An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

since. “He was so very friendly I was beginning to think he

was struck on you.”

“Oh, what nonsense!” Roberta replied shrewdly, and a bit

alarmed. “Why, he wouldn’t look at me. Besides, there’s a

rule of the company that doesn’t permit him to, as long as I

work there.”

This last, more than anything else, served to allay Grace’s

notions in regard to Clyde and Roberta, for she was of that

conventional turn of mind which would scarcely permit her

to think of any one infringing upon a company rule.

Nevertheless Roberta was nervous lest Grace should be

associating her and Clyde in her mind in some clandestine

way, and she decided to be doubly cautious in regard to

Clyde—to feign a distance she did not feel.

But all this was preliminary to troubles and strains and fears

which had nothing to do with what had gone before, but

took their rise from difficulties which sprang up immediately

afterwards. For once she had come to this complete

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410

emotional understanding with Clyde, she saw no way of

meeting him except in this very clandestine way and that so

very rarely and uncertainly that she could not say when

there was likely to be another meeting.

“You see, it’s this way,” she explained to Clyde when, a few

evenings later, she had managed to steal out for an hour

and they walked from the region at the end of Taylor Street

down to the Mohawk, where were some open fields and a

low bank rising above the pleasant river. “The Newtons

never go any place much without inviting me. And even if

they didn’t, Grace’d never go unless I went along. It’s just

because we were together so much in Trippetts Mills that

she feels that way, as though I were a part of the family.

But now it’s different, and yet I don’t see how I am going to

get out of it so soon. I don’t know where to say I’m going or

whom I am going with.”

“I know that, honey,” he replied softly and sweetly. “That’s

all true enough. But how is that going to help us now? You

can’t expect me to get along with just looking at you in the

factory, either, can you?”

He gazed at her so solemnly and yearningly that she was

moved by her sympathy for him, and in order to assuage

his depression added: “No, I don’t want you to do that, dear.

You know I don’t. But what am I to do?” She laid a soft and

pleading hand on the back of one of Clyde’s thin, long and

nervous ones.

“I’ll tell you what, though,” she went on after a period of

reflection, “I have a sister living in Homer, New York. That’s

about thirty-five miles north of here. I might say I was going

up there some Saturday afternoon or Sunday. She’s been

writing me to come up, but I hadn’t thought of it before. But

I might go—that is—I might——”

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411

“Oh, why not do that?” exclaimed Clyde eagerly. “That’s

fine! A good idea!”

“Let me see,” she added, ignoring his exclamation. “If I

remember right you have to go to Fonda first, then change

cars there. But I could leave here any time on the trolley

and there are only two trains a day from Fonda, one at two,

and one at seven on Saturday. So I might leave here any

time before two, you see, and then if I didn’t make the two

o’clock train, it would be all right, wouldn’t it? I could go on

the seven. And you could be over there, or meet me on the

way, just so no one here saw us. Then I could go on and

you could come back. I could arrange that with Agnes, I’m

sure. I would have to write her.”

“How about all the time between then and now, though?”

he queried peevishly. “It’s a long time till then, you know.”

“Well, I’ll have to see what I can think of, but I’m not sure,

dear. I’ll have to see. And you think too. But I ought to be

going back now,” she added nervously. She at once arose,

causing Clyde to rise, too, and consult his watch, thereby

discovering that it was already near ten.

“But what about us!” he continued persistently. “Why

couldn’t you pretend next Sunday that you’re going to some

other church than yours and meet me somewhere instead?

Would they have to know?”

At once Clyde noted Roberta’s face darken slightly, for here

he was encroaching upon something that was still too

closely identified with her early youth and convictions to

permit infringement.

“Hump, uh,” she replied quite solemnly. “I wouldn’t want to

do that. I wouldn’t feel right about it. And it wouldn’t be right,

either.”

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412

Immediately Clyde sensed that he was treading on

dangerous ground and withdrew the suggestion because

he did not care to offend or frighten her in any way. “Oh,

well. Just as you say. I only thought since you don’t seem to

be able to think of any other way.”

“No, no, dear,” she pleaded softly, because she noted that

he felt that she might be offended. “It’s all right, only I

wouldn’t want to do that. I couldn’t.”

Clyde shook his head. A recollection of his own youthful

inhibitions caused him to feel that perhaps it was not right

for him to have suggested it.

They returned in the direction of Taylor Street without, apart

from the proposed trip to Fonda, either having hit upon any

definite solution. Instead, after kissing her again and again

and just before letting her go, the best he could suggest

was that both were to try and think of some way by which

they could meet before, if possible. And she, after throwing

her arms about his neck for a moment, ran east along

Taylor Street, her little figure swaying in the moonlight.

However, apart from another evening meeting which was

made possible by Roberta’s announcing a second

engagement with Mrs. Braley, there was no other encounter

until the following Saturday when Roberta departed for

Fonda. And Clyde, having ascertained the exact hour, left

by the car ahead, and joined Roberta at the first station

west. From that point on until evening, when she was

compelled to take the seven o’clock train, they were

unspeakably happy together, loitering near the little city

comparatively strange to both.

For outside of Fonda a few miles they came to a pleasure

park called Starlight where, in addition to a few clap-trap

pleasure concessions such as a ring of captive aeroplanes,

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413

a Ferris wheel, a merry-go-round, an old mill and a dance

floor, was a small lake with boats. It was after its fashion an

idyllic spot with a little band-stand out on an island near the

center of the lake and on the shore a grave and captive

bear in a cage. Since coming to Lycurgus Roberta had not

ventured to visit any of the rougher resorts near there,

which were very much like this, only much more strident.

On sight of this both exclaimed: “Oh, look!” And Clyde

added at once: “Let’s get off here, will you—shall we? What

do you say? We’re almost to Fonda anyhow. And we can

have more fun here.”

At once they climbed down. And having disposed of her

bag for the time being, he led the way first to the stand of a

man who sold frankfurters. Then, since the merry-go-round

was in full blast, nothing would do but that Roberta should

ride with him. And in the gayest of moods, they climbed on,

and he placed her on a zebra, and then stood close in order

that he might keep his arm about her, and both try to catch

the brass ring. And as commonplace and noisy and gaudy

as it all was, the fact that at last he had her all to himself

unseen, and she him, was sufficient to evoke in both a kind

of ecstasy which was all out of proportion to the fragile,

gimcrack scene. Round and round they spun on the noisy,

grinding machine, surveying now a few idle pleasure

seekers who were in boats upon the lake, now some who

were flying round in the gaudy green and white captive

aeroplanes or turning upward and then down in the

suspended cages of the Ferris wheel.

Both looked at the woods and sky beyond the lake; the

idlers and dancers in the dancing pavilion dreaming and

thrilling, and then suddenly Clyde asked: “You dance, don’t

you, Roberta?”

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414

“Why, no, I don’t,” she replied, a little sadly, for at the very

moment she had been looking at the happy dancers rather

ruefully and thinking how unfortunate it was that she had

never been allowed to dance. It might not be right or nice,