close to the work here and not play about very much. He’s
the buyer for Stark and Company, you know. But still a man
can’t work all the time, either. He’s got to have a little fun.”
“Yes, that’s right,” said Clyde—for the first time in his life a
little condescendingly.
They walked along in silence for a few moments. Then:
“Do you dance?”
“Yes,” answered Clyde.
“Well, so do I. There are a lot of cheap dance halls around
here, but I never go to any of those. You can’t do it and
keep in with the nice people. This is an awfully close town
that way, they say. The best people won’t have anything to
do with you unless you go with the right crowd. It’s the
same way up at Fonda. You have to ‘belong’ or you can’t
go out anywhere at all. And that’s right, I guess. But still
there are a lot of nice girls here that a fellow can go with—
girls of right nice families—not in society, of course—but
still, they’re not talked about, see. And they’re not so slow,
either. Pretty hot stuff, some of them. And you don’t have to
marry any of ’em, either.” Clyde began to think of him as
perhaps a little too lusty for his new life here, maybe. At the
same time he liked him some. “By the way,” went on
Dillard, “what are you doing next Sunday afternoon?”
“Well, nothing in particular, that I know of just now,” replied
Clyde, sensing a new problem here. “I don’t know just what
I may have to do by then, but I don’t know of anything now.”
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“Well, how’d you like to come with me, if you’re not too
busy. I’ve come to know quite a few girls since I’ve been
here. Nice ones. I can take you out and introduce you to my
uncle’s family, if you like. They’re nice people. And
afterwards—I know two girls we can go and see—peaches.
One of ’em did work in the store, but she don’t now—she’s
not doing anything now. The other is her pal. They have a
Victrola and they can dance. I know it isn’t the thing to
dance here on Sundays but no one need know anything
about that. The girls’ parents don’t mind. Afterwards we
might take ’em to a movie or something—if you want to—
not any of those things down near the mill district but one of
the better ones—see?”
There formulated itself in Clyde’s mind the question as to
what, in regard to just such proposals as this, his course
here was to be. In Chicago, and recently—because of what
happened in Kansas City—he had sought to be as retiring
and cautious as possible. For—after that and while
connected with the club, he had been taken with the fancy
of trying to live up to the ideals with which the seemingly
stern face of that institution had inspired him—conservatism
—hard work—saving one’s money—looking neat and
gentlemanly. It was such an Eveless paradise, that.
In spite of his quiet surroundings here, however, the very air
of the city seemed to suggest some such relaxation as this
youth was now suggesting—a form of diversion that was
probably innocent enough but still connected with girls and
their entertainment—there were so many of them here, as
he could see. These streets, after dinner, here, were so
alive with good-looking girls, and young men, too. But what
might his new found relatives think of him in case he was
seen stepping about in the manner and spirit which this
youth’s suggestions seemed to imply? Hadn’t he just said
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that this was an awfully close town and that everybody
knew nearly everything about everybody else? He paused
in doubt. He must decide now. And then, being lonely and
hungry for companionship, he replied: “Yes,—well—I think
that’s all right.” But he added a little dubiously: “Of course
my relatives here——”
“Oh, sure, that’s all right,” replied Dillard smartly. “You have
to be careful, of course. Well, so do I.” If he could only go
around with a Griffiths, even if he was new around here and
didn’t know many people—wouldn’t it reflect a lot of credit
on him? It most certainly would—did already, as he saw it.
And forthwith he offered to buy Clyde some cigarettes—a
soda—anything he liked. But Clyde, still feeling very strange
and uncertain, excused himself, after a time, because this
youth with his complacent worship of society and position,
annoyed him a little, and made his way back to his room.
He had promised his mother a letter and he thought he had
better go back and write it, and incidentally to think a little
on the wisdom of this new contact.
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Chapter 8
NEVERTHELESS, the next day being a Saturday and half
holiday the year round in this concern, Mr. Whiggam came
through with the pay envelopes.
“Here you are, Mr. Griffiths,” he said, as though he were
especially impressed with Clyde’s position.
Clyde, taking it, was rather pleased with this mistering, and
going back toward his locker, promptly tore it open and
pocketed the money. After that, taking his hat and coat, he
wandered off in the direction of his room, where he had his
lunch. But, being very lonely, and Dillard not being present
because he had to work, he decided upon a trolley ride to
Gloversville, which was a city of some twenty thousand
inhabitants and reported to be as active, if not as beautiful,
as Lycurgus. And that trip amused and interested him
because it took him into a city very different form Lycurgus
in its social texture.
But the next day—Sunday—he spent idly in Lycurgus,
wandering about by himself. For, as it turned out, Dillard
was compelled to return to Fonda for some reason and
could not fulfill the Sunday understanding. Encountering
Clyde, however, on Monday evening, he announced that on
the following Wednesday evening, in the basement of the
Diggby Avenue Congregational Church, there was to be
held a social with refreshments. And according to young
Dillard, at least this promised to prove worth while.
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“We can just go out there,” was the way he put it to Clyde,
“and buzz the girls a little. I want you to meet my uncle and
aunt. They’re nice people all right. And so are the girls.
They’re no slouches. Then we can edge out afterwards,
about ten, see, and go around to either Zella or Rita’s
place. Rita has more good records over at her place, but
Zella has the nicest place to dance. By the way, you didn’t
chance to bring along your dress suit with you, did you?” he
inquired. For having already inspected Clyde’s room, which
was above his own on the third floor, in Clyde’s absence
and having discovered that he had only a dress suit case
and no trunk, and apparently no dress suit anywhere, he
had decided that in spite of Clyde’s father conducting a
hotel and Clyde having worked in the Union League Club in
Chicago, he must be very indifferent to social equipment.
Or, if not, must be endeavoring to make his own way on
some character-building plan without help from any one.
This was not to his liking, exactly. A man should never
neglect these social essentials. Nevertheless, Clyde was a
Griffiths and that was enough to cause him to overlook
nearly anything, for the present anyhow.
“No, I didn’t,” replied Clyde, who was not exactly sure as to
the value of this adventure—even yet—in spite of his own
loneliness,—“but I intend to get one.” He had already
thought since coming here of his lack in this respect, and
was thinking of taking at least thirty-five of his more recently
hard-earned savings and indulging in a suit of this kind.
Dillard buzzed on about the fact that while Zella Shuman’s
family wasn’t rich—they owned the house they lived in—still
she went with a lot of nice girls here, too. So did Rita Dicker-
man. Zella’s father owned a little cottage upon Eckert Lake,
near Fonda. When next summer came—and with it the
holidays and pleasant week-ends, he and Clyde, supposing
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that Clyde liked Rita, might go up there some time for a
visit, for Rita and Zella were inseparable almost. And they
were pretty, too. “Zella’s dark and Rita’s light,” he added
enthusiastically.
Clyde was interested by the fact that the girls were pretty
and that out of a clear sky and in the face of his present
loneliness, he was being made so much of by this Dillard.
But, was it wise for him to become very much involved with
him? That was the question—for, after all, he really knew
nothing of him. And he gathered from Dillard’s manner, his
flighty enthusiasm for the occasion, that he was far more
interested in the girls as girls—a certain freedom or