An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

would mean that for nine weeks he would have to give her

ten dollars instead of five. And that, in view of his present

aspirations to dress, live and enjoy himself in a way entirely

different from what he previously considered necessary,

was by no means a pleasure to contemplate. Nevertheless

he decided to do it. After all he owed his mother something.

She had made many sacrifices for him and the others in

days past and he could not afford to be too selfish. It was

not decent.

But the most enduring thought that now came to him was

that if his mother and father were going to look to him for

financial aid, they should be willing to show him more

consideration than had previously been shown him. For one

thing he ought to be allowed to come and go with more

freedom, in so far as his night hours were concerned. And

at the same time he was clothing himself and eating his

meals at the hotel, and that was no small item, as he saw it.

However, there was another problem that had soon arisen

and it was this. Not so long after the matter of the hundred

dollars, he encountered his mother in Montrose Street, one

of the poorest streets which ran north from Bickel, and

which consisted entirely of two unbroken lines of wooden

houses and two-story flats and many unfurnished

apartments. Even the Griffiths, poor as they were, would

have felt themselves demeaned by the thought of having to

dwell in such a street. His mother was coming down the

front steps of one of the less tatterdemalion houses of this

row, a lower front window of which carried a very

conspicuous card which read “Furnished Rooms.” And

then, without turning or seeing Clyde across the street, she

proceeded to another house a few doors away, which also

carried a furnished rooms card and, after surveying the

exterior interestedly, mounted the steps and rang the bell.

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136

Clyde’s first impression was that she was seeking the

whereabouts of some individual in whom she was

interested and of whose address she was not certain. But

crossing over to her at about the moment the proprietress

of the house put her head out of the door, he heard his

mother say: “You have a room for rent?”“Yes.”“Has it a

bath?”“No, but there’s a bath on the second floor.”“How

much is it a week?”“Four dollars.”“Could I see it?”“Yes, just

step in.”

Mrs. Griffiths appeared to hesitate while Clyde stood below,

not twenty-five feet away, and looked up at her, waiting for

her to turn and recognize him. But she stepped in without

turning. And Clyde gazed after her curiously, for while it was

by no means inconceivable that his mother might be

looking for a room for some one, yet why should she be

looking for it in this street when as a rule she usually dealt

with the Salvation Army or the Young Women’s Christian

Association. His first impulse was to wait and inquire of her

what she was doing here, but being interested in several

errands of his own, he went on.

That night, returning to his own home to dress and seeing

his mother in the kitchen, he said to her: “I saw you this

morning, Ma, in Montrose Street.”

“Yes,” his mother replied, after a moment, but not before he

had noticed that she had started suddenly as though taken

aback by this information. She was paring potatoes and

looked at him curiously. “Well, what of it?” she added,

calmly, but flushing just the same—a thing decidedly

unusual in connection with her where he was concerned.

Indeed, that start of surprise interested and arrested Clyde.

“You were going into a house there—looking for a furnished

room, I guess.”

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137

“Yes, I was,” replied Mrs. Griffiths, simply enough now. “I

need a room for some one who is sick and hasn’t much

money, but it’s not so easy to find either.” She turned away

as though she were not disposed to discuss this any more,

and Clyde, while sensing her mood, apparently, could not

resist adding: “Gee, that’s not much of a street to have a

room in.” His new work at the Green-Davidson had already

caused him to think differently of how one should live—any

one. She did not answer him and he went to his room to

change his clothes.

A month or so after this, coming east on Missouri Avenue

late one evening, he again saw his mother in the near

distance coming west. In the light of one of the small stores

which ranged in a row on this street, he saw that she was

carrying a rather heavy old-fashioned bag, which had long

been about the house but had never been much used by

any one. On sight of him approaching (as he afterwards

decided) she had stopped suddenly and turned into a

hallway of a three-story brick apartment building, and when

he came up to it, he found the outside door was shut. He

opened it, and saw a flight of steps dimly lit, up which she

might have gone. However, he did not trouble to

investigate, for he was uncertain, once he reached this

place, whether she had gone to call on some one or not, it

had all happened so quickly. But waiting at the next corner,

he finally saw her come out again. And then to his

increasing curiosity, she appeared to look cautiously about

before proceeding as before. It was this that caused him to

think that she must have been endeavoring to conceal

herself from him. But why?

His first impulse was to turn and follow her, so interested

was he by her strange movements. But he decided later

that if she did not want him to know what she was doing,

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138

perhaps it was best that he should not. At the same time he

was made intensely curious by this evasive gesture. Why

should his mother not wish him to see her carrying a bag

anywhere? Evasion and concealment formed no part of her

real disposition (so different from his own). Almost instantly

his mind proceeded to join this coincidence with the time he

had seen her descending the steps of the rooming house in

Montrose Street, together with the business of the letter he

had found her reading, and the money she had been

compelled to raise—the hundred dollars. Where could she

be going? What was she hiding?

He speculated on all this, but he could not decide whether it

had any definite connection with him or any member of the

family until about a week later, when, passing along

Eleventh near Baltimore, he thought he saw Esta, or at

least a girl so much like her that she would be taken for her

anywhere. She had the same height, and she was moving

along as Esta used to walk. Only, now he thought as he

saw her, she looked older. Yet, so quickly had she come

and gone in the mass of people that he had not been able

to make sure. It was only a glance, but on the strength of it,

he had turned and sought to catch up with her, but upon

reaching the spot she was gone. So convinced was he,

however, that he had seen her that he went straight home,

and, encountering his mother in the mission, announced

that he was positive he had seen Esta. She must be back

in Kansas City again. He could have sworn to it. He had

seen her near Eleventh and Baltimore, or thought he had.

Had his mother heard anything from her?

And then curiously enough he observed that his mother’s

manner was not exactly what he thought it should have

been under the circumstances. His own attitude had been

one of commingled astonishment, pleasure, curiosity and

sympathy because of the sudden disappearance and now

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139

sudden reappearance of Esta. Could it be that his mother

had used that hundred dollars to bring her back? The

thought had come to him—why or from where, he could not

say. He wondered. But if so, why had she not returned to

her home, at least to notify the family of her presence here?

He expected his mother would be as astonished and

puzzled as he was—quick and curious for details. Instead,

she appeared to him to be obviously confused and taken

aback by this information, as though she was hearing about

something that she already knew and was puzzled as to

just what her attitude should be.

“Oh, did you? Where? Just now, you say? At Eleventh and

Baltimore? Well, isn’t that strange? I must speak to Asa

about this. It’s strange that she wouldn’t come here if she is

back.” Her eyes, as he saw, instead of looking astonished,

looked puzzled, disturbed. Her mouth, always the case