An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

only knew how you must be on your guard to avoid

these pitfalls. And you have such a long road ahead of

you. Will you be ever watchful and try always to cling to

the teachings of our Saviour that your mother has

always tried to impress upon the minds and hearts of

all you dear children? Will you stop and listen to the

voice of our Lord that is ever with us, guiding our

footsteps safely up the rocky path that leads to a

heaven more beautiful than we can ever imagine here?

Promise me, my child, that you will hold fast to all your

early teachings and always bear in mind that “right is

might,” and my boy, never, never, take a drink of any

kind no matter who offers it to you. There is where the

An American Tragedy

243

devil reigns in all his glory and is ever ready to triumph

over the weak one. Remember always what I have told

you so often “Strong drink is raging and wine is a

mocker,” and it is my earnest prayer that these words

will ring in your ears every time you are tempted—for I

am sure now that that was perhaps the real cause of

that terrible accident.

I suffered terribly over that, Clyde, and just at the time

when I had such a dreadful ordeal to face with Esta. I

almost lost her. She had such an awful time. The poor

child paid dearly for her sin. We had to go in debt so

deep and it took so long to work it out—but finally we

did and now things are not as bad as they were, quite.

As you see, we are now in Denver. We have a mission

of our own here now with housing quarters for all of us.

Besides we have a few rooms to rent which Esta, and

you know she is now Mrs. Nixon, of course, takes care

of. She has a fine little boy who reminds your father and

me of you so much when you were a baby. He does

little things that are you all over again so many times

that we almost feel that you are with us again—as you

were. It is comforting, too, sometimes.

Frank and Julie have grown so and are quite a help to

me. Frank has a paper route and earns a little money

which helps. Esta wants to keep them in school just as

long as we can.

Your father is not very well, but of course, he is getting

older, and he does the best he can.

I am awful glad, Clyde, that you are trying so hard to

better yourself in every way and last night your father

was saying again that your uncle, Samuel Griffiths, of

Lycurgus, is so rich and successful and I thought that

maybe if you wrote him and asked him to give you

something there so that you could learn the business,

perhaps he would. I don’t see why he wouldn’t. After all

you are his nephew. You know he has a great collar

business there in Lycurgus and he is very rich, so they

say. Why don’t you write him and see? Somehow I feel

An American Tragedy

244

that perhaps he would find a place for you and then you

would have something sure to work for. Let me know if

you do and what he says.

I want to hear from you often, Clyde. Please write and

let us know all about you and how you are getting

along. Won’t you? Of course we love you as much as

ever, and will do our best always to try to guide you

right. We want you to succeed more than you know,

but we also want you to be a good boy, and live a

clean, righteous life, for, my son, what matter it if a man

gaineth the whole world and loseth his own soul?

Write your mother, Clyde, and bear in mind that her

love is always with you—guiding you—pleading with

you to do right in the name of the Lord.

Affectionately,

MOTHER.

And so it was that Clyde had begun to think of his uncle

Samuel and his great business long before he encountered

him. He had also experienced an enormous relief in

learning that his parents were no longer in the same

financial difficulties they were when he left, and safely

housed in a hotel, or at least a lodging house, probably

connected with this new mission.

Then two months after he had received his mother’s first

letter and while he was deciding almost every day that he

must do something, and that forthwith, he chanced one day

to deliver to the Union League Club on Jackson Boulevard

a package of ties and handkerchiefs which some visitor to

Chicago had purchased at the store, for which he worked.

Upon entering, who should he come in contact with but

Ratterer in the uniform of a club employee. He was in

charge of inquiry and packages at the door. Although

neither he nor Ratterer quite grasped immediately the fact

An American Tragedy

245

that they were confronting one another again, after a

moment Ratterer had exclaimed: “Clyde!” And then seizing

him by an arm, he added enthusiastically and yet cautiously

in a very low tone: “Well, of all things! The devil! Whaddya

know? Put ‘er there. Where do you come from anyhow?”

And Clyde, equally excited, exclaimed, “Well, by jing, if it

ain’t Tom. Whaddya know? You working here?”

Ratterer, who (like Clyde) had for the moment quite

forgotten the troublesome secret which lay between them,

added: “That’s right. Surest thing you know. Been here for

nearly a year, now.” Then with a sudden pull at Clyde’s

arm, as much as to say, “Silence!” he drew Clyde to one

side, out of the hearing of the youth to whom he had been

talking as Clyde came in, and added: “Ssh! I’m working

here under my own name, but I’d rather not let ’em know

I’m from K. C., see. I’m supposed to be from Cleveland.”

And with that he once more pressed Clyde’s arm genially

and looked him over. And Clyde, equally moved, added:

“Sure. That’s all right. I’m glad you were able to connect.

My name’s Tenet, Harry Tenet. Don’t forget that.” And both

were radiantly happy because of old times’ sake.

But Ratterer, noticing Clyde’s delivery uniform, observed:

“Driving a delivery, eh? Gee, that’s funny. You driving a

delivery. Imagine. That kills me. What do you want to do

that for?” Then seeing from Clyde’s expression that his

reference to his present position might not be the most

pleasing thing in the world, since Clyde at once observed:

“Well, I’ve been up against it, sorta,” he added: “But say, I

want to see you. Where are you living?” (Clyde told him.)

“That’s all right. I get off here at six. Why not drop around

after you’re through work. Or, I’ll tell you—suppose we meet

at—well, how about Henrici’s on Randolph Street? Is that

An American Tragedy

246

all right? At seven, say. I get off at six and I can be over

there by then if you can.”

Clyde, who was happy to the point of ecstasy in meeting

Ratterer again, nodded a cheerful assent.

He boarded his wagon and continued his deliveries, yet for

the rest of the afternoon his mind was on this approaching

meeting with Ratterer. And at five-thirty he hurried to his

barn and then to his boarding house on the west side,

where he donned his street clothes, then hastened to

Henrici’s. He had not been standing on the corner a minute

before Ratterer appeared, very genial and friendly and

dressed, if anything, more neatly than ever.

“Gee, it’s good to have a look at you, old socks!” he began.

“Do you know you’re the only one of that bunch that I’ve

seen since I left K. C.? That’s right. My sister wrote me after

we left home that no one seemed to know what became of

either Higby or Heggie, or you, either. They sent that fellow

Sparser up for a year—did you hear that? Tough, eh? But

not so much for killing the little girl, but for taking the car

and running it without a license and not stopping when

signaled. That’s what they got him for. But say,”—he

lowered his voice most significantly at this point—“we’da

got that if they’d got us. Oh, gee, I was scared. And run?”

And once more he began to laugh, but rather hysterically at

that. “What a wallop, eh? An’ us leavin’ him and that girl in

the car. Oh, say. Tough, what? Just what else could a

fellow do, though? No need of all of us going up, eh? What

was her name? Laura Sipe. An’ you cut out before I saw

you, even. And that little Briggs girl of yours did, too. Did