don’t they?”
“Yes, they do,” replied Roberta, slyly studying not only
Clyde but Gilbert, “only I think Mr. Clyde Griffiths is a little
nicer looking, don’t you?”
Hoda Petkanas, sitting on the other side of Roberta and
overhearing this last remark, laughed. “That’s what every
one here thinks. He’s not stuck up like that Mr. Gilbert
Griffiths, either.”
“Is he rich, too?” inquired Roberta, thinking of Clyde.
“I don’t know. They say not,” she pursed her lips dubiously,
herself rather interested in Clyde along with the others. “He
worked down in the shrinking room before he came up
here. He was just working by the day, I guess. But he only
came on here a little while ago to learn the business.
Maybe he won’t work in here much longer.”
Roberta was suddenly troubled by this last remark. She had
not been thinking, or so she had been trying to tell herself,
of Clyde in any romantic way, and yet the thought that he
might suddenly go at any moment, never to be seen by her
any more, disturbed her now. He was so youthful, so brisk,
so attractive. And so interested in her, too. Yes, that was
plain. It was wrong to think that he would be interested in
her—or to try to attract him by any least gesture of hers,
since he was so important a person here—far above her.
For, true to her complex, the moment she heard that Clyde
was so highly connected and might even have money, she
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was not so sure that he could have any legitimate interest
in her. For was she not a poor working girl? And was he not
a very rich man’s nephew? He would not marry her, of
course. And what other legitimate thing would he want with
her? She must be on her guard in regard to him.
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Chapter 15
THE thoughts of Clyde at this time in regard to Roberta and
his general situation in Lycurgus were for the most part
confused and disturbing. For had not Gilbert warned him
against associating with the help here? On the other hand,
in so far as his actual daily life was concerned, his condition
was socially the same as before. Apart from the fact that his
move to Mrs. Peyton’s had taken him into a better street
and neighborhood, he was really not so well off as he had
been at Mrs. Cuppy’s. For there at least he had been in
touch with those young people who would have been
diverting enough had he felt that it would have been wise to
indulge them. But now, aside from a bachelor brother who
was as old as Mrs. Peyton herself, and a son thirty—slim
and reserved, who was connected with one of the Lycurgus
banks—he saw no one who could or would trouble to
entertain him. Like the others with whom he came in
contact, they thought him possessed of relationships which
would make it unnecessary and even a bit presumptuous
for them to suggest ways and means of entertaining him.
On the other hand, while Roberta was not of that high world
to which he now aspired, still there was that about her
which enticed him beyond measure. Day after day and
because so much alone, and furthermore because of so
strong a chemic or temperamental pull that was so
definitely asserting itself, he could no longer keep his eyes
off her—or she hers from him. There were evasive and yet
strained and feverish eye-flashes between them. And after
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one such in his case—a quick and furtive glance on her part
at times—by no means intended to be seen by him, he
found himself weak and then feverish. Her pretty mouth,
her lovely big eyes, her radiant and yet so often shy and
evasive smile. And, oh, she had such pretty arms—such a
trim, lithe, sentient, quick figure and movements. If he only
dared be friendly with her—venture to talk with and then
see her somewhere afterwards—if she only would and if he
only dared.
Confusion. Aspiration. Hours of burning and yearning. For
indeed he was not only puzzled but irritated by the
anomalous and paradoxical contrasts which his life here
presented—loneliness and wistfulness as against the fact
that it was being generally assumed by such as knew him
that he was rather pleasantly and interestingly employed
socially.
Therefore in order to enjoy himself in some way befitting his
present rank, and to keep out of the sight of those who
were imagining that he was being so much more
handsomely entertained than he was, he had been more
recently, on Saturday afternoons and Sundays, making idle
sightseeing trips to Gloversville, Fonda, Amsterdam and
other places, as well as Gray and Crum Lakes, where there
were boats, beaches and bathhouses, with bathing suits for
rent. And there, because he was always thinking that if by
chance he should be taken up by the Griffiths, he would
need as many social accomplishments as possible, and by
reason of encountering a man who took a fancy to him and
who could both swim and dive, he learned to do both
exceedingly well. But canoeing fascinated him really. He
was pleased by the picturesque and summery appearance
he made in an outing shirt and canvas shoes paddling
about Crum Lake in one of the bright red or green or blue
canoes that were leased by the hour. And at such times
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these summer scenes appeared to possess an airy, fairy
quality, especially with a summer cloud or two hanging high
above in the blue. And so his mind indulged itself in day
dreams as to how it would feel to be a member of one of
the wealthy groups that frequented the more noted resorts
of the north—Racquette Lake—Schroon Lake—Lake
George and Champlain—dance, golf, tennis, canoe with
those who could afford to go to such places—the rich of
Lycurgus.
But it was about this time that Roberta with her friend Grace
found Crum Lake and had decided on it, with the approval
of Mr. and Mrs. Newton, as one of the best and most
reserved of all the smaller watering places about here. And
so it was that they, too, were already given to riding out to
the pavilion on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon, and once
there following the west shore along which ran a well-worn
footpath which led to clumps of trees, underneath which
they sat and looked at the water, for neither could row a
boat or swim. Also there were wild flowers and berry
bushes to be plundered. And from certain marshy spots, to
be reached by venturing out for a score of feet or more, it
was possible to reach and take white lilies with their
delicate yellow hearts. They were decidedly tempting and
on two occasions already the marauders had brought Mrs.
Newton large armfuls of blooms from the fields and shore
line here.
On the third Sunday afternoon in July, Clyde, as lonely and
rebellious as ever, was paddling about in a dark blue canoe
along the south bank of the lake about a mile and a half
from the boathouse. His coat and hat were off, and in a
seeking and half resentful mood he was imagining vain
things in regard to the type of life he would really like to
lead. At different points on the lake in canoes, or their more
clumsy companions, the row-boats, were boys and girls,
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men and women. And over the water occasionally would
come their laughter or bits of their conversation. And in the
distance would be other canoes and other dreamers,
happily in love, as Clyde invariably decided, that being to
him the sharpest contrast to his own lorn state.
At any rate, the sight of any other youth thus romantically
engaged with his girl was sufficient to set dissonantly
jangling the repressed and protesting libido of his nature.
And this would cause his mind to paint another picture in
which, had fortune favored him in the first place by birth, he
would now be in some canoe on Schroon or Racquette or
Champlain Lake with Sondra Finchley or some such girl,
paddling and looking at the shores of a scene more
distingué than this. Or might he not be riding or playing
tennis, or in the evening dancing or racing from place to
place in some high-powered car, Sondra by his side? He
felt so out of it, so lonely and restless and tortured by all
that he saw here, for everywhere that he looked he seemed
to see love, romance, contentment. What to do? Where to
go? He could not go on alone like this forever. He was too
miserable.
In memory as well as mood his mind went back to the few
gay happy days he had enjoyed in Kansas City before that
dreadful accident—Ratterer, Hegglund, Higby, Tina Kogel,