An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

get nothing in return—never!

As he thought of it, he actually thrilled and trembled beside

her. And she, standing there and looking at the coat, was

thinking that unless he had sense enough now to get her

this thing and to get what she meant—how she intended to

pay for it—well then, this was the last. He need not think

she was going to fool around with any one who couldn’t or

wouldn’t do that much for her. Never.

They resumed their walk toward Gaspie’s. And throughout

the dinner, she talked of little else—how attractive the coat

was, how wonderful it would look on her.

“Believe me,” she said at one point, defiantly, feeling that

Clyde was perhaps uncertain at the moment about his

ability to buy it for her, “I’m going to find some way to get

that coat. I think, maybe, that Rubenstein store would let

me have it on time if I were to go in there and see him

about it, make a big enough payment down. Another girl

out of our store got a coat that way once,” she lied

promptly, hoping thus to induce Clyde to assist her with it.

But Clyde, disturbed by the fear of some extraordinary cost

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in connection with it, hesitated to say just what he would do.

He could not even guess the price of such a thing—it might

cost two or three hundred, even—and he feared to obligate

himself to do something which later he might not be able to

do.

“You don’t know what they might want for that, do you?” he

asked, nervously, at the same time thinking if he made any

cash gift to her at this time without some guarantee on her

part, what right would he have to expect anything more in

return than he had ever received? He knew how she

cajoled him into getting things for her and then would not

even let him kiss her. He flushed and churned a little

internally with resentment at the thought of how she

seemed to feel that she could play fast and loose with him.

And yet, as he now recalled, she had just said she would

do anything for any one who would get that coat for her—or

nearly that.

“No-o,” she hesitated at first, for the moment troubled as to

whether to give the exact price or something higher. For if

she asked for time, Mr. Rubenstein might want more. And

yet if she said much more, Clyde might not want to help

her. “But I know it wouldn’t be more than a hundred and

twenty-five. I wouldn’t pay more than that for it.”

Clyde heaved a sigh of relief. After all, it wasn’t two or three

hundred. He began to think now that if she could arrange to

make any reasonable down payment—say, fifty or sixty

dollars—he might manage to bring it together within the

next two or three weeks anyhow. But if the whole hundred

and twenty-five were demanded at once, Hortense would

have to wait, and besides he would have to know whether

he was to be rewarded or not—definitely.

“That’s a good idea, Hortense,” he exclaimed without,

however, indicating in any way why it appealed to him so

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much. “Why don’t you do that? Why don’t you find out first

what they want for it, and how much they want down?

Maybe I could help you with it.”

“Oh, won’t that be just too wonderful!” Hortense clapped her

hands. “Oh, will you? Oh, won’t that be just dandy? Now I

just know I can get that coat. I just know they’ll let me have

it, if I talk to them right.”

She was, as Clyde saw and feared, quite forgetting the fact

that he was the one who was making the coat possible, and

now it would be just as he thought. The fact that he was

paying for it would be taken for granted.

But a moment later, observing his glum face, she added:

“Oh, aren’t you the sweetest, dearest thing, to help me in

this way. You just bet I won’t forget this either. You just wait

and see. You won’t be sorry. Now you just wait.” Her eyes

fairly snapped with gayety and even generosity toward him.

He might be easy and young, but he wasn’t mean, and she

would reward him, too, she now decided. Just as soon as

she got the coat, which must be in a week or two at the

latest, she was going to be very nice to him—do something

for him. And to emphasize her own thoughts and convey to

him what she really meant, she allowed her eyes to grow

soft and swimming and to dwell on him promisingly—a bit

of romantic acting which caused him to become weak and

nervous. The gusto of her favor frightened him even a little,

for it suggested, as he fancied, a disturbing vitality which he

might not be able to match. He felt a little weak before her

now—a little cowardly—in the face of what he assumed her

real affection might mean.

Nevertheless, he now announced that if the coat did not

cost more than one hundred and twenty-five dollars, that

sum to be broken into one payment of twenty-five dollars

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down and two additional sums of fifty dollars each, he could

manage it. And she on her part replied that she was going

the very next day to see about it. Mr. Rubenstein might be

induced to let her have it at once on the payment of twenty-

five dollars down; if not that, then at the end of the second

week, when nearly all would be paid.

And then in real gratitude to Clyde she whispered to him,

coming out of the restaurant and purring like a cat, that she

would never forget this and that he would see—and that

she would wear it for him the very first time. If he were not

working they might go somewhere to dinner. Or, if not that,

then she would have it surely in time for the day of the

proposed automobile ride which he, or rather Hegglund,

had suggested for the following Sunday, but which might be

postponed.

She suggested that they go to a certain dance hall, and

there she clung to him in the dances in a suggestive way

and afterwards hinted of a mood which made Clyde a little

quivery and erratic.

He finally went home, dreaming of the day, satisfied that he

would have no trouble in bringing together the first

payment, if it were so much as fifty, even. For now, under

the spur of this promise, he proposed to borrow as much as

twenty-five from either Ratterer or Hegglund, and to repay it

after the coat was paid for.

But, ah, the beautiful Hortense. The charm of her, the

enormous, compelling, weakening delight. And to think that

at last, and soon, she was to be his. It was, plainly, of such

stuff as dreams are made of—the unbelievable become

real.

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Chapter 16

TRUE to her promise, the following day Hortense returned

to Mr. Rubenstein, and with all the cunning of her nature

placed before him, with many reservations, the nature of

the dilemma which confronted her. Could she, by any

chance, have the coat for one hundred and fifteen dollars

on an easy payment plan? Mr. Rubenstein’s head forthwith

began to wag a solemn negative. This was not an easy

payment store. If he wanted to do business that way he

could charge two hundred for the coat and easily get it.

“But I could pay as much as fifty dollars when I took the

coat,” argued Hortense.

“Very good. But who is to guarantee that I get the other

sixty-five, and when?”

“Next week twenty-five, and the week after that twenty-five

and the next week after that fifteen.”

“Of course. But supposin’ the next day after you take the

coat an automobile runs you down and kills you. Then

what? How do I get my money?”

Now that was a poser. And there was really no way that she

could prove that any one would pay for the coat. And before

that there would have to be all the bother of making out a

contract, and getting some really responsible person—a

banker, say—to endorse it. No, no, this was not an easy

payment house. This was a cash house. That was why the

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coat was offered to her at one hundred and fifteen, but not

a dollar less. Not a dollar.

Mr. Rubenstein sighed and talked on. And finally Hortense

asked him if she could give him seventy-five dollars cash in

hand, the other forty to be paid in one week’s time. Would

he let her have the coat then—to take home with her?

“But a week—a week—what is a week then?” argued Mr.