concealed looseness that characterized them—than he was
in the social phase of the world which they represented.
And wasn’t that what brought about his downfall in Kansas
City? Here in Lycurgus, of all places, he was least likely to
forget it—aspiring to something better as he now did.
None-the-less, at eight-thirty on the following Wednesday,
evening—they were off, Clyde full of eager anticipation. And
by nine o’clock they were in the midst of one of those semi-
religious, semi-social and semi-emotional church affairs, the
object of which was to raise money for the church—the
general service of which was to furnish an occasion for
gossip among the elders, criticism and a certain amount of
enthusiastic, if disguised courtship and flirtation among the
younger members. There were booths for the sale of quite
everything from pies, cakes and ice cream to laces, dolls
and knickknacks of every description, supplied by the
members and parted with for the benefit of the church. The
Reverend Peter Isreals, the minister, and his wife were
present. Also Dillard’s uncle and aunt, a pair of brisk and
yet uninteresting people whom Clyde could sense were of
no importance socially here. They were too genial and
altogether social in the specific neighborhood sense,
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although Grover Wilson, being a buyer for Stark and
Company, endeavored to assume a serious and important
air at times.
He was an undersized and stocky man who did not seem to
know how to dress very well or could not afford it. In
contrast to his nephew’s almost immaculate garb, his own
suit was far from perfect-fitting. It was unpressed and
slightly soiled. And his tie the same. He had a habit of
rubbing his hands in a clerkly fashion, of wrinkling his brows
and scratching the back of his head at times, as though
something he was about to say had cost him great thought
and was of the utmost importance. Whereas, nothing that
he uttered, as even Clyde could see, was of the slightest
importance.
And so, too, with the stout and large Mrs. Wilson, who
stood beside him while he was attempting to rise to the
importance of Clyde. She merely beamed a fatty beam.
She was almost ponderous, and pink, with a tendency to a
double chin. She smiled and smiled, largely because she
was naturally genial and on her good behavior here, but
incidentally because Clyde was who he was. For as Clyde
himself could see, Walter Dillard had lost no time in
impressing his relatives with the fact that he was a Griffiths.
Also that he had encountered and made a friend of him and
that he was now chaperoning him locally.
“Walter has been telling us that you have just come on here
to work for your uncle. You’re at Mrs. Cuppy’s now, I
understand. I don’t know her but I’ve always heard she
keeps such a nice, refined place. Mr. Parsley, who lives
here with her, used to go to school with me. But I don’t see
much of him any more. Did you meet him yet?”
“No, I didn’t,” said Clyde in return.
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“Well, you know, we expected you last Sunday to dinner,
only Walter had to go home. But you must come soon. Any
time at all. I would love to have you.” She beamed and her
small grayish brown eyes twinkled.
Clyde could see that because of the fame of his uncle he
was looked upon as a social find, really. And so it was with
the remainder of this company, old and young—the Rev.
Peter Isreals and his wife; Mr. Micah Bumpus, a local
vendor of printing inks, and his wife and son; Mr. and Mrs.
Maximilian Pick, Mr. Pick being a wholesale and retail
dealer in hay, grain and feed; Mr. Witness, a florist, and
Mrs. Throop, a local real estate dealer. All knew Samuel
Griffiths and his family by reputation and it seemed not a
little interesting and strange to all of them that Clyde, a real
nephew of so rich a man, should be here in their midst. The
only trouble with this was that Clyde’s manner was very soft
and not as impressive as it should be—not so aggressive
and contemptuous. And most of them were of that type of
mind that respects insolence even where it pretends to
condemn it.
In so far as the young girls were concerned, it was even
more noticeable. For Dillard was making this important
relationship of Clyde’s perfectly plain to every one. “This is
Clyde Griffiths, the nephew of Samuel Griffiths, Mr. Gilbert
Griffiths’ cousin, you know. He’s just come on here to study
the collar business in his uncle’s factory.” And Clyde, who
realized how shallow was this pretense, was still not a little
pleased and impressed by the effect of it all. This Dillard’s
effrontery. The brassy way in which, because of Clyde, he
presumed to patronize these people. On this occasion, he
kept guiding Clyde here and there, refusing for the most
part to leave him alone for an instant. In fact he was
determined that all whom he knew and liked among the
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girls and young men should know who and what Clyde was
and that he was presenting him. Also that those whom he
did not like should see as little of him as possible—not be
introduced at all. “She don’t amount to anything. Her father
only keeps a small garage here. I wouldn’t bother with her if
I were you.” Or, “He isn’t much around here. Just a clerk in
our store.” At the same time, in regard to some others, he
was all smiles and compliments, or at worst apologetic for
their social lacks.
And then he was introduced to Zella Shuman and Rita
Dickerman, who, for reasons of their own, not the least
among which was a desire to appear a little wise and more
sophisticated than the others here, came a little late. And it
was true, as Clyde was to find out afterwards, that they
were different, too—less simple and restricted than quite all
of the girls whom Dillard had thus far introduced him to.
They were not as sound religiously and morally as were
these others. And as even Clyde noted on meeting them,
they were as keen for as close an approach to pagan
pleasure without admitting it to themselves, as it was
possible to be and not be marked for what they were. And
in consequence, there was something in their manner, the
very spirit of the introduction, which struck him as different
from the tone of the rest of this church group—not exactly
morally or religiously unhealthy but rather much freer, less
repressed, less reserved than were these others.
“Oh, so you’re Mr. Clyde Griffiths,” observed Zella Shuman.
“My, you look a lot like your cousin, don’t you? I see him
driving down Central Avenue ever so often. Walter has
been telling us all about you. Do you like Lycurgus?”
The way she said “Walter,” together with something
intimate and possessive in the tone of her voice, caused
Clyde to feel at once that she must feel rather closer to and
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301
freer with Dillard than he himself had indicated. A small
scarlet bow of velvet ribbon at her throat, two small garnet
earrings in her ears, a very trim and tight-fitting black dress,
with a heavily flounced skirt, seemed to indicate that she
was not opposed to showing her figure, and prized it, a
mood which except for a demure and rather retiring poise
which she affected, would most certainly have excited
comment in such a place as this.
Rita Dickerman, on the other hand, was lush and blonde,
with pink cheeks, light chestnut hair, and bluish gray eyes.
Lacking the aggressive smartness which characterized
Zella Shuman, she still radiated a certain something which
to Clyde seemed to harmonize with the liberal if secret
mood of her friend. Her manner, as Clyde could see, while
much less suggestive of masked bravado was yielding and
to him designedly so, as well as naturally provocative. It
had been arranged that she was to intrigue him. Very much
fascinated by Zella Shuman and in tow of her, they were
inseparable. And when Clyde was introduced to her, she
beamed upon him in a melting and sensuous way which
troubled him not a little. For here in Lycurgus, as he was
telling himself at the time, he must be very careful with
whom he became familiar. And yet, unfortunately, as in the
case of Hortense Briggs, she evoked thoughts of intimacy,
however unproblematic or distant, which troubled him. But
he must be careful. It was just such a free attitude as this
suggested by Dillard as well as these girls’ manners that
had gotten him into trouble before.
“Now we’ll just have a little ice cream and cake,” suggested
Dillard, after the few preliminary remarks were over, “and