An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

pair of large, horn-rimmed glasses which he wore at his

desk only, and the eyes that peered through them went

over Clyde swiftly and notatively, from his shoes to the

round brown felt hat which he carried in his hand.

“You’re my cousin, I believe,” he commented, rather icily, as

Clyde came forward and stopped—a thin and certainly not

very favorable smile playing about his lips.

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“Yes, I am,” replied Clyde, reduced and confused by this

calm and rather freezing reception. On the instant, as he

now saw, he could not possibly have the same regard and

esteem for this cousin, as he could and did have for his

uncle, whose very great ability had erected this important

industry. Rather, deep down in himself he felt that this

young man, an heir and nothing more to this great industry,

was taking to himself airs and superiorities which, but for

his father’s skill before him, would not have been possible.

At the same time so groundless and insignificant were his

claims to any consideration here, and so grateful was he for

anything that might be done for him, that he felt heavily

obligated already and tried to smile his best and most

ingratiating smile. Yet Gilbert Griffiths at once appeared to

take this as a bit of presumption which ought not to be

tolerated in a mere cousin, and particularly one who was

seeking a favor of him and his father.

However, since his father had troubled to interest himself in

him and had given him no alternative, he continued his wry

smile and mental examination, the while he said: “We

thought you would be showing up to-day or to-morrow. Did

you have a pleasant trip?”

“Oh, yes, very,” replied Clyde, a little confused by this

inquiry.

“So you think you’d like to learn something about the

manufacture of collars, do you?” Tone and manner were

infiltrated by the utmost condescension.

“I would certainly like to learn something that would give me

a chance to work up, have some future in it,” replied Clyde,

genially and with a desire to placate his young cousin as

much as possible.

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“Well, my father was telling me of his talk with you in

Chicago. From what he told me I gather that you haven’t

had much practical experience of any kind. You don’t know

how to keep books, do you?”

“No, I don’t,” replied Clyde a little regretfully.

“And you’re not a stenographer or anything like that?”

“No, sir, I’m not.”

Most sharply, as Clyde said this, he felt that he was

dreadfully lacking in every training. And now Gilbert Griffiths

looked at him as though he were rather a hopeless

proposition indeed from the viewpoint of this concern.

“Well, the best thing to do with you, I think,” he went on, as

though before this his father had not indicated to him

exactly what was to be done in this case, “is to start you in

the shrinking room. That’s where the manufacturing end of

this business begins, and you might as well be learning that

from the ground up. Afterwards, when we see how you do

down there, we can tell a little better what to do with you. If

you had any office training it might be possible to use you

up here.” (Clyde’s face fell at this and Gilbert noticed it. It

pleased him.) “But it’s just as well to learn the practical side

of the business, whatever you do,” he added rather coldly,

not that he desired to comfort Clyde any but merely to be

saying it as a fact. And seeing that Clyde said nothing, he

continued: “The best thing, I presume, before you try to do

anything around here is for you to get settled somewhere.

You haven’t taken a room anywhere yet, have you?”

“No, I just came in on the noon train,” replied Clyde. “I was

a little dirty and so I just went up to the hotel to brush up a

little. I thought I’d look for a place afterwards.”

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“Well, that’s right. Only don’t look for any place. I’ll have our

superintendent see that you’re directed to a good boarding

house. He knows more about the town than you do.” His

thought here was that after all Clyde was a full cousin and

that it wouldn’t do to have him live just anywhere. At the

same time, he was greatly concerned lest Clyde get the

notion that the family was very much concerned as to

where he did live, which most certainly it was not, as he

saw it. His final feeling was that he could easily place and

control Clyde in such a way as to make him not very

important to any one in any way—his father, the family, all

the people who worked here.

He reached for a button on his desk and pressed it. A trim

girl, very severe and reserved in a green gingham dress,

appeared.

“Ask Mr. Whiggam to come here.”

She disappeared and presently there entered a medium-

sized and nervous, yet moderately stout, man who looked

as though he were under a great strain. He was about forty

years of age—repressed and noncommittal—and looked

curiously and suspiciously about as though wondering what

new trouble impended. His head, as Clyde at once noticed,

appeared chronically to incline forward, while at the same

time he lifted his eyes as though actually he would prefer

not to look up.

“Whiggam,” began young Griffiths authoritatively, “this is

Clyde Griffiths, a cousin of ours. You remember I spoke to

you about him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, he’s to be put in the shrinking department for the

present. You can show him what he’s to do. Afterwards you

had better have Mrs. Braley show him where he can get a

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room.” (All this had been talked over and fixed upon the

week before by Gilbert and Whiggam, but now he gave it

the ring of an original suggestion.) “And you’d better give

his name in to the timekeeper as beginning to-morrow

morning, see?”

“Yes, sir,” bowed Whiggam deferentially. “Is that all?”

“Yes, that’s all,” concluded Gilbert smartly. “You go with

Whiggam, Mr. Griffiths. He’ll tell you what to do.”

Whiggam turned. “If you’ll just come with me, Mr. Griffiths,”

he observed deferentially, as Clyde could see—and that for

all of his cousin’s apparently condescending attitude—and

marched out with Clyde at his heels. And young Gilbert as

briskly turned to his own desk, but at the same time shaking

his head. His feeling at the moment was that mentally

Clyde was not above a good bell-boy in a city hotel

probably. Else why should he come on here in this way. “I

wonder what he thinks he’s going to do here,” he continued

to think, “where he thinks he’s going to get?”

And Clyde, as he followed Mr. Whiggam, was thinking what

a wonderful place Mr. Gilbert Griffiths enjoyed. No doubt he

came and went as he chose—arrived at the office late,

departed early, and somewhere in this very interesting city

dwelt with his parents and sisters in a very fine house—of

course. And yet here he was—Gilbert’s own cousin, and the

nephew of his wealthy uncle, being escorted to work in a

very minor department of this great concern.

Nevertheless, once they were out of the sight and hearing

of Mr. Gilbert Griffiths, he was somewhat diverted from this

mood by the sights and sounds of the great manufactory

itself. For here on this very same floor, but beyond the

immense office room through which he had passed, was

another much larger room filled with rows of bins, facing

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aisles not more than five feet wide, and containing, as

Clyde could see, enormous quantities of collars boxed in

small paper boxes, according to sizes. These bins were

either being refilled by stock boys who brought more boxed

collars from the boxing room in large wooden trucks, or

were being as rapidly emptied by order clerks who,

trundling small box trucks in front of them, were filling

orders from duplicate check lists which they carried in their

hands.

“Never worked in a collar factory before, Mr. Griffiths, I

presume?” commented Mr. Whiggam with somewhat more

spirit, once he was out of the presence of Gilbert Griffiths.

Clyde noticed at once the Mr. Griffiths.

“Oh, no,” he replied quickly. “I never worked at anything like

this before.”

“Expect to learn all about the manufacturing end of the

game in the course of time, though, I suppose.” He was

walking briskly along one of the long aisles as he spoke,

but Clyde noticed that he shot sly glances in every direction.

“I’d like to,” he answered.

“Well, there’s a little more to it than some people think,

although you often hear there isn’t very much to learn.” He

opened another door, crossed a gloomy hall and entered