An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

him, ‘See here, Mr. Beck, you can’t talk to me in any such

style as that. I’m not in the habit of comin’ late often. An’

wot’s more, this ain’t the only place I can work in K.C. If I

can’t be late once in a while without hearin’ about it, you

can just send up for my time, that’s all, see.’ I wasn’t goin’

to let him get away with that stuff. And just as I thought, he

weakened. All he says was, ‘Well, just the same, I’m

warnin’ you. Next time maybe Mr. Tierney’ll see you an’

then you’ll get a chance to try some other store, all right.’

He knew he was bluffing and that I did, too. I had to laugh.

An’ I saw him laughin’ with Mr. Scott about two minutes

later. But, gee, I certainly do pull some raw stuff around

there at times.”

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By then she and Clyde, with scarcely a word on his part,

and much to his ease and relief, had reached Frissell’s. And

for the first time in his life he had the satisfaction of

escorting a girl to a table in such a place. Now he really was

beginning to have a few experiences worthy of the name.

He was quite on edge with the romance of it. Because of

her very high estimate of herself, her very emphatic picture

of herself as one who was intimate with so many youths

and girls who were having a good time, he felt that up to

this hour he had not lived at all. Swiftly he thought of the

different things she had told him—Burkett’s on the Big Blue,

skating and dancing on the ice—Charlie Trone—the young

tobacco clerk with whom she had had the engagement for

to-night—Mr. Beck at the store who was so struck on her

that he couldn’t bring himself to fire her. And as he saw her

order whatever she liked, without any thought of his purse,

he contemplated quickly her face, figure, the shape of her

hands, so suggestive always of the delicacy or roundness

of the arm, the swell of her bust, already very pronounced,

the curve of her eyebrows, the rounded appeal of her

smooth cheeks and chin. There was something also about

the tone of her voice, unctuous, smooth, which somehow

appealed to and disturbed him. To him it was delicious.

Gee, if he could only have such a girl all for himself!

And in here, as without, she clattered on about herself, not

at all impressed, apparently, by the fact that she was dining

here, a place that to him had seemed quite remarkable.

When she was not looking at herself in a mirror, she was

studying the bill of fare and deciding what she liked—lamb

with mint jelly—no omelette, no beef—oh, yes, filet of

mignon with mushrooms. She finally compromised on that

with celery and cauliflower. And she would like a cocktail.

Oh, yes, Clyde had heard Hegglund say that no meal was

worth anything without a few drinks, so now he had mildly

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127

suggested a cocktail. And having secured that and a

second, she seemed warmer and gayer and more gossipy

than ever.

But all the while, as Clyde noticed, her attitude in so far as

he was concerned was rather distant—impersonal. If for so

much as a moment, he ventured to veer the conversation

ever so slightly to themselves, his deep personal interest in

her, whether she was really very deeply concerned about

any other youth, she threw him off by announcing that she

liked all the boys, really. They were all so lovely—so nice to

her. They had to be. When they weren’t, she didn’t have

anything more to do with them. She “tied a can to them,” as

she once expressed it. Her quick eyes clicked and she

tossed her head defiantly.

And Clyde was captivated by all this. Her gestures, her

poses, moues and attitudes were sensuous and

suggestive. She seemed to like to tease, promise, lay

herself open to certain charges and conclusions and then to

withhold and pretend that there was nothing to all of this—

that she was very unconscious of anything save the most

reserved thoughts in regard to herself. In the main, Clyde

was thrilled and nourished by this mere proximity to her. It

was torture, and yet a sweet kind of torture. He was full of

the most tantalizing thoughts about how wonderful it would

be if only he were permitted to hold her close, kiss her

mouth, bite her, even. To cover her mouth with his! To

smother her with kisses! To crush and pet her pretty figure!

She would look at him at moments with deliberate,

swimming eyes, and he actually felt a little sick and weak—

almost nauseated. His one dream was that by some

process, either of charm or money, he could make himself

interesting to her.

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And yet after going with her to the theater and taking her

home again, he could not see that he had made any

noticeable progress. For throughout the performance of

“The Corsair” at Libby’s, Hortense, who, because of her

uncertain interest in him was really interested in the play,

talked of nothing but similar shows she had seen, as well

as of actors and actresses and what she thought of them,

and what particular youth had taken her. And Clyde, instead

of leading her in wit and defiance and matching her

experiences with his own, was compelled to content himself

with approving of her.

And all the time she was thinking that she had made

another real conquest. And because she was no longer

virtuous, and she was convinced that he had some little

money to spend, and could be made to spend it on her, she

conceived the notion of being sufficiently agreeable—

nothing more—to hold him, keep him attentive, if possible,

while at the same time she went her own way, enjoying

herself as much as possible with others and getting Clyde

to buy and do such things for her as might fill gaps—when

she was not sufficiently or amusingly enough engaged

elsewhere.

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129

Chapter 13

FOR a period of four months at least this was exactly the

way it worked out. After meeting her in this fashion, he was

devoting not an inconsiderable portion of his free time to

attempting to interest her to the point where she would take

as much interest in him as she appeared to take in others.

At the same time he could not tell whether she could be

made to entertain a singular affection for any one. Nor

could he believe that there was only an innocent

camaraderie involved in all this. Yet she was so enticing

that he was deliriously moved by the thought that if his

worst suspicions were true, she might ultimately favor him.

So captivated was he by this savor of sensuality and

varietism that was about her, the stigmata of desire

manifest in her gestures, moods, voice, the way she

dressed, that he could not think of relinquishing her.

Rather, he foolishly ran after her. And seeing this, she put

him off, at times evaded him, compelled him to content

himself with little more than the crumbs of her company,

while at the same time favoring him with descriptions or

pictures of other activities and contacts which made him

feel as though he could no longer endure to merely trail her

in this fashion. It was then he would announce to himself in

anger that he was not going to see her any more. She was

no good to him, really. But on seeing her again, a cold

indifference in everything she said and did, his courage

failed him and he could not think of severing the tie.

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130

She was not at all backward at the same time in speaking

of things that she needed or would like to have—little

things, at first—a new powder puff, a lip stick, a box of

powder or a bottle of perfume. Later, and without having

yielded anything more to Clyde than a few elusive and

evasive endearments—intimate and languorous reclinings

in his arms which promised much but always came to

nothing—she made so bold as to indicate to him at different

times and in different ways, purses, blouses, slippers,

stockings, a hat, which she would like to buy if only she had

the money. And he, in order to hold her favor and properly

ingratiate himself, proceeded to buy them, though at times

and because of some other developments in connection

with his family, it pressed him hard to do so. And yet, as he

was beginning to see toward the end of the fourth month,

he was apparently little farther advanced in her favor than

he had been in the beginning. In short, he was conducting a

feverish and almost painful pursuit without any definite