An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

canoe—bright yellow with a boy and a girl in that. She was

thinking she would like to get in without her companion, if

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possible—with her, if need be. She wanted so much to

have him all to herself. If she had only come out here alone.

For if Grace Marr were included, she would know and later

talk, maybe, or think, if she heard anything else in regard to

them ever. And yet if she did not, there was the fear that he

might not like her any more—might even come to dislike

her or give up being interested in her, and that would be

dreadful.

She stood staring and thinking, and Clyde, troubled and

pained by her doubt on this occasion and his own

loneliness and desire for her, suddenly called: “Oh, please

don’t say no. Just get in, won’t you? You’ll like it. I want you

to. Then we can find all the lilies you want. I can let you out

anywhere you want to get out—in ten minutes if you want

to.”

She marked the “I want you to.” It soothed and

strengthened her. He had no desire to take any advantage

of her as she could see.

“But I have my friend with me here,” she exclaimed almost

sadly and dubiously, for she still wanted to go alone—never

in her life had she wanted any one less than Grace Marr at

this moment. Why had she brought her? She wasn’t so

very pretty and Clyde might not like her, and that might

spoil the occasion. “Besides,” she added almost in the

same breath and with many thoughts fighting her, “maybe

I’d better not. Is it safe?”

“Oh, yes, maybe you better had,” laughed Clyde seeing that

she was yielding. “It’s perfectly safe,” he added eagerly.

Then maneuvering the canoe next to the bank, which was a

foot above the water, and laying hold of a root to hold it still,

he said: “Of course you won’t be in any danger. Call your

friend then, if you want to, and I’ll row the two of you.

There’s room for two and there are lots of water lilies

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everywhere over there.” He nodded toward the east side of

the lake.

Roberta could no longer resist and seized an overhanging

branch by which to steady herself. At the same time she

began to call: “Oh, Gray-ace! Gray-ace! Where are you?”

for she had at last decided that it was best to include her.

A far-off voice as quickly answered: “Hello-o! What do you

want?”

“Come up here. Come on. I got something I want to tell

you.”

“Oh, no, you come on down here. The daisies are just

wonderful.”

“No, you come on up here. There’s some one here that

wants to take us boating.” She intended to call this loudly,

but somehow her voice failed and her friend went on

gathering flowers. Roberta frowned. She did not know just

what to do. “Oh, very well, then,” she suddenly decided,

and straightening up added: “We can row down to where

she is, I guess.”

And Clyde, delighted, exclaimed: “Oh, that’s just fine. Sure.

Do get in. We’ll pick these here first and then if she hasn’t

come, I’ll paddle down nearer to where she is. Just step

square in the center and that will balance it.”

He was leaning back and looking up at her and Roberta

was looking nervously and yet warmly into his eyes.

Actually it was as though she were suddenly diffused with

joy, enveloped in a rosy mist.

She balanced one foot. “Will it be perfectly safe?”

“Sure, sure,” emphasized Clyde. “I’ll hold it safe. Just take

hold of that branch there and steady yourself by that.” He

held the boat very still as she stepped. Then, as the canoe

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careened slightly to one side, she dropped to the cushioned

seat with a little cry. It was like that of a baby to Clyde.

“It’s all right,” he reassured her. “Just sit in the center there.

It won’t tip over. Gee, but this is funny. I can’t make it out

quite. You know just as I was coming around that point I

was thinking of you—how maybe you might like to come

out to a place like this sometime. And now here you are

and here I am, and it all happened just like that.” He waved

his hand and snapped his fingers.

And Roberta, fascinated by this confession and yet a little

frightened by it, added: “Is that so?” She was thinking of her

own thoughts in regard to him.

“Yes, and what’s more,” added Clyde, “I’ve been thinking of

you all day, really. That’s the truth. I was wishing I might

see you somewhere this morning and bring you out here.”

“Oh, now, Mr. Griffiths. You know you don’t mean that,”

pleaded Roberta, fearful lest this sudden contact should

take too intimate and sentimental a turn too quickly. She

scarcely liked that because she was afraid of him and

herself, and now she looked at him, trying to appear a little

cold or at least disinterested, but it was a very weak effort.

“That’s the truth, though, just the same,” insisted Clyde.

“Well, I think it is beautiful myself,” admitted Roberta. “I’ve

been out here, too, several times now. My friend and I.”

Clyde was once more delighted. She was smiling now and

full of wonder.

“Oh, have you?” he exclaimed, and there was more talk as

to why he liked to come out and how he had learned to

swim here. “And to think I turned in here and there you

were on the bank, looking at those water lilies. Wasn’t that

queer? I almost fell out of the boat. I don’t think I ever saw

you look as pretty as you did just now standing there.”

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“Oh, now, Mr. Griffiths,” again pleaded Roberta cautiously.

“You mustn’t begin that way. I’ll be afraid you’re a dreadful

flatterer. I’ll have to think you are if you say anything like

that so quickly.”

Clyde once more gazed at her weakly, and she smiled

because she thought he was more handsome than ever.

But what would he think, she added to herself, if she were

to tell him that just before he came around that point she

was thinking of him too, and wishing that he were there with

her, and not Grace. And how they might sit and talk, and

hold hands perhaps. He might even put his arms around

her waist, and she might let him. That would be terrible, as

some people here would see it, she knew. And it would

never do for him to know that—never. That would be too

intimate—too bold. But just the same it was so. Yet what

would these people here in Lycurgus think of her and him

now if they should see her, letting him paddle her about in

this canoe! He a factory manager and she an employee in

his department. The conclusion! The scandal, maybe,

even. And yet Grace Marr was along—or soon would be.

And she could explain to her—surely. He was out rowing

and knew her, and why shouldn’t he help her get some lilies

if he wanted to? It was almost unavoidable—this present

situation, wasn’t it?

Already Clyde had maneuvered the canoe around so that

they were now among the water lilies. And as he talked,

having laid his paddle aside, he had been reaching over

and pulling them up, tossing them with their long, wet

stems at her feet as she lay reclining in the seat, one hand

over the side of the canoe in the water, as she had seen

other girls holding theirs. And for the moment her thoughts

were allayed and modified by the beauty of his head and

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arms and the tousled hair that now fell over his eyes. How

handsome he was!

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Chapter 16

THE outcome of that afternoon was so wonderful for both

that for days thereafter neither could cease thinking about it

or marveling that anything so romantic and charming

should have brought them together so intimately when both

were considering that it was not wise for either to know the

other any better than employee and superior.

After a few moments of badinage in the boat in which he

had talked about the beauty of the lilies and how glad he

was to get them for her, they picked up her friend, Grace,

and eventually returned to the boathouse.

Once on the land again there developed not a little

hesitation on her part as well as his as to how farther to

proceed, for they were confronted by the problem of

returning into Lycurgus together. As Roberta saw it, it would

not look right and might create talk. And on his part, he was

thinking of Gilbert and other people he knew. The trouble