An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

concerned, and in the absence of his father, who was in

New York at the time (a fact which Clyde did not know and

of which Gilbert did not trouble to inform him) he had

conveyed to his mother and sisters that he had met Clyde,

and if he were not the dullest, certainly he was not the most

interesting person in the world, either. Encountering Myra,

as he first entered at five-thirty, the same day that Clyde

had appeared, he troubled to observe: “Well, that Chicago

cousin of ours blew in to-day.”

“Yes!” commented Myra. “What’s he like?” The fact that her

father had described Clyde as gentlemanly and intelligent

had interested her, although knowing Lycurgus and the

nature of the mill life here and its opportunities for those

who worked in factories such as her father owned, she had

wondered why Clyde had bothered to come.

“Well, I can’t see that he’s so much,” replied Gilbert. “He’s

fairly intelligent and not bad-looking, but he admits that he’s

never had any business training of any kind. He’s like all

those young fellows who work for hotels. He thinks clothes

are the whole thing, I guess. He had on a light brown suit

and a brown tie and hat to match and brown shoes. His tie

was too bright and he had on one of those bright pink

striped shirts like they used to wear three or four years ago.

Besides his clothes aren’t cut right. I didn’t want to say

anything because he’s just come on, and we don’t know

whether he’ll hold out or not. But if he does, and he’s going

to pose around as a relative of ours, he’d better tone down,

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or I’d advise the governor to have a few words with him.

Outside of that I guess he’ll do well enough in one of the

departments after a while, as foreman or something. He

might even be made into a salesman later on, I suppose.

But what he sees in all that to make it worth while to come

here is more than I can guess. As a matter of fact, I don’t

think the governor made it clear to him just how few the

chances are here for any one who isn’t really a wizard or

something.”

He stood with his back to the large open fireplace.

“Oh, well, you know what Mother was saying the other day

about his father. She thinks Daddy feels that he’s never had

a chance in some way. He’ll probably do something for him

whether he wants to keep him in the mill or not. She told

me that she thought that Dad felt that his father hadn’t been

treated just right by their father.”

Myra paused, and Gilbert, who had had this same hint from

his mother before now, chose to ignore the implication of it.

“Oh, well, it’s not my funeral,” he went on. “If the governor

wants to keep him on here whether he’s fitted for anything

special or not, that’s his look-out. Only he’s the one that’s

always talking about efficiency in every department and

cutting and keeping out dead timber.”

Meeting his mother and Bella later, he volunteered the

same news and much the same ideas. Mrs. Griffiths

sighed; for after all, in a place like Lycurgus and established

as they were, any one related to them and having their

name ought to be most circumspect and have careful

manners and taste and judgment. It was not wise for her

husband to bring on any one who was not all of that and

more.

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On the other hand, Bella was by no means satisfied with

the accuracy of her brother’s picture of Clyde. She did not

know Clyde, but she did know Gilbert, and as she knew he

could decide very swiftly that this or that person was lacking

in almost every way, when, as a matter of fact, they might

not be at all as she saw it.

“Oh, well,” she finally observed, after hearing Gilbert

comment on more of Clyde’s peculiarities at dinner, “if

Daddy wants him; I presume he’ll keep him, or do

something with him eventually.” At which Gilbert winced

internally for this was a direct slap at his assumed authority

in the mill under his father, which authority he was eager to

make more and more effective in every direction, as his

younger sister well knew.

In the meanwhile on the following morning, Clyde, returning

to the mill, found that the name, or appearance, or both

perhaps—his resemblance to Mr. Gilbert Griffiths—was of

some peculiar advantage to him which he could not quite

sufficiently estimate at present. For on reaching number

one entrance, the doorman on guard there looked as

though startled.

“Oh, you’re Mr. Clyde Griffiths?” he queried. “You’re goin’ to

work under Mr. Kemerer? Yes, I know. Well, that man there

will have your key,” and he pointed to a stodgy, stuffy old

man whom later Clyde came to know as “Old Jeff,” the time-

clock guard, who, at a stand farther along this same hall,

furnished and reclaimed all keys between seven-thirty and

seven-forty.

When Clyde approached him and said: “My name’s Clyde

Griffiths and I’m to work downstairs with Mr. Kemerer,” he

too started and then said: “Sure, that’s right. Yes, sir. Here

you are, Mr. Griffiths. Mr. Kemerer spoke to me about you

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285

yesterday. Number seventy-one is to be yours. I’m giving

you Mr. Duveny’s old key.” When Clyde had gone down the

stairs into the shrinking department, he turned to the door-

man who had drawn near and exclaimed: “Don’t it beat all

how much that fellow looks like Mr. Gilbert Griffiths? Why,

he’s almost his spittin’ image. What is he, do you suppose,

a brother or a cousin, or what?”

“Don’t ask me,” replied the doorman. “I never saw him

before. But he’s certainly related to the family all right.

When I seen him first, I thought it was Mr. Gilbert. I was just

about to tip my hat to him when I saw it wasn’t.”

And in the shrinking room when he entered, as on the day

before, he found Kemerer as respectful and evasive as

ever. For, like Whiggam before him, Kemerer had not as

yet been able to decide what Clyde’s true position with this

company was likely to be. For, as Whiggam had informed

Kemerer the day before, Mr. Gilbert had said no least thing

which tended to make Mr. Whiggam believe that things

were to be made especially easy for him, nor yet hard,

either. On the contrary, Mr. Gilbert had said: “He’s to be

treated like all the other employees as to time and work. No

different.” Yet in introducing Clyde he had said: “This is my

cousin, and he’s going to try to learn this business,” which

would indicate that as time went on Clyde was to be

transferred from department to department until he had

surveyed the entire manufacturing end of the business.

Whiggam, for this reason, after Clyde had gone, whispered

to Kemerer as well as to several others, that Clyde might

readily prove to be some one who was a protégé of the chief

—and therefore they determined to “watch their step,” at

least until they knew what his standing here was to be. And

Clyde, noticing this, was quite set up by it, for he could not

help but feel that this in itself, and apart from whatever his

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cousin Gilbert might either think or wish to do, might easily

presage some favor on the part of his uncle that might lead

to some good for him. So when Kemerer proceeded to

explain to him that he was not to think that the work was so

very hard or that there was so very much to do for the

present, Clyde took it with a slight air of condescension.

And in consequence Kemerer was all the more respectful.

“Just hang up your hat and coat over there in one of those

lockers,” he proceeded mildly and ingratiatingly even. “Then

you can take one of those crate trucks back there and go

up to the next floor and bring down some webs. They’ll

show you where to get them.”

The days that followed were diverting and yet troublesome

enough to Clyde, who to begin with was puzzled and

disturbed at times by the peculiar social and workaday

worlds and position in which he found himself. For one

thing, those by whom now he found himself immediately

surrounded at the factory were not such individuals as he

would ordinarily select for companions—far below bell-boys

or drivers or clerks anywhere. They were, one and all, as he

could now clearly see, meaty or stodgy mentally and

physically. They wore such clothes as only the most

common laborers would wear—such clothes as are usually

worn by those who count their personal appearance among