An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

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,