An American Tragedy

part, were members of older and more successful families of the town. And
so it was that after a very few weeks of attendance of church affairs and
services, they were about where they had been when they started—
conventional and acceptable, but without the amount of entertainment and
diversion which was normally reaching those who were of their same church
but better placed.
And so it was that Roberta, after encountering Clyde and sensing the
superior world in which she imagined he moved, and being so taken with the
charm of his personality, was seized with the very virus of ambition and
unrest that afflicted him. And every day that she went to the factory now she
could not help but feel that his eyes were upon her in a quiet, seeking and yet
doubtful way. Yet she also felt that he was too uncertain as to what she would
think of any overture that he might make in her direction to risk a repulse or
any offensive interpretation on her part. And yet at times, after the first two
weeks of her stay here, she wishing that he would speak to her—that he
would make some beginning—at other times that he must not dare—that it
would be dreadful and impossible. The other girls there would see at once.
And since they all plainly felt that he was too good or too remote for them,
they would at once note that he was making an exception in her case and
would put their own interpretation on it. And she knew the type of a girl who
worked in the Griffiths stamping room would put but one interpretation on it,
—that of looseness.
At the same time in so far as Clyde and his leaning toward her was
concerned there was that rule laid down by Gilbert. And although, because of
it, he had hitherto appeared not to notice or to give any more attention to one
girl than another, still, once Roberta arrived, he was almost unconsciously
inclined to drift by her table and pause in her vicinity to see how she was
progressing. And, as he saw from the first, she was a quick and intelligent
worker, soon mastering without much advice of any kind all the tricks of the
work, and thereafter earning about as much as any of the others— fifteen

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dollars a week. And her manner was always that of one who enjoyed it and
was happy to have the privilege of working here. And pleased to have him
pay any little attention to her.
At the same time he noted to his surprise and especially since to him she
seemed so refined and different, a certain exuberance and gayety that was not
only emotional, but in a delicate poetic way, sensual. Also that despite her
difference and reserve she was able to make friends with and seemed to be
able to understand the viewpoint of most of the foreign girls who were
essentially so different from her. For, listening to her discuss the work here,
first with Lena Schlict, Hoda Petkanas, Angelina Pitti and some others who
soon chose to speak to her, he reached the conclusion that she was not nearly
so conventional or standoffish as most of the other American girls. And yet
she did not appear to lose their respect either.
Thus, one noontime, coming back from the office lunch downstairs a little
earlier than usual, he found her and several of the foreign-family girls, as
well as four of the American girls, surrounding Polish Mary, one of the
gayest and roughest of the foreign-family girls, who was explaining in rather
a high key how a certain "feller" whom she had met the night before had
given her a beaded bag, and for what purpose.
"I should go with heem to be his sweetheart," she announced with a
flourish, the while she waved the bag before the interested group. "And I say,
I tack heem an' think on heem. Pretty nice bag, eh?" she added, holding it
aloft and turning it about. "Tell me," she added with provoking and yet
probably only mock serious eyes and waving the bag toward Roberta, "what
shall I do with heem? Keep heem an' go with heem to be his sweetheart or
give heem back? I like heem pretty much, that bag, you bet."
And although, according to the laws of her upbringing, as Clyde suspected,
Roberta should have been shocked by all this, she was not, as he noticed—
far from it. If one might have judged from her face, she was very much
amused.
Instantly she replied with a gay smile: "Well, it all depends on how
handsome he is, Mary. If he's very attractive, I think I'd string him along for a
while, anyhow, and keep the bag as long as I could."
"Oh, but he no wait," declared Mary archly, and with plainly a keen sense
of the riskiness of the situation, the while she winked at Clyde who had
drawn near. "I got to give heem bag or be sweetheart to-night, and so swell

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bag I never can buy myself." She eyed the bag archly and roguishly, her own
nose crinkling with the humor of the situation. "What I do then?"
"Gee, this is pretty strong stuff for a little country girl like Miss Alden. She
won't like this, maybe," thought Clyde to himself.
However, Roberta, as he now saw, appeared to be equal to the situation,
for she pretended to be troubled. "Gee, you are in a fix," she commented. "I
don't know what you'll do now." She opened her eyes wide and pretended to
be greatly concerned. However, as Clyde could see, she was merely acting,
but carrying it off very well.
And frizzled-haired Dutch Lena now leaned over to say: "I take it and him
too, you bet, if you don't want him. Where is he? I got no feller now." She
reached over as if to take the bag from Mary, who as quickly withdrew it.
And there were squeals of delight from nearly all the girls in the room, who
were amused by this eccentric horseplay. Even Roberta laughed loudly, a fact
which Clyde noted with pleasure, for he liked all this rough humor,
considering it mere innocent play.
"Well, maybe you're right, Lena," he heard her add just as the whistle blew
and the hundreds of sewing machines in the next room began to hum. "A good
man isn't to be found every day." Her blue eyes were twinkling and her lips,
which were most temptingly modeled, were parted in a broad smile. There
was much banter and more bluff in what she said than anything else, as Clyde
could see, but he felt that she was not nearly as narrow as he had feared. She
was human and gay and tolerant and good-natured. There was decidedly a
very liberal measure of play in her. And in spite of the fact that her clothes
were poor, the same little round brown hat and blue cloth dress that she had
worn on first coming to work here, she was prettier than anyone else. And
she never needed to paint her lips and cheeks like the foreign girls, whose
faces at times looked like pink-frosted cakes. And how pretty were her arms
and neck—plump and gracefully designed! And there was a certain grace and
abandon about her as she threw herself into her work as though she really
enjoyed it. As she worked fast during the hottest portions of the day, there
would gather on her upper lip and chin and forehead little beads of
perspiration which she was always pausing in her work to touch with her
handkerchief, while to him, like jewels, they seemed only to enhance her
charm.
Wonderful days, these, now for Clyde. For once more and here, where he
could be near her the long day through, he had a girl whom he could study

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and admire and by degrees proceed to crave with all of the desire of which
he seemed to be capable—and with which he had craved Hortense Briggs—
only with more satisfaction, since as he saw it she was simpler, more kindly
and respectable. And though for quite a while at first Roberta appeared or
pretended to be quite indifferent to or unconscious of him, still from the very
first this was not true. She was only troubled as to the appropriate attitude for
her. The beauty of his face and hands— the blackness and softness of his hair,
the darkness and melancholy and lure of his eyes. He was attractive—oh,
very. Beautiful, really, to her.
And then one day shortly thereafter, Gilbert Griffiths walking through here
and stopping to talk to Clyde, she was led to imagine by this that Clyde was
really much more of a figure socially and financially than she had previously
thought. For just as Gilbert was approaching, Lena Schlict, who was working
beside her, leaned over to say: "Here comes Mr. Gilbert Griffiths. His father
owns this whole factory and when he dies, he'll get it, they say. And he's his
cousin," she added, nodding toward Clyde. "They look a lot alike, 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 was not so sure that he could have

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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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15
Chapter
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 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

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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 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.

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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, 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 distingue 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, Hortense, Ratterer's sister Louise—in short,
the gay company of which he was just beginning to be a part when that
terrible accident had occurred. And next to Dillard, Rita, Zella,—a
companionship that would have been better than this, certainly. Were the
Griffiths never going to do any more for him than this? Had he only come
here to be sneered at by his cousin, pushed aside, or rather completely
ignored by all the bright company of which the children of his rich uncle
were a part? And so plainly, from so many interesting incidents, even now in
this dead summertime, he could see how privileged and relaxed and
apparently decidedly happy were those of that circle. Notices in the local
papers almost every day as to their coming and going here and there, the
large and expensive cars of Samuel as well as Gilbert Griffiths parked
outside the main office entrance on such days as they were in Lycurgus—an

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occasional group of young society figures to be seen before the grill of the
Lycurgus Hotel, or before one of the fine homes in Wykeagy Avenue, some
one having returned to the city for an hour or a night.
And in the factory itself, whenever either was there—Gilbert or Samuel—
in the smartest of summer clothes and attended by either Messrs. Smillie,
Latch, Gotboy or Burkey, all high officials of the company, making a most
austere and even regal round of the immense plant and consulting with or
listening to the reports of the various minor department heads. And yet here
was he—a full cousin to this same Gilbert, a nephew to this distinguished
Samuel—being left to drift and pine by himself, and for no other reason than,
as he could now clearly see, he was not good enough. His father was not as
able as this, his great uncle—his mother (might Heaven keep her) not as
distinguished or as experienced as his cold, superior, indifferent aunt. Might
it not be best to leave? Had he not made a foolish move, after all, in coming
on here? What, if anything, did these high relatives ever intend to do for him?
In loneliness and resentment and disappointment, his mind now wandered
from the Griffiths and their world, and particularly that beautiful Sondra
Finchley, whom he recalled with a keen and biting thrill, to Roberta and the
world which she as well as he was occupying here. For although a poor
factory girl, she was still so much more attractive than any of these other
girls with whom he was every day in contact.
How unfair and ridiculous for the Griffiths to insist that a man in his
position should not associate with a girl such as Roberta, for instance, and
just because she worked in the mill. He might not even make friends with her
and bring her to some such lake as this or visit her in her little home on
account of that. And yet he could not go with others more worthy of him,
perhaps, for lack of means or contacts. And besides she was so attractive—
very—and especially enticing to him. He could see her now as she worked
with her swift, graceful movements at her machine. Her shapely arms and
hands, her smooth skin and her bright eyes as she smiled up at him. And his
thoughts were played over by exactly the same emotions that swept him so
regularly at the factory. For poor or not—a working girl by misfortune only
—he could see how he could be very happy with her if only he did not need
to marry her. For now his ambitions toward marriage had been firmly
magnetized by the world to which the Griffiths belonged. And yet his desires
were most colorfully inflamed by her, if only he might venture to talk to her
more—to walk home with her some day from the mill—to bring her out here

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to this lake on a Saturday or Sunday, and row about— just to idle and dream
with her.
He rounded a point studded with a clump of trees and bushes and covering
a shallow where were scores of water lilies afloat, their large leaves resting
flat upon the still water of the lake. And on the bank to the left was a girl
standing and looking at them. She had her hat off and one hand to her eyes for
she was facing the sun and was looking down in the water. Her lips were