d give anything if you’d only be nice to me,” he
pleaded, desperately and yet ecstatically. “I never saw a girl
I’d rather have than you. You’re swell. I’m crazy about you.
Why won’t you come out to dinner with me and let me take
you to a show afterwards? Don’t you want to do that,
tomorrow night or Sunday? Those are my two nights off. I
work other nights.”
She hesitated at first, for even now she was not so sure
that she wished to continue this contact. There was Gettler,
to say nothing of several others, all jealous and attentive.
Even though he spent money on her, she might not wish to
bother with him. He was already too eager and he might
become troublesome. At the same time, the natural
coquetry of her nature would not permit her to relinquish
him. He might fall into the hands of Greta or Louise. In
consequence she finally arranged a meeting for the
following Tuesday. But he could not come to the house, or
take her home to-night—on account of her escort, Mr.
Gettler. But on the following Tuesday, at six-thirty, near the
Green-Davidson. And he assured her that they would dine
first at Frissell’s, and then see “The Corsair,” a musical
comedy at Libby’s, only two blocks away.
An American Tragedy
121
Chapter 12
NOW trivial as this contact may seem to some, it was of the
utmost significance to Clyde. Up to this time he had never
seen a girl with so much charm who would deign to look at
him, or so he imagined. And now he had found one, and
she was pretty and actually interested sufficiently to
accompany him to dinner and to a show. It was true,
perhaps, that she was a flirt, and not really sincere with any