An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

about nine-thirty and hanging heavy and yellow over the

chimney tops. He was so lonely.

But at ten, the moon becoming too bright, and no Roberta

appearing, he decided to leave. It was not wise to be

hanging about here. But the night being so fine he resented

the thought of his room and instead walked up and down

Wykeagy Avenue, looking at the fine houses there—his

uncle Samuel’s among them. Now, all their occupants were

away at their summer places. The houses were dark. And

Sondra Finchley and Bertine Cranston and all that company

—what were they doing on a night like this? Where

dancing? Where speeding? Where loving? It was so hard

to be poor, not to have money and position and to be able

to do in life exactly as you wished.

And the next morning, more eager than usual, he was out

of Mrs. Peyton’s by six-forty-five, anxious to find some way

of renewing his attentions to Roberta. For there was that

crowd of factory workers that proceeded north along

Central Avenue. And she would be a what in it, of course,

at about 7.10. But his trip to the factory was fruitless. For,

after swallowing a cup of coffee at one of the small

restaurants near the post-office and walking the length of

Central Avenue toward the mill, and pausing at a cigar

store to see if Roberta should by any chance come along

alone, he was rewarded by the sight of her with Grace Marr

again. What a wretched, crazy world this was, he at once

decided, and how difficult it was in this miserable town for

anyone to meet anyone else alone. Everyone, nearly, knew

everyone else. Besides, Roberta knew that he was trying to

get a chance to talk to her. Why shouldn’t she walk alone

then? He had looked at her enough yesterday. And yet here

she was walking with Grace Marr and appeared seemingly

contented. What was the matter with her anyhow?

An American Tragedy

395

By the time he reached the factory he was very sour. But

the sight of Roberta taking her place at her bench and

tossing him a genial “good morning” with a cheerful smile,

caused him to feel better and that all was not lost.

It was three o’clock in the afternoon and a lull due to the

afternoon heat, the fag of steadily continued work, and the

flare of reflected light from the river outside was over all.

The tap, tap, tap of metal stamps upon scores of collars at

once—nearly always slightly audible above the hum and

whirr of the sewing machines beyond was, if anything,

weaker than usual. And there was Ruza Nikoforitch, Hoda

Petkanas, Martha Bordaloue, Angelina Pitti and Lena

Schlict, all joining in a song called “Sweethearts” which

some one had started. And Roberta, perpetually conscious

of Clyde’s eyes, as well as his mood, was thinking how long

it would be before he would come around with some word

in regard to something. For she wished him to—and

because of his whispered words of the day before, she was

sure that it would not be long, because he would not be

able to resist it. His eyes the night before had told her that.

Yet because of the impediments of this situation she knew

that he must be having a difficult time thinking of any way

by which he could say anything to her. And still at certain

moments she was glad, for there were such moments when

she felt she needed the security which the presence of so

many girls gave her.

And as she thought of all this, stamping at her desk along

with the others, she suddenly discovered that a bundle of

collars which she had already stamped as sixteens were

not of that size but smaller. She looked at it quickly and

nervously, then decided that there was but one thing to do—

lay the bundle aside and await comment from one of the

foremen, including Clyde, or take it directly to him now—

An American Tragedy

396

really the better way, because it prevented any of the

foremen seeing it before he did. That was what all the girls

did when they made mistakes of any kind. And all trained

girls were supposed to catch all possible errors of that kind.

And yet now and in the face of all her very urgent desires

she hesitated, for this would take her direct to Clyde and

give him the opportunity he was seeking. But, more

terrifying, it was giving her the opportunity she was seeking.

She wavered between loyalty to Clyde as a superintendent,

loyalty to her old conventions as opposed to her new and

dominating desire and her repressed wish to have Clyde

speak to her—then went over with the bundle and laid it on

his desk. But her hands, as she did so, trembled. Her face

was white—her throat taut. At the moment, as it chanced,

he was almost vainly trying to calculate the scores of the

different girls from the stubs laid before him, and was

having a hard time of it because his mind was not on what

he was doing. And then he looked up. And there was

Roberta bending toward him. His nerves became very taut,

his throat and lips, dry, for here and now was his

opportunity. And, as he could see, Roberta was almost

suffocating from the strain which her daring and self-

deception was putting upon her nerves and heart.

“There’s been a distake” (she meant to say mistake) “in

regard to this bundle upstairs,” she began. “I didn’t notice it

either until I’d stamped nearly all of them. They’re fifteen-

and-a-half and I’ve stamped nearly all of them sixteen. I’m

sorry.”

Clyde noticed, as she said this, that she was trying to smile

a little and appear calm, but her cheeks were quite

blanched and her hands, particularly the one that held the

bundle, trembled. On the instant he realized that although

loyalty and order were bringing her with this mistake to him,

An American Tragedy

397

still there was more than that to it. In a weak, frightened,

and yet love-driven way, she was courting him, giving him

the opportunity he was seeking, wishing him to take

advantage of it. And he, embarrassed and shaken for the

moment by this sudden visitation, was still heartened and

hardened into a kind of effrontery and gallantry such as he

had not felt as yet in regard to her. She was seeking him—

that was plain. She was interested, and clever enough to

make the occasion which permitted him to speak.

Wonderful! The sweetness of her daring.

“Oh, that’s all right,” he said, pretending a courage and a

daring in regard to her which he did not feel even now. “I’ll

just send them down to the wash room and then we’ll see if

we can’t restamp them. It’s not our mistake, really.”

He smiled most warmly and she met his look with a

repressed smile of her own, already turning and fearing that

she had manifested too clearly what had brought her.

“But don’t go,” he added quickly. “I want to ask you

something. I’ve been trying to get a word with you ever

since Sunday. I want you to meet me somewhere, will you?

There’s a rule here that says a head of a department can’t

have anything to do with a girl who works for him—outside I

mean. But I want you to see me just the same, won’t you?

You know,” and he smiled winsomely and coaxingly into her

eyes, “I’ve been just nearly crazy over you ever since you

came in here and Sunday made it worse. And now I’m not

going to let any old rule come between me and you, if I can

help it. Will you?”

“Oh, I don’t know whether I can do that or not,” replied

Roberta, who, now that she had succeeded in

accomplishing what she had wished, was becoming

terrorized by her own daring. She began looking around

nervously and feeling that every eye in the room must be

An American Tragedy

398

upon her. “I live with Mr. and Mrs. Newton, my friend’s sister

and brother-in-law, you know, and they’re very strict. It isn’t

the same as if—” She was going to add “I was home,” but

Clyde interrupted her.

“Oh, now please don’t say no, will you? Please don’t. I want

to see you. I don’t want to cause you any trouble, that’s all.

Otherwise I’d be glad to come round to your house. You

know how it is.”

“Oh, no, you mustn’t do that,” cautioned Roberta. “Not yet

anyhow.” She was so confused that quite unconsciously

she was giving Clyde to understand that she was expecting

him to come around some time later.

“Well,” smiled Clyde, who could see that she was yielding in

part. “We could just walk out near the end of some street