Теодор Драйзер
An American Tragedy II
For his part, however, and sitting about for the first few days in this particular room eating his lunch, he wondered how these men could interest themselves in what were to him such dull and uninteresting items – the quality of the cloth that was coming down in the webs – some minute flaws in the matter of weight or weave – the last twenty webs hadn’t looked so closely shrunk as the preceding sixteen; or the Cranston Wickwire Company was not carrying as many men as it had the month before – or the Anthony Woodenware Company had posted a notice that the Saturday half-holiday would not begin before June first this year as opposed to the middle of May last year. They all appeared to be lost in the humdrum and routine of their work.
In consequence his mind went back to happier scenes. He wished at times he were back in Chicago or Kansas City. He though of Ratterer, Hegglund, Higby, Louise Ratterer, Larry Doyle, Mr. Squires, Hortense – all of the young and thoughtless company of which he had been a part, and wondered what they were doing. What had become of Hortense? She had got that fur coat after all – probably from that cigar clerk and then had gone away with him after she had protested so much feeling for him – the little beast. After she had gotten all that money out of him. The mere thought of her and all that she might have meant to him if things had not turned as they had, made him a little sick at times. To whom was she being nice now? How had she found things since leaving Kansas City? And what would she think if she saw him here now or knew of his present high connections? Gee! That would cool her a little. But she would not think much of his present position. That was true. But she might respect him more if she could see his uncle and his cousin and this factory and their big house. It would be like her then to try to be nice to him. Well, he would show her, if he ever ran into her again – snub her, of course, as no doubt he very well could by then.
Chapter 7
In so far as his life at Mrs. Cuppy’s went, he was not so very happily placed there, either. For that was but a commonplace rooming and boarding house, which drew to it, at best, such conservative mill and business types as looked on work and their wages, and the notions of the middle class religious world of Lycurgus as most essential to the order and well being of the world. From the point of view of entertainment or gayety, it was in the main a very dull place.
At the same time, because of the presence of one Walter Dillard – a brainless sprig who had recently come here from Fonda, it was not wholly devoid of interest for Clyde. The latter – a youth of about Clyde’s own age and equally ambitious socially – but without Clyde’s tact or discrimination anent the governing facts of life, was connected with the men’s furnishing department of Stark and Company. He was spry, avid, attractive enough physically, with very light hair, a very light and feeble mustache, and the delicate airs and ways of a small town Beau Brummell. Never having had any social standing or the use of any means whatsoever – his father having been a small town dry goods merchant before him, who had failed – he was, because of some atavistic spur or fillip in his own blood, most anxious to attain some sort of social position.
But failing that so far, he was interested in and envious of those who had it – much more so than Clyde, even. The glory and activity of the leading families of this particular city had enormous weight with him – the Nicholsons, the Starks, the Harriets, Griffiths, Finchleys, et cetera. And learning a few days after Clyde’s arrival of his somewhat left-handed connection with this world, he was most definitely interested. What? A Griffiths! The nephew of the rich Samuel Griffiths of Lycurgus! And in this boarding house! Beside him at this table! At once his interest rose to where he decided that he must cultivate this stranger as speedily as possible. Here was a real social opportunity knocking at his very door – a connecting link to one of the very best families! And besides was he not young, attractive and probably ambitious like himself – a fellow to play around with if one could? He proceeded at once to make overtures to Clyde. It seemed almost too good to be true.
In consequence he was quick to suggest a walk, the fact that there was a certain movie just on at the Mohawk, which was excellent – very snappy. Didn’t Clyde want to go? And because of his neatness, smartness – a touch of something that was far from humdrum or the heavy practicality of the mill and the remainder of this boarding house world, Clyde was inclined to fall in with him.
But, as he now thought, here were his great relatives and he must watch his step here. Who knew but that he might be making a great mistake in holding such free and easy contacts as this. The Griffiths – as well as the entire world of which they were a part – as he guessed from the general manner of all those who even contacted him, must be very removed from the commonalty here. More by instinct than reason, he was inclined to stand off and look very superior – more so since those, including this very youth on whom he practised this seemed to respect him the more. And although upon eager – and even – after its fashion, supplicating request, he now went with this youth – still he went cautiously. And his aloof and condescending manner Dillard at once translated as “class” and “connection.” And to think he had met him in this dull, dubby boarding house here. And on his arrival – at the very inception of his career here.
And so his manner was that of the sycophant – although he had a better position and was earning more money than Clyde was at this time, twenty-two dollars a week.
“I suppose you’ll be spending a good deal of your time with your relatives and friends here,” he volunteered on the occasion of their first walk together, and after he had extracted as much information as Clyde cared to impart, which was almost nothing, while he volunteered a few, most decidedly furbished bits from his own history. His father owned a dry goods store NOW. He had come over here to study other methods, et cetera. He had an uncle here – connected with Stark and Company. He had met a few – not so many as yet – nice people here, since he hadn’t been here so very long himself – four months all told.
But Clyde’s relatives!
“Say your uncle must be worth over a million, isn’t he? They say he is. Those houses in Wykeagy Avenue are certainly the cats’. You won’t see anything finer in Albany or Utica or Rochester either. Are you Samuel Griffiths’ own nephew? You don’t say! Well, that’ll certainly mean a lot to you here. I wish I had a connection like that. You bet I’d make it count.”
He beamed on Clyde eagerly and hopefully, and through him Clyde sensed even more how really important this blood relation was. Only think how much it meant to this strange youth.
“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Clyde dubiously, and yet very much flattered by this assumption of intimacy. “I came on to learn the collar business, you know. Not to play about very much. My uncle wants me to stick to that, pretty much.”
“Sure, sure. I know how that is,” replied Dillard, “that’s the way my uncle feels about me, too. He wants me to stick close to the work here and not play about very much. He’s the buyer for Stark and Company, you know. But still a man can’t work all the time, either. He’s got to have a little fun.”
“Yes, that’s right,” said Clyde – for the first time in his life a little condescendingly.
They walked along in silence for a few moments. Then:
“Do you dance?”
“Yes,” answered Clyde.
“Well, so do I. There are a lot of cheap dance halls around here, but I never go to any of those. You can’t do it and keep in with the nice people. This is an awfully close town that way, they say. The best people won’t have anything to do with you unless you go with the right crowd. It’s the same way up at Fonda. You have to ‘belong’ or you can’t go out anywhere at all. And that’s right, I guess. But still there are a lot of nice girls here that a fellow can go with – girls of right nice families – not in society, of course – but still, they’re not talked about, see. And they’re not so slow, either. Pretty hot stuff, some of them. And you don’t have to marry any of ’em, either.” Clyde began to think of him as perhaps a little too lusty for his new life here, maybe. At the same time he liked him some. “By the way,” went on Dillard, “what are you doing next Sunday afternoon?”
“Well, nothing in particular, that I know of just now,” replied Clyde, sensing a new problem here. “I don’t know just what I may have to do by then, but I don’t know of anything now.”
“Well, how’d you like to come with me, if you’re not too busy. I’ve come to know quite a few girls since I’ve been here. Nice ones. I can take you out and introduce you to my uncle’s family, if you like. They’re nice people. And afterwards – I know two girls we can go and see – peaches. One of ’em did work in the store, but she don’t now – she’s not doing anything now. The other is her pal. They have a Victrola and they can dance. I know it isn’t the thing to dance here on Sundays but no one need know anything about that. The girls’ parents don’t mind. Afterwards we might take ’em to a movie or something – if you want to – not any of those things down near the mill district but one of the better ones – see?”
There formulated itself in Clyde’s mind the question as to what, in regard to just such proposals as this, his course here was to be. In Chicago, and recently – because of what happened in Kansas City – he had sought to be as retiring and cautious as possible. For – after that and while connected with the club, he had been taken with the fancy of trying to live up to the ideals with which the seemingly stern face of that institution had inspired him – conservatism – hard work – saving one’s money – looking neat and gentlemanly. It was such an Eveless paradise, that.
In spite of his quiet surroundings here, however, the very air of the city seemed to suggest some such relaxation as this youth was now suggesting – a form of diversion that was probably innocent enough but still connected with girls and their entertainment – there were so many of them here, as he could see. These streets, after dinner, here, were so alive with good-looking girls, and young men, too. But what might his new found relatives think of him in case he was seen stepping about in the manner and spirit which this youth’s suggestions seemed to imply? Hadn’t he just said that this was an awfully close town and that everybody knew nearly everything about everybody else? He paused in doubt. He must decide now. And then, being lonely and hungry for companionship, he replied:
“Yes – well – I think that’s all right.” But he added a little dubiously: “Of course my relatives here – ”
“Oh, sure, that’s all right,” replied Dillard smartly. “You have to be careful, of course. Well, so do I.” If he could only go around with a Griffiths, even if he was new around here and didn’t know many people – wouldn’t it reflect a lot of credit on him? It most certainly would – did already, as he saw it.
And forthwith he offered to buy Clyde some cigarettes – a soda – anything he liked. But Clyde, still feeling very strange and uncertain, excused himself, after a time, because this youth with his complacent worship of society and position, annoyed him a little, and made his way back to his room. He had promised his mother a letter and he thought he had better go back and write it, and incidentally to think a little on the wisdom of this new contact.
Chapter 8
Nevertheless, the next day being a Saturday and half holiday the year round in this concern, Mr. Whiggam came through with the pay envelopes.
“Here you are, Mr. Griffiths,” he said, as though he were especially impressed with Clyde’s position.
Clyde, taking it, was rather pleased with this mistering, and going back toward his locker, promptly tore it open and pocketed the money. After that, taking his hat and coat, he wandered off in the direction of his room, where he had his lunch. But, being very lonely, and Dillard not being present because he had to work, he decided upon a trolley ride to Gloversville, which was a city of some twenty thousand inhabitants and reported to be as active, if not as beautiful, as Lycurgus. And that trip amused and interested him because it took him into a city very different form Lycurgus in its social texture.
But the next day – Sunday – he spent idly in Lycurgus, wandering about by himself. For, as it turned out, Dillard was compelled to return to Fonda for some reason and could not fulfill the Sunday understanding. Encountering Clyde, however, on Monday evening, he announced that on the following Wednesday evening, in the basement of the Diggby Avenue Congregational Church, there was to be held a social with refreshments. And according to young Dillard, at least this promised to prove worth while.
“We can just go out there,” was the way he put it to Clyde, and buzz the girls a little. I want you to meet my uncle and aunt. They’re nice people all right. And so are the girls. They’re no slouches. Then we can edge out afterwards, about ten, see, and go around to either Zella or Rita’s place. Rita has more good records over at her place, but Zella has the nicest place to dance. By the way, you didn’t chance to bring along your dress suit with you, did you?” he inquired. For having already inspected Clyde’s room, which was above his own on the third floor, in Clyde’s absence and having discovered that he had only a dress suit case and no trunk, and apparently no dress suit anywhere, he had decided that in spite of Clyde’s father conducting a hotel and Clyde having worked in the Union League Club in Chicago, he must be very indifferent to social equipment. Or, if not, must be endeavoring to make his own way on some character-building plan without help from any one. This was not to his liking, exactly. A man should never neglect these social essentials. Nevertheless, Clyde was a Griffiths and that was enough to cause him to overlook nearly anything, for the present anyhow.
“No, I didn’t,” replied Clyde, who was not exactly sure as to the value of this adventure – even yet – in spite of his own loneliness – “but I intend to get one.” He had already thought since coming here of his lack in this respect, and was thinking of taking at least thirty-five of his more recently hard-earned savings and indulging in a suit of this kind.
Dillard buzzed on about the fact that while Zella Shuman’s family wasn’t rich – they owned the house they lived in – still she went with a lot of nice girls here, too. So did Rita Dickerman. Zella’s father owned a little cottage upon Eckert Lake, near Fonda. When next summer came – and with it the holidays and pleasant week-ends, he and Clyde, supposing that Clyde liked Rita, might go up there some time for a visit, for Rita and Zella were inseparable almost. And they were pretty, too. “Zella’s dark and Rita’s light,” he added enthusiastically.
Clyde was interested by the fact that the girls were pretty and that out of a clear sky and in the face of his present loneliness, he was being made so much of by this Dillard. But, was it wise for him to become very much involved with him? That was the question – for, after all, he really knew nothing of him. And he gathered from Dillard’s manner, his flighty enthusiasm for the occasion, that he was far more interested in the girls as girls – a certain freedom or concealed looseness that characterized them – than he was in the social phase of the world which they represented. And wasn’t that what brought about his downfall in Kansas City? Here in Lycurgus, of all places, he was least likely to forget it – aspiring to something better as he now did.
None-the-less, at eight-thirty on the following Wednesday evening – they were off, Clyde full of eager anticipation. And by nine o’clock they were in the midst of one of those semi-religious, semi-social and semi-emotional church affairs, the object of which was to raise money for the church – the general service of which was to furnish an occasion for gossip among the elders, criticism and a certain amount of enthusiastic, if disguised courtship and flirtation among the younger members. There were booths for the sale of quite everything from pies, cakes and ice cream to laces, dolls and knickknacks of every description, supplied by the members and parted with for the benefit of the church. The Reverend Peter Isreals, the minister, and his wife were present. Also Dillard’s uncle and aunt, a pair of brisk and yet uninteresting people whom Clyde could sense were of no importance socially here. They were too genial and altogether social in the specific neighborhood sense, although Grover Wilson, being a buyer for Stark and Company, endeavored to assume a serious and important air at times.
He was an undersized and stocky man who did not seem to know how to dress very well or could not afford it. In contrast to his nephew’s almost immaculate garb, his own suit was far from perfect-fitting. It was unpressed and slightly soiled. And his tie the same. He had a habit of rubbing his hands in a clerkly fashion, of wrinkling his brows and scratching the back of his head at times, as though something he was about to say had cost him great thought and was of the utmost importance. Whereas, nothing that he uttered, as even Clyde could see, was of the slightest importance.
And so, too, with the stout and large Mrs. Wilson, who stood beside him while he was attempting to rise to the importance of Clyde. She merely beamed a fatty beam. She was almost ponderous, and pink, with a tendency to a double chin. She smiled and smiled, largely because she was naturally genial and on her good behavior here, but incidentally because Clyde was who he was. For as Clyde himself could see, Walter Dillard had lost no time in impressing his relatives with the fact that he was a Griffiths. Also that he had encountered and made a friend of him and that he was now chaperoning him locally.
“Walter has been telling us that you have just come on here to work for your uncle. You’re at Mrs. Cuppy’s now, I understand. I don’t know her but I’ve always heard she keeps such a nice, refined place. Mr. Parsley, who lives here with her, used to go to school with me. But I don’t see much of him any more. Did you meet him yet?”
“No, I didn’t,” said Clyde in return.
“Well, you know, we expected you last Sunday to dinner, only Walter had to go home. But you must come soon. Any time at all. I would love to have you.” She beamed and her small grayish brown eyes twinkled.
Clyde could see that because of the fame of his uncle he was looked upon as a social find, really. And so it was with the remainder of this company, old and young – the Rev. Peter Isreals and his wife; Mr. Micah Bumpus, a local vendor of printing inks, and his wife and son; Mr. and Mrs. Maximilian Pick, Mr. Pick being a wholesale and retail dealer in hay, grain and feed; Mr. Witness, a florist, and Mrs. Throop, a local real estate dealer. All knew Samuel Griffiths and his family by reputation and it seemed not a little interesting and strange to all of them that Clyde, a real nephew of so rich a man, should be here in their midst. The only trouble with this was that Clyde’s manner was very soft and not as impressive as it should be – not so aggressive and contemptuous. And most of them were of that type of mind that respects insolence even where it pretends to condemn it.
In so far as the young girls were concerned, it was even more noticeable. For Dillard was making this important relationship of Clyde’s perfectly plain to every one. “This is Clyde Griffiths, the nephew of Samuel Griffiths, Mr. Gilbert Griffiths’ cousin, you know. He’s just come on here to study the collar business in his uncle’s factory.” And Clyde, who realized how shallow was this pretense, was still not a little pleased and impressed by the effect of it all. This Dillard’s effrontery. The brassy way in which, because of Clyde, he presumed to patronize these people. On this occasion, he kept guiding Clyde here and there, refusing for the most part to leave him alone for an instant. In fact he was determined that all whom he knew and liked among the girls and young men should know who and what Clyde was and that he was presenting him. Also that those whom he did not like should see as little of him as possible – not be introduced at all. “She don’t amount to anything. Her father only keeps a small garage here. I wouldn’t bother with her if I were you.” Or, “He isn’t much around here. Just a clerk in our store.” At the same time, in regard to some others, he was all smiles and compliments, or at worst apologetic for their social lacks.
And then he was introduced to Zella Shuman and Rita Dickerman, who, for reasons of their own, not the least among which was a desire to appear a little wise and more sophisticated than the others here, came a little late. And it was true, as Clyde was to find out afterwards, that they were different, too – less simple and restricted than quite all of the girls whom Dillard had thus far introduced him to. They were not as sound religiously and morally as were these others. And as even Clyde noted on meeting them, they were as keen for as close an approach to pagan pleasure without admitting it to themselves, as it was possible to be and not be marked for what they were. And in consequence, there was something in their manner, the very spirit of the introduction, which struck him as different from the tone of the rest of this church group – not exactly morally or religiously unhealthy but rather much freer, less repressed, less reserved than were these others.
“Oh, so you’re Mr. Clyde Griffiths,” observed Zella Shuman. “My, you look a lot like your cousin, don’t you? I see him driving down Central Avenue ever so often. Walter has been telling us all about you. Do you like Lycurgus?”
The way she said “Walter,” together with something intimate and possessive in the tone of her voice, caused Clyde to feel at once that she must feel rather closer to and freer with Dillard than he himself had indicated. A small scarlet bow of velvet ribbon at her throat, two small garnet earrings in her ears, a very trim and tight-fitting black dress, with a heavily flounced skirt, seemed to indicate that she was not opposed to showing her figure, and prized it, a mood which except for a demure and rather retiring poise which she affected, would most certainly have excited comment in such a place as this.
Rita Dickerman, on the other hand, was lush and blonde, with pink cheeks, light chestnut hair, and bluish gray eyes. Lacking the aggressive smartness which characterized Zella Shuman, she still radiated a certain something which to Clyde seemed to harmonize with the liberal if secret mood of her friend. Her manner, as Clyde could see, while much less suggestive of masked bravado was yielding and to him designedly so, as well as naturally provocative. It had been arranged that she was to intrigue him. Very much fascinated by Zella Shuman and in tow of her, they were inseparable. And when Clyde was introduced to her, she beamed upon him in a melting and sensuous way which troubled him not a little. For here in Lycurgus, as he was telling himself at the time, he must be very careful with whom he became familiar. And yet, unfortunately, as in the case of Hortense Briggs, she evoked thoughts of intimacy, however unproblematic or distant, which troubled him. But he must be careful. It was just such a free attitude as this suggested by Dillard as well as these girls’ manners that had gotten him into trouble before.
“Now we’ll just have a little ice cream and cake,” suggested Dillard, after the few preliminary remarks were over, “and then we can get out of here. You two had better go around together and hand out a few hellos. Then we can meet at the ice cream booth. After that, if you say so, we’ll leave, eh? What do you say?”
He looked at Zella Shuman as much as to say: “You know what is the best thing to do,” and she smiled and replied:
“That’s right. We can’t leave right away. I see my cousin Mary over there. And Mother. And Fred Bruckner. Rita and I’ll just go around by ourselves for a while and then we’ll meet you, see.” And Rita Dickerman forthwith bestowed upon Clyde an intimate and possessive smile.
After about twenty minutes of drifting and browsing, Dillard received some signal from Zella, and he and Clyde paused near the ice cream booth with its chairs in the center of the room. In a few moments they were casually joined by Zella and Rita, with whom they had some ice cream and cake. And then, being free of all obligations and as some of the others were beginning to depart, Dillard observed: “Let’s beat it. We can go over to your place, can’t we?”
“Sure, sure,” whispered Zella, and together they made their way to the coat room. Clyde was still so dubious as to the wisdom of all this that he was inclined to be a little silent. He did not know whether he was fascinated by Rita or not. But once out in the street out of view of the church and the homing amusement seekers, he and Rita found themselves together, Zella and Dillard having walked on ahead. And although Clyde had taken her arm, as he thought fit, she maneuvered it free and laid a warm and caressing hand on his elbow. And she nudged quite close to him, shoulder to shoulder, and half leaning on him, began pattering of the life of Lycurgus.
There was something very furry and caressing about her voice now. Clyde liked it. There was something heavy and languorous about her body, a kind of ray or electron that intrigued and lured him in spite of himself. He felt that he would like to caress her arm and might if he wished – that he might even put his arm around her waist, and so soon. Yet here he was, a Griffiths, he was shrewd enough to think – a Lycurgus Griffiths – and that was what now made a difference – that made all those girls at this church social seem so much more interested in him and so friendly. Yet in spite of this thought, he did squeeze her arm ever so slightly and without reproach or comment from her.
And once in the Shuman home, which was a large old-fashioned square frame house with a square cupola, very retired among some trees and a lawn, they made themselves at home in a general living room which was much more handsomely furnished than any home with which Clyde had been identified heretofore. Dillard at once began sorting the records, with which he seemed most familiar, and to pull two rather large rugs out of the way, revealing a smooth, hardwood floor.
“There’s one thing about this house and these trees and these soft-toned needles,” he commented for Clyde’s benefit, of course, since he was still under the impression that Clyde might be and probably was a very shrewd person who was watching his every move here. “You can’t hear a note of this Victrola out in the street, can you, Zell? Nor upstairs, either, really, not with the soft needles. We’ve played it down here and danced to it several times, until three and four in the morning and they didn’t even know it upstairs, did they, Zell?”
“That’s right. But then Father’s a little hard of hearing. And Mother don’t hear anything, either, when she gets in her room and gets to reading. But it is hard to hear at that.”
“Why do people object so to dancing here?” asked Clyde.
“Oh, they don’t – not the factory people – not at all,” put in Dillard, “but most of the church people do. My uncle and aunt do. And nearly everyone else we met at the church tonight, except Zell and Rita.” He gave them a most approving and encouraging glance. “And they’re too broadminded to let a little thing like that bother them. Ain’t that right, Zell?”
This young girl, who was very much fascinated by him, laughed and nodded, “You bet, that’s right. I can’t see any harm in it.”
“Nor me, either,” put in Rita, “nor my father and mother. Only they don’t like to say anything about it or make me feel that they want me to do too much of it.”
Dillard by then had started a piece entitled “Brown Eyes” and immediately Clyde and Rita and Dillard and Zella began to dance, and Clyde found himself insensibly drifting into a kind of intimacy with this girl which boded he could scarcely say what. She danced so warmly and enthusiastically – a kind of weaving and swaying motion which suggested all sorts of repressed enthusiasms. And her lips were at once wreathed with a kind of lyric smile which suggested a kind of hunger for this thing. And she was very pretty, more so dancing and smiling than at any other time.
“She is delicious,” thought Clyde, “even if she is a little soft. Any fellow would do almost as well as me, but she likes me because she thinks I’m somebody.” And almost at the same moment she observed: “Isn’t it just too gorgeous? And you’re such a good dancer, Mr. Griffiths.”
“Oh, no,” he replied, smiling into her eyes, “you’re the one that’s the dancer. I can dance because you’re dancing with me.”
He could feel now that her arms were large and soft, her bosom full for one so young. Exhilarated by dancing, she was quite intoxicating, her gestures almost provoking.
“Now we’ll put on ‘The Love Boat,’” called Dillard the moment “Brown Eyes” was ended, “and you and Zella can dance together and Rita and I will have a spin, eh, Rita?”
He was so fascinated by his own skill as a dancer, however, as well as his natural joy in the art, that he could scarcely wait to begin another, but must take Rita by the arms before putting on another record, gliding here and there, doing steps and executing figures which Clyde could not possibly achieve and which at once established Dillard as the superior dancer. Then, having done so, he called to Clyde to put on “The Love Boat.”
