An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

the ultimate triumph of the female. His weakness for

Hortense Briggs, to say nothing of Rita, who was not so

attractive as either of these, illustrated the effect of trim

femininity on him, regardless of merit.

“Bella,” observed Samuel Griffiths, heavily, noting Clyde still

standing, “your cousin, Clyde.”

“Oh, yes,” replied Bella, observing that Clyde looked

exceedingly like Gilbert. “How are you? Mother has been

saying that you were coming to call one of these days.” She

extended a finger or two, then turned toward her friends.

“My friends, Miss Finchley and Miss Cranston, Mr. Griffiths.”

The two girls bowed, each in the most stiff and formal

manner, at the same time studying Clyde most carefully

and rather directly, “Well, he does look like Gil a lot, doesn’t

he?” whispered Sondra to Bertine, who had drawn near to

her. And Bertine replied: “I never saw anything like it. He’s

really better-looking, isn’t he—a lot?”

Sondra nodded, pleased to note in the first instance that he

was somewhat better-looking than Bella’s brother, whom

she did not like—next that he was obviously stricken with

her, which was her due, as she invariably decided in

connection with youths thus smitten with her. But having

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thus decided, and seeing that his glance was persistently

and helplessly drawn to her, she concluded that she need

pay no more attention to him, for the present anyway. He

was too easy.

But now Mrs. Griffiths, who had not anticipated this

visitation and was a little irritated with Bella for introducing

her friends at this time since it at once raised the question

of Clyde’s social position here, observed: “Hadn’t you two

better lay off your coats and sit down? I’ll just have Nadine

lay extra plates at this end. Bella, you can sit next to your

father.”

“Oh, no, not at all,” and “No, indeed, we’re just on our way

home ourselves. I can’t stay a minute,” came from Sondra

and Bertine. But now that they were here and Clyde had

proved to be as attractive as he was, they were perversely

interested to see what, if any, social flair there was to him.

Gilbert Griffiths, as both knew, was far from being popular

in some quarters—their own in particular, however much

they might like Bella. He was, for two such self-centered

beauties as these, too aggressive, self-willed and

contemptuous at times. Whereas Clyde, if one were to

judge by his looks, at least was much more malleable. And

if it were to prove now that he was of equal station, or that

the Griffiths thought so, decidedly he would be available

locally, would he not? At any rate, it would be interesting to

know whether he was rich. But this thought was almost

instantly satisfied by Mrs. Griffiths, who observed rather

definitely and intentionally to Bertine: “Mr. Griffiths is a

nephew of ours from the West who has come on to see if

he can make a place for himself in my husband’s factory.

He’s a young man who has to make his own way in the

world and my husband has been kind enough to give him

an opportunity.”

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Clyde flushed, since obviously this was a notice to him that

his social position here was decidedly below that of the

Griffiths or these girls. At the same time, as he also noticed,

the look of Bertine Cranston, who was only interested in

youths of means and position, changed from one of

curiosity to marked indifference. On the other hand, Sondra

Finchley, by no means so practical as her friend, though of

a superior station in her set, since she was so very

attractive and her parents possessed of even more means

—re-surveyed Clyde with one thought written rather plainly

on her face, that it was too bad. He really was so attractive.

At the same time Samuel Griffiths, having a peculiar

fondness for Sondra, if not Bertine, whom Mrs. Griffiths also

disliked as being too tricky and sly, was calling to her:

“Here, Sondra, tie up your dog to one of the dining-room

chairs and come and sit by me. Throw your coat over that

chair. Here’s room for you.” He motioned to her to come.

“But I can’t, Uncle Samuel!” called Sondra, familiarly and

showily and yet somehow sweetly, seeking to ingratiate

herself by this affected relationship. “We’re late now.

Besides Bissell won’t behave. Bertine and I are just on our

way home, truly.”

“Oh, yes, Papa,” put in Bella, quickly, “Bertine’s horse ran a

nail in his foot yesterday and is going lame to-day. And

neither Grant nor his father is home. She wants to know if

you know anything that’s good for it.”

“Which foot is it?” inquired Griffiths, interested, while Clyde

continued to survey Sondra as best he might. She was so

delicious, he thought—her nose so tiny and tilted—her

upper lip arched so roguishly upward toward her nose.

“It’s the left fore. I was riding out on the East Kingston road

yesterday afternoon. Jerry threw a shoe and must have

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picked up a splinter, but John doesn’t seem to be able to

find it.”

“Did you ride him much with the nail, do you think?”

“About eight miles—all the way back.”

“Well, you had better have John put on some liniment and a

bandage and call a veterinary. He’ll come around all right,

I’m sure.”

The group showed no signs of leaving and Clyde, left quite

to himself for the moment, was thinking what an easy,

delightful world this must be—this local society. For here

they were without a care, apparently, between any of them.

All their talk was of houses being built, horses they were

riding, friends they had met, places they were going to,

things they were going to do. And there was Gilbert, who

had left only a little while before—motoring somewhere with

a group of young men. And Bella, his cousin, trifling around

with these girls in the beautiful homes of this street, while

he was shunted away in a small third-floor room at Mrs.

Cuppy’s with no place to go. And with only fifteen dollars a

week to live on. And in the morning he would be working in

the basement again, while these girls were rising to more

pleasure. And out in Denver were his parents with their

small lodging house and mission, which he dared not even

describe accurately here.

Suddenly the two girls declaring they must go, they took

themselves off. And he and the Griffiths were once more

left to themselves—he with the feeling that he was very

much out of place and neglected here, since Samuel

Griffiths and his wife and Bella, anyhow, if not Myra,

seemed to be feeling that he was merely being permitted to

look into a world to which he did not belong; also, that

because of his poverty it would be impossible to fit him into

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—however much he might dream of associating with three

such wonderful girls as these. And at once he felt sad—very

—his eyes and his mood darkening so much that not only

Samuel Griffiths, but his wife as well as Myra noticed it. If

he could enter upon this world, find some way. But of the

group it was only Myra, not any of the others, who sensed

that in all likelihood he was lonely and depressed. And in

consequence as all were rising and returning to the large

living room (Samuel chiding Bella for her habit of keeping

her family waiting) it was Myra who drew near to Clyde to

say: “I think after you’ve been here a little while you’ll

probably like Lycurgus better than you do now, even. There

are quite a number of interesting places to go and see

around here—lakes and the Adirondacks are just north of

here, about seventy miles. And when the summer comes

and we get settled at Greenwood, I’m sure Father and

Mother will like you to come up there once in a while.”

She was by no means sure that this was true, but under the

circumstances, whether it was or not, she felt like saying it

to Clyde. And thereafter, since he felt more comfortable

with her, he talked with her as much as he could without

neglecting either Bella or the family, until about half-past

nine, when, suddenly feeling very much out of place and

alone, he arose saying that he must go, that he had to get

up early in the morning. And as he did so, Samuel Griffiths

walked with him to the front door and let him out. But he,

too, by now, as had Myra before him, feeling that Clyde was

rather attractive and yet, for reasons of poverty, likely to be

neglected from now on, not only by his family, but by

himself as well, observed most pleasantly, and, as he

hoped, compensatively: “It’s rather nice out, isn’t it?