An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

one, and that maybe at first he could not expect her to

center her attentions on him, but who knew—who could tell?

And true to her promise on the following Tuesday she met

him at the corner of 14th Street and Wyandotte, near the

Green-Davidson. And so excited and flattered and

enraptured was he that he could scarcely arrange his

jumbled thoughts and emotions in any seemly way. But to

show that he was worthy of her, he had made an almost

exotic toilet—hair pomaded, a butterfly tie, new silk muffler

and silk socks to emphasize his bright brown shoes,

purchased especially for the occasion.

But once he had reëncountered Hortense, whether all this

was of any import to her he could not tell. For, after all, it

was her own appearance, not his, that interested her. And

what was more—a trick with her—she chose to keep him

waiting until nearly seven o’clock, a delay which brought

about in him the deepest dejection of spirit for the time

being. For supposing, after all, in the interval, she had

decided that she did not care for him and did not wish to

see him any more. Well, then he would have to do without

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her, of course. But that would prove that he was not

interesting to a girl as pretty as she was, despite all the nice

clothes he was now able to wear and the money he could

spend. He was determined that, girl or no girl, he would not

have one who was not pretty. Ratterer and Hegglund did

not seem to mind whether the girl they knew was attractive

or not, but with him it was a passion. The thought of being

content with one not so attractive almost nauseated him.

And yet here he was now, on the street corner in the dark—

the flare of many signs and lights about, hundreds of

pedestrians hurrying hither and thither, the thought of

pleasurable intentions and engagements written upon the

faces of many—and he, he alone, might have to turn and

go somewhere else—eat alone, go to a theater alone, go

home alone, and then to work again in the morning. He had

just about concluded that he was a failure when out of the

crowd, a little distance away, emerged the face and figure

of Hortense. She was smartly dressed in a black velvet

jacket with a reddish-brown collar and cuffs, and a bulgy,

round tam of the same material with a red leather buckle on

the side. And her cheeks and lips were rouged a little. And

her eyes sparkled. And as usual she gave herself all the

airs of one very well content with herself.

“Oh, hello, I’m late, ain’t I? I couldn’t help it. You see, I

forgot I had another appointment with a fella, a friend of

mine—gee, a peach of a boy, too, and it was only at six I

remembered that I had the two dates. Well, I was in a mess

then. So I had to do something about one of you. I was just

about to call you up and make a date for another night, only

I remembered you wouldn’t be at your place after six. Tom

never is. And Charlie always is in his place till six-thirty,

anyhow, sometimes later, and he’s a peach of a fella that

way—never grouchy or nothing. And he was goin’ to take

me to the theater and to dinner, too. He has charge of the

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cigar stand over here at the Orphia. So I called him up.

Well, he didn’t like it so very much. But I told him I’d make it

another night. Now, aintcha glad? Dontcha think I’m pretty

nice to you, disappointin’ a good-lookin’ fella like Charlie for

you?”

She had caught a glimpse of the disturbed and jealous and

yet fearsome look in Clyde’s eyes as she talked of another.

And the thought of making him jealous was a delight to her.

She realized that he was very much smitten with her. So

she tossed her head and smiled, falling into step with him

as he moved up the street.

“You bet it was nice of you to come,” he forced himself to

say, even though the reference to Charlie as a “peach of a

fella” seemed to affect his throat and his heart at the same

time. What chance had he to hold a girl who was so pretty

and self-willed? “Gee, you look swell to-night,” he went on,

forcing himself to talk and surprising himself a little with his

ability to do so. “I like the way that hat looks on you, and

your coat too.” He looked directly at her, his eyes lit with

admiration, an eager yearning filling them. He would have

liked to have kissed her—her pretty mouth—only he did not

dare here, or anywhere as yet.

“I don’t wonder you have to turn down engagements.

You’re pretty enough. Don’t you want some roses to wear?”

They were passing a flower store at the moment and the

sight of them put the thought of the gift in his mind. He had

heard Hegglund say that women liked fellows who did

things for them.

“Oh, sure, I would like some roses,” she replied, turning into

the place. “Or maybe some of those violets. They look

pretty. They go better with this jacket, I think.”

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She was pleased to think that Clyde was sporty enough to

think of flowers. Also that he was saying such nice things

about her. At the same time she was convinced that he was

a boy who had had little, if anything, to do with girls. And

she preferred youths and men who were more experienced,

not so easily flattered by her—not so easy to hold. Yet she

could not help thinking that Clyde was a better type of boy

or man than she was accustomed to—more refined. And for

that reason, in spite of his gaucheness (in her eyes) she

was inclined to tolerate him—to see how he would do.

“Well, these are pretty nifty,” she exclaimed, picking up a

rather large bouquet of violets and pinning them on. “I think

I’ll wear these.” And while Clyde paid for them, she posed

before the mirror, adjusting them to her taste. At last, being

satisfied as to their effect, she turned and exclaimed, “Well,

I’m ready,” and took him by the arm.

Clyde, being not a little overawed by her spirit and

mannerisms, was at a loss what else to say for the

moment, but he need not have worried—her chief interest

in life was herself.

“Gee, I tell you I had a swift week of it last week. Out every

night until three. An’ Sunday until nearly morning. My, that

was some rough party I was to last night, all right. Ever

been down to Burkett’s at Gifford’s Ferry? Oh, a nifty place,

all right, right over the Big Blue at 39th. Dancing in summer

and you can skate outside when it’s frozen in winter or

dance on the ice. An’ the niftiest little orchestra.”

Clyde watched the play of her mouth and the brightness of

her eyes and the swiftness of her gestures without thinking

so much of what she said—very little.

“Wallace Trone was along with us—gee, he’s a scream of a

kid—and afterwards when we was sittin’ down to eat ice

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cream, he went out in the kitchen and blacked up an’ put on

a waiter’s apron and coat and then comes back and serves

us. That’s one funny boy. An’ he did all sorts of funny stuff

with the dishes and spoons.” Clyde sighed because he was

by no means as gifted as the gifted Trone.

“An’ then, Monday morning, when we all got back it was

nearly four, and I had to get up again at seven. I was all in. I

coulda chucked my job, and I woulda, only for the nice

people down at the store and Mr. Beck. He’s the head of

my department, you know, and say, how I do plague that

poor man. I sure am hard on that store. One day I comes in

late after lunch; one of the other girls punched the clock for

me with my key, see, and he was out in the hall and he saw

her, and he says to me afterwards, about two in the

afternoon, ‘Say look here, Miss Briggs’ (he always calls me

Miss Briggs, ‘cause I won’t let him call me nothing else.

He’d try to get fresh if I did), ‘that loanin’ that key stuff don’t

go. Cut that stuff out now. This ain’t no Follies.’ I had to

laugh. He does get so sore at times at all of us. But I put

him in his place just the same. He’s kinda soft on me, you

know—he wouldn’t fire me for worlds, not him. So I says to