An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

Wykeagy Avenue hasn’t begun to show what it can do yet

because the spring isn’t quite here. But in a few weeks,”

and he looked up most inquiringly at the sky and sniffed the

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late April air, “we must have you out. All the trees and

flowers will be in bloom then and you can see how really

nice it is. Good night.”

He smiled and put a very cordial note into his voice, and

once more Clyde felt that, whatever Gilbert Griffiths’ attitude

might be, most certainly his father was not wholly indifferent

to him.

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Chapter 11

THE days lapsed and, although no further word came from

the Griffiths, Clyde was still inclined to exaggerate the

importance of this one contact and to dream from time to

time of delightful meetings with those girls and how

wonderful if a love affair with one of them might eventuate

for him. The beauty of that world in which they moved. The

luxury and charm as opposed to this of which he was a

part. Dillard! Rita! Tush! They were really dead for him. He

aspired to this other or nothing as he saw it now and

proceeded to prove as distant to Dillard as possible, an

attitude which by degrees tended to alienate that youth

entirely for he saw in Clyde a snob which potentially he was

if he could have but won to what he desired. However, as

he began to see afterwards, time passed and he was left to

work until, depressed by the routine, meager pay and

commonplace shrinking-room contacts, he began to think

not so much of returning to Rita or Dillard,—he could not

quite think of them now with any satisfaction, but of giving

up this venture here and returning to Chicago or going to

New York, where he was sure that he could connect

himself with some hotel if need be. But then, as if to revive

his courage and confirm his earlier dreams, a thing

happened which caused him to think that certainly he was

beginning to rise in the estimation of the Griffiths—father

and son—whether they troubled to entertain him socially or

not. For it chanced that one Saturday in spring, Samuel

Griffiths decided to make a complete tour of inspection of

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the factory with Joshua Whiggam at his elbow. Reaching

the shrinking department about noon, he observed for the

first time with some dismay, Clyde in his undershirt and

trousers working at the feeding end of two of the shrinking

racks, his nephew having by this time acquired the

necessary skill to “feed” as well as “take.” And recalling how

very neat and generally presentable he had appeared at his

house but a few weeks before, he was decidedly disturbed

by the contrast. For one thing he had felt about Clyde, both

in Chicago and here at his home, was that he had

presented a neat and pleasing appearance. And he, almost

as much as his son, was jealous, not only of the name, but

the general social appearance of the Griffiths before the

employees of this factory as well as the community at large.

And the sight of Clyde here, looking so much like Gilbert

and in an armless shirt and trousers working among these

men, tended to impress upon him more sharply than at any

time before the fact that Clyde was his nephew, and that he

ought not to be compelled to continue at this very menial

form of work any longer. To the other employees it might

appear that he was unduly indifferent to the meaning of

such a relationship.

Without, however, saying a word to Whiggam or anyone

else at the time, he waited until his son returned on Monday

morning, from a trip that he had taken out of town, when he

called him into his office and observed: “I made a tour of

the factory Saturday and found young Clyde still down in

the shrinking room.”

“What of it, Dad?” replied his son, curiously interested as to

why his father should at this time wish to mention Clyde in

this special way. “Other people before him have worked

down there and it hasn’t hurt them.”

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“All true enough, but they weren’t nephews of mine. And

they didn’t look as much like you as he does”—a comment

which irritated Gilbert greatly. “It won’t do, I tell you. It

doesn’t look quite right to me, and I’m afraid it won’t look

right to other people here who see how much he looks like

you and know that he is your cousin and my nephew. I

didn’t realize that at first, because I haven’t been down

there, but I don’t think it wise to keep him down there any

longer doing that kind of thing. It won’t do. We’ll have to

make a change, switch him around somewhere else where

he won’t look like that.”

His eyes darkened and his brow wrinkled. The impression

that Clyde made in his old clothes and with beads of sweat

standing out on his forehead had not been pleasant.

“But I’ll tell you how it is, Dad,” Gilbert persisted, anxious

and determined because of his innate opposition to Clyde

to keep him there if possible. “I’m not so sure that I can find

just the right place for him now anywhere else—at least not

without moving someone else who has been here a long

time and worked hard to get there. He hasn’t had any

training in anything so far, but just what he’s doing.”

“Don’t know or don’t care anything about that,” replied

Griffiths senior, feeling that his son was a little jealous and

in consequence disposed to be unfair to Clyde. “That’s no

place for him and I won’t have him there any longer. He’s

been there long enough. And I can’t afford to have the

name of any of this family come to mean anything but just

what it does around here now—reserve and ability and

energy and good judgment. It’s not good for the business.

And anything less than that is a liability. You get me, don’t

you?”

“Yes, I get you all right, governor.”

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“Well, then, do as I say. Get hold of Whiggam and figure

out some other place for him around here, and not as piece

worker or a hand either. It was a mistake to put him down

there in the first place. There must be some little place in

one of the departments where he can be fitted in as the

head of something, first or second or third assistant to

some one, and where he can wear a decent suit of clothes

and look like somebody. And, if necessary, let him go home

on full pay until you find something for him. But I want him

changed. By the way, how much is he being paid now?”

“About fifteen, I think,” replied Gilbert blandly.

“Not enough, if he’s to make the right sort of an appearance

here. Better make it twenty-five. It’s more than he’s worth, I

know, but it can’t be helped now. He has to have enough to

live on while he’s here, and from now on, I’d rather pay him

that than have any one think we were not treating him right.”

“All right, all right, governor. Please don’t be cross about it,

will you?” pleaded Gilbert, noting his father’s irritation. “I’m

not entirely to blame. You agreed to it in the first place

when I suggested it, didn’t you? But I guess you’re right at

that. Just leave it to me. I’ll find a decent place for him,” and

turning, he proceeded in search of Whiggam, although at

the same time thinking how he was to effect all this without

permitting Clyde to get the notion that he was at all

important here—to make him feel that this was being done

as a favor to him and not for any reasons of merit in

connection with himself.

And at once, Whiggam appearing, he, after a very

diplomatic approach on the part of Gilbert, racked his

brains, scratched his head, went away and returned after a

time to say that the only thing he could think of, since Clyde

was obviously lacking in technical training, was that of

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assistant to Mr. Liggett, who was foreman in charge of five

big stitching rooms on the fifth floor, but who had under him

one small and very special, though by no means technical,

department which required the separate supervision of

either an assistant forelady or man.

This was the stamping room—a separate chamber at the

west end of the stitching floor, where were received daily

from the cutting room above from seventy-five to one

hundred thousand dozen unstitched collars of different

brands and sizes. And here they were stamped by a group

of girls according to the slips or directions attached to them