An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

had but a moment before finished posting the name of this

uncle on the board, signaled to Clyde, who came over.

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“Didn’t you say you had an uncle or something by the name

of Griffiths in the collar business somewhere in New York

State?”

“Sure,” replied Clyde. “Samuel Griffiths. He has a big collar

factory in Lycurgus. That’s his ad you see in all the papers

and that’s his fire sign over there on Michigan Avenue.”

“Would you know him if you saw him?”

“No,” replied Clyde. “I never saw him in all my life.”

“I’ll bet anything it’s the same fellow,” commented Ratterer,

consulting a small registry slip that had been handed him.

“Looka here—Samuel Griffiths, Lycurgus, N. Y. That’s

probably the same guy, eh?”

“Surest thing you know,” added Clyde, very much interested

and even excited, for this was the identical uncle about

whom he had been thinking so long.

“He just went through here a few minutes ago,” went on

Ratterer. “Devoy took his bags up to K. Swell-looking man,

too. You better keep your eye open and take a look at him

when he comes down again. Maybe it’s your uncle. He’s

only medium tall and kinda thin. Wears a small gray

mustache and a pearl gray hat. Good-lookin’. I’ll point him

out to you. If it is your uncle you better shine up to him.

Maybe he’ll do somepin’ for you—give you a collar or two,”

he added, laughing.

Clyde laughed too as though he very much appreciated this

joke, although in reality he was flustered. His uncle Samuel!

And in this club! Well, then this was his opportunity to

introduce himself to his uncle. He had intended writing him

before ever he secured this place, but now he was here in

this club and might speak to him if he chose.

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But hold! What would his uncle think of him, supposing he

chose to introduce himself? For he was a bell-boy again

and acting in that capacity in this club. What, for instance,

might be his uncle’s attitude toward boys who worked as

bellboys, particularly at his—Clyde’s—years. For he was

over twenty now, and getting to be pretty old for a bell-boy,

that is, if one ever—intended to be anything else. A man of

his wealth and high position might look on bell-hopping as

menial, particularly bell-boys who chanced to be related to

him. He might not wish to have anything to do with him—

might not even wish him to address him in any way. It was

in this state that he remained for fully twenty-four hours

after he knew that his uncle had arrived at this club.

The following afternoon, however, after he had seen him at

least half a dozen times and had been able to formulate the

most agreeable impressions of him, since his uncle

appeared to be so very quick, alert, incisive—so very

different from his father in every way, and so rich and

respected by every one here—he began to wonder, to fear

even at times, whether he was going to let this remarkable

opportunity slip. For after all, his uncle did not look to him to

be at all unkindly—quite the reverse—very pleasant. And

when, at the suggestion of Ratterer, he had gone to his

uncle’s room to secure a letter which was to be sent by

special messenger, his uncle had scarcely looked at him,

but instead had handed him the letter and half a dollar.

“See that a boy takes that right away and keep the money

for yourself,” he had remarked.

Clyde’s excitement was so great at the moment that he

wondered that his uncle did not guess that he was his

nephew. But plainly he did not. And he went away a little

crest-fallen.

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254

Later some half dozen letters for his uncle having been put

in the key-box, Ratterer called Clyde’s attention to them. “If

you want to run in on him again, here’s your chance. Take

those up to him. He’s in his room, I think.” And Clyde, after

some hesitation, had finally taken the letters and gone to

his uncle’s suite once more.

His uncle was writing at the time and merely called:

“Come!” Then Clyde, entering and smiling rather

enigmatically, observed: “Here’s some mail for you, Mr.

Griffiths.”

“Thank you very much, my son,” replied his uncle and

proceeded to finger his vest pocket for change. but Clyde,

seizing this opportunity, exclaimed: “Oh, no, I don’t want

anything for that.” And then before his uncle could say

anything more, although he proceeded to hold out some

silver to him, he added: “I believe I’m related to you, Mr.

Griffiths. You’re Mr. Samuel Griffiths of the Griffiths Collar

Company of Lycurgus, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I have a little something to do with it, I believe. Who

are you?” returned his uncle, looking at him sharply.

“My name’s Clyde Griffiths. My father, Asa Griffiths, is your

brother, I believe.”

At the mention of this particular brother, who, to the

knowledge of all the members of this family, was distinctly

not a success materially, the face of Samuel Griffiths

clouded the least trifle. For the mention of Asa brought

rather unpleasingly before him the stocky and decidedly not

well-groomed figure of his younger brother, whom he had

not seen in so many years. His most recent distinct picture

of him was as a young man of about Clyde’s age about his

father’s house near Bertwick, Vermont. But how different!

Clyde’s father was then short, fat and poorly knit mentally

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as well as physically—oleaginous and a bit mushy, as it

were. His chin was not firm, his eyes a pale watery blue,

and his hair frizzled. Whereas this son of his was neat,

alert, good-looking and seemingly well-mannered and

intelligent, as most bell-hops were inclined to be as he

noted. And he liked him.

However, Samuel Griffiths, who along with his elder brother

Allen had inherited the bulk of his father’s moderate

property, and this because of Joseph Griffiths’ prejudice

against his youngest son, had always felt that perhaps an

injustice had been done Asa. For Asa, not having proved

very practical or intelligent, his father had first attempted to

drive and then later ignore him, and finally had turned him

out at about Clyde’s age, and had afterward left the bulk of

his property, some thirty thousand dollars, to these two

elder brothers, share and share alike—willing Asa but a

petty thousand.

It was this thought in connection with this younger brother

that now caused him to stare at Clyde rather curiously. For

Clyde, as he could see, was in no way like the younger

brother who had been harried from his father’s home so

many years before. Rather he was more like his own son,

Gilbert, whom, as he now saw he resembled. Also in spite

of all of Clyde’s fears he was obviously impressed by the

fact that he should have any kind of place in this interesting

club. For to Samuel Griffiths, who was more than less

confined to the limited activities and environment of

Lycurgus, the character and standing of this particular club

was to be respected. And those young men who served the

guests of such an institution as this, were, in the main,

possessed of efficient and unobtrusive manners. Therefore

to see Clyde standing before him in his neat gray and black

uniform and with the air of one whose social manners at

least were excellent, caused him to think favorably of him.

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“You don’t tell me!” he exclaimed interestedly. “So you’re

Asa’s son. I do declare! Well, now, this is a surprise. You

see I haven’t seen or heard from your father in at least—

well, say, twenty-five or six years, anyhow. The last time I

did hear from him he was living in Grand Rapids, Michigan,

I think, or here. He isn’t here now, I presume.”

“Oh, no, sir,” replied Clyde, who was glad to be able to say

this. “The family live in Denver. I’m here all alone.”

“Your father and mother are living, I presume.”

“Yes, sir. They’re both alive.”

“Still connected with religious work, is he—your father?”

“Well, yes, sir,” answered Clyde, a little dubiously, for he

was still convinced that the form of religious work his father

essayed was of all forms the poorest and most

inconsequential socially. “Only the church he has now,” he

went on, “has a lodging house connected with it. About forty

rooms, I believe. He and my mother run that and the

mission too.”

“Oh, I see.”

He was so anxious to make a better impression on his

uncle than the situation seemed to warrant that he was

quite willing to exaggerate a little.

“Well, I’m glad they’re doing so well,” continued Samuel

Griffiths, rather impressed with the trim and vigorous

appearance of Clyde. “You like this kind of work, I