An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

genially. “We all like Lycurgus, only after Chicago I suppose

An American Tragedy

321

it will not mean so very much to you.” She smiled and

Clyde, feeling very formal and stiff in the presence of all

these very superior relatives, now returned a stiff “thank

you,” and was just about to seat himself when the outer

door opened and Gilbert Griffiths strode in. The whirring of

a motor had preceded this—a motor that had stopped

outside the large east side entrance. “Just a minute, Dolge,”

he called to some one outside. “I won’t be long.” Then

turning to the family, he added: “Excuse me, folks, I’ll be

back in a minute.” He dashed up the rear stairs, only to

return after a time and confront Clyde, if not the others, with

that same rather icy and inconsiderate air that had so far

troubled him at the factory. He was wearing a light, belted

motoring coat of a very pronounced stripe, and a dark

leather cap and gauntlets which gave him almost a military

air. After nodding to Clyde rather stiffly, and adding, “How

do you do,” he laid a patronizing hand on his father’s

shoulder and observed: “Hi, Dad. Hello, Mother. Sorry I

can’t be with you to-night. But I just came over from

Amsterdam with Dolge and Eustis to get Constance and

Jacqueline. There’s some doings over at the Bridgemans’.

But I’ll be back again before morning. Or at the office,

anyhow. Everything all right with you, Mr. Griffiths?” he

observed to his father.

“Yes, I have nothing to complain of,” returned his father.

“But it seems to me you’re making a pretty long night of it,

aren’t you?”

“Oh, I don’t mean that,” returned his son, ignoring Clyde

entirely. “I just mean that if I can’t get back by two, I’ll stay

over, that’s all, see.” He tapped his father genially on the

shoulder again.

“I hope you’re not driving that car as fast as usual,”

complained his mother. “It’s not safe at all.”

An American Tragedy

322

“Fifteen miles an hour, Mother. Fifteen miles an hour. I

know the rules.” He smiled loftily.

Clyde did not fail to notice the tone of condescension and

authority that went with all this. Plainly here, as at the

factory, he was a person who had to be reckoned with.

Apart from his father, perhaps, there was no one here to

whom he offered any reverence. What a superior attitude,

thought Clyde!

How wonderful it must be to be a son who, without having

had to earn all this, could still be so much, take oneself so

seriously, exercise so much command and authority. It

might be, as it plainly was, that this youth was very superior

and indifferent in tone toward him. But think of being such a

youth, having so much power at one’s command!

An American Tragedy

323

Chapter 10

AT THIS point a maid announced that supper was served

and instantly Gilbert took his departure. At the same time

the family arose and Mrs. Griffiths asked the maid: “Has

Bella telephoned yet?”

“No, ma’am,” replied the servant, “not yet.”

“Well, have Mrs. Truesdale call up the Finchleys and see if

she’s there. You tell her I said that she is to come home at

once.”

The maid departed for a moment while the group

proceeded to the dining room, which lay to the west of the

stairs at the rear. Again, as Clyde saw, this was another

splendidly furnished room done in a very light brown, with a

long center table of carved walnut, evidently used only for

special occasions. It was surrounded by high-backed chairs

and lighted by candelabras set at even spaces upon it. In a

lower ceilinged and yet ample circular alcove beyond this,

looking out on the garden to the south, was a smaller table

set for six. It was in this alcove that they were to dine, a

different thing from what Clyde had expected for some

reason.

Seated in a very placid fashion, he found himself answering

questions principally as to his own family, the nature of its

life, past and present; how old was his father now? His

mother? What had been the places of their residence

before moving to Denver? How many brothers and sisters

had he? How old was his sister, Esta? What did she do?

An American Tragedy

324

And the others? Did his father like managing a hotel? What

had been the nature of his father’s work in Kansas City?

How long had the family lived there?

Clyde was not a little troubled and embarrassed by this

chain of questions which flowed rather heavily and solemnly

from Samuel Griffiths or his wife. And from Clyde’s

hesitating replies, especially in regard to the nature of the

family life in Kansas City, both gathered that he was

embarrassed and troubled by some of the questions. They

laid it to the extreme poverty of their relatives, of course.

For having asked, “I suppose you began your hotel work in

Kansas City, didn’t you, after you left school?” Clyde

blushed deeply, bethinking himself of the incident of the

stolen car and of how little real schooling he had had. Most

certainly he did not like the thought of having himself

identified with hotel life in Kansas City, and more especially

the Green-Davidson.

But fortunately at this moment, the door opened and Bella

entered, accompanied by two girls such as Clyde would

have assumed at once belonged to this world. How

different to Rita and Zella with whom his thought so recently

had been disturbedly concerned. He did not know Bella, of

course, until she proceeded most familiarly to address her

family. But the others—one was Sondra Finchley, so

frequently referred to by Bella and her mother—as smart

and vain and sweet a girl as Clyde had ever laid his eyes

upon—so different to any he had ever known and so

superior. She was dressed in a close-fitting tailored suit

which followed her form exactly and which was enhanced

by a small dark leather hat, pulled fetchingly low over her

eyes. A leather belt of the same color encircled her neck.

By a leather leash she led a French bull and over one arm

carried a most striking coat of black and gray checks—not

too pronounced and yet having the effect of a man’s

An American Tragedy

325

modish overcoat. To Clyde’s eyes she was the most

adorable feminine thing he had seen in all his days. Indeed

her effect on him was electric—thrilling—arousing in him a

curiously stinging sense of what it was to want and not to

have—to wish to win and yet to feel, almost agonizingly that

he was destined not even to win a glance from her. It

tortured and flustered him. At one moment he had a keen

desire to close his eyes and shut her out—at another to

look only at her constantly—so truly was he captivated.

Yet, whether she saw him or not, she gave no sign at first,

exclaiming to her dog: “Now, Bissell, if you’re not going to

behave, I’m going to take you out and tie you out there. Oh,

I don’t believe I can stay a moment if he won’t behave

better than this.” He had seen a family cat and was tugging

to get near her.

Beside her was another girl whom Clyde did not fancy

nearly so much, and yet who, after her fashion, was as

smart as Sondra and perhaps as alluring to some. She was

blonde—tow-headed—with clear almond-shaped, greenish-

gray eyes, a small, graceful, catlike figure, and a slinky

feline manner. At once, on entering, she sidled across the

room to the end of the table where Mrs. Griffiths sat and

leaning over her at once began to purr.

“Oh, how are you, Mrs. Griffiths? I’m so glad to see you

again. It’s been some time since I’ve been over here, hasn’t

it? But then Mother and I have been away. She and Grant

are over at Albany to-day. And I just picked up Bella and

Sondra here at the Lamberts’. You’re just having a quiet

little supper by yourselves, aren’t you? How are you, Myra?”

she called, and reaching over Mrs. Griffiths’ shoulder

touched Myra quite casually on the arm, as though it were

more a matter of form than anything else.

An American Tragedy

326

In the meantime Bella, who next to Sondra seemed to

Clyde decidedly the most charming of the three, was

exclaiming: “Oh, I’m late. Sorry, Mamma and Daddy. Won’t

that do this time?” Then noting Clyde, and as though for the

first time, although he had risen as they entered and was

still standing, she paused in semi-mock modesty as did the

others. And Clyde, oversensitive to just such airs and

material distinctions, was fairly tremulous with a sense of

his own inadequacy, as he waited to be introduced. For to

him, youth and beauty in such a station as this represented