An American Tragedy

part that such could and would be the case, while in reality just below the
surface of his outward or seeming conviction and assurance ran a deeper
current of self-distrust which showed as a decidedly eager and yet slightly
mournful light in his eye, a certain vigor and assurance in his voice, which

---

was nevertheless touched, had she been able to define it, with something that
was not assurance by any means.
"Oh, the dance is done," he said sadly.
"Let's try to make them encore," she said, applauding. The orchestra struck
up a lively tune and they glided off together once more, dipping and swaying
here and there—harmoniously abandoning themselves to the rhythm of the
music—like two small chips being tossed about on a rough but friendly sea.
"Oh, I'm so glad to be with you again—to be dancing with you. It's so
wonderful… Sondra."
"But you mustn't call me that, you know. You don't know me well enough."
"I mean Miss Finchley. But you're not going to be mad at me again, are
you?"
His face was very pale and sad again.
She noticed it.
"No. Was I mad at you? I wasn't really. I like you some… when you're not
sentimental."
The music stopped. The light tripping feet became walking ones.
"I'd like to see if it's still snowing outside, wouldn't you?" It was Sondra
asking.
"Oh, yes. Let's go."
Through the moving couples they hurried out a side-door to a world that
was covered thick with soft, cottony, silent snow. The air was filled with it
silently eddying down.

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27
Chapter
The ensuing December days brought to Clyde some pleasing and yet
complicating and disturbing developments. For Sondra Finchley, having
found him so agreeable an admirer of hers, was from the first inclined neither
to forget nor neglect him. But, occupying the rather prominent social position
which she did, she was at first rather dubious as to how to proceed. For
Clyde was too poor and decidedly too much ignored by the Griffiths
themselves, even, for her to risk any marked manifestation of interest in him.
And now, in addition to the primary motivating reason for all this— her
desire to irritate Gilbert by being friends with his cousin— there was
another. She liked him. His charm and his reverence for her and her station
flattered and intrigued her. For hers was a temperament which required
adulation in about the measure which Clyde provided it—sincere and
romantic adulation. And at the very same time he represented physical as
well as mental attributes which were agreeable to her—amorousness without
the courage at the time, anyhow, to annoy her too much; reverence which yet
included her as a very human being; a mental and physical animation which
quite matched and companioned her own.
Hence it was decidedly a troublesome thought with Sondra how she was
to proceed with Clyde without attracting too much attention and unfavorable
comment to herself—a thought which kept her sly little brain going at nights
after she had retired. However, those who had met him at the Trumbulls'
were so much impressed by her interest in him that evening and the fact that
he had proved so pleasing and affable, they in turn, the girls particularly,
were satisfied that he was eligible enough.
And in consequence, two weeks later, Clyde, searching for inexpensive
Christmas presents in Stark's for his mother, father, sisters, brother and
Roberta, and encountering Jill Trumbull doing a little belated shopping
herself, was invited by her to attend a pre-Christmas dance that was to be
given the next night by Vanda Steele at her home in Gloversville. Jill herself
was going with Frank Harriet and she was not sure but that Sondra Finchley

---

would be there. Another engagement of some kind appeared to be in the way,
but still she was intending to come if she could. But her sister Gertrude
would be glad to have him escort her—a very polite way of arranging for
Gertrude. Besides, as she knew, if Sondra heard that Clyde was to be there,
this might induce her to desert her other engagement.
"Tracy will be glad to stop for you in time," she went on, "or—" she
hesitated—"perhaps you'd like to come over for dinner with us before we go.
It'll be just the family, but we'd be delighted to have you. The dancing doesn't
begin till eleven."
The dance was for Friday night, and on that night Clyde had arranged to be
with Roberta because on the following day she was leaving for a three-day-
over-Christmas holiday visit to her parents—the longest stretch of time thus
far she had spent away from him. And because, apart from his knowledge she
had arranged to present him with a new fountain pen and Eversharp pencil,
she had been most anxious that he should spend this last evening with her, a
fact which she had impressed upon him. And he, on his part, had intended to
make use of this last evening to surprise her with a white-and-black toilet set.
But now, so thrilled was he at the possibility of a reencounter with Sondra,
he decided that he would cancel this last evening engagement with Roberta,
although not without some misgivings as to the difficulty as well as the
decency of it. For despite the fact that he was now so lured by Sondra,
nevertheless he was still deeply interested in Roberta and he did not like to
grieve her in this way. She would look so disappointed, as he knew. Yet at
the same time so flattered and enthused was he by this sudden, if tardy, social
development that he could not now think of refusing Jill. What? Neglect to
visit the Steeles in Gloversville and in company with the Trumbulls and
without any help from the Griffiths, either? It might be disloyal, cruel,
treacherous to Roberta, but was he not likely to meet Sondra?
In consequence he announced that he would go, but immediately
afterwards decided that he must go round and explain to Roberta, make some
suitable excuse—that the Griffiths, for instance, had invited him for dinner.
That would be sufficiently overawing and compelling to her. But upon
arriving, and finding her out, he decided to explain the following morning at
the factory—by note, if necessary. To make up for it he decided he might
promise to accompany her as far as Fonda on Saturday and give her her
present then.

---

But on Friday morning at the factory, instead of explaining to her with the
seriousness and even emotional dissatisfaction which would have governed
him before, he now whispered: "I have to break that engagement to-night,
honey. Been invited to my uncle's, and I have to go. And I'm not sure that I
can get around afterwards. I'll try if I get through in time. But I'll see you on
the Fonda car to-morrow if I don't. I've got something I want to give you, so
don't feel too bad. Just got word this morning or I'd have let you know. You're
not going to feel bad, are you?" He looked at her as gloomily as possible in
order to express his own sorrow over this.
But Roberta, her presents and her happy last evening with him put aside in
this casual way, and for the first time, too, in this fashion, shook her head
negatively, as if to say "Oh, no," but her spirits were heavily depressed and
she fell to wondering what this sudden desertion of her at this time might
portend. For, up to this time, Clyde had been attentiveness itself, concealing
his recent contact with Sondra behind a veil of pretended, unmodified
affection which had, as yet, been sufficient to deceive her. It might be true, as
he said, that an unescapable invitation had come up which necessitated all
this. But, oh, the happy evening she had planned! And now they would not be
together again for three whole days. She grieved dubiously at the factory and
in her room afterwards, thinking that Clyde might at least have suggested
coming around to her room late, after his uncle's dinner in order that she
might give him the presents. But his eventual excuse made this day was that
the dinner was likely to last too late. He could not be sure. They had talked
of going somewhere else afterwards.
But meanwhile Clyde, having gone to the Trumbulls', and later to the
Steeles', was flattered and reassured by a series of developments such as a
month before he would not have dreamed of anticipating. For at the Steeles'
he was promptly introduced to a score of personalities there who, finding
him chaperoned by the Trumbulls and learning that he was a Griffiths, as
promptly invited him to affairs of their own—or hinted at events that were to
come to which he might be invited, so that at the close he found himself with
cordial invitations to attend a New Year's dance at the Vandams' in
Gloversville, as well as a dinner and dance that was to be given Christmas
Eve by the Harriets in Lycurgus, an affair to which Gilbert and his sister
Bella, as well as Sondra, Bertine and others were invited.
And lastly, there was Sondra herself appearing on the scene at about
midnight in company with Scott Nicholson, Freddie Sells and Bertine, at first

---

pretending to be wholly unaware of his presence, yet deigning at last to greet
him with an, "Oh, hello, I didn't expect to find you here." She was draped
most alluringly in a deep red Spanish shawl. But Clyde could sense from the
first that she was quite aware of his presence, and at the first available
opportunity he drew near to her and asked yearningly, "Aren't you going to
dance with me at all?"
"Why, of course, if you want me to. I thought maybe you had forgotten me
by now," she said mockingly.
"As though I'd be likely to forget you. The only reason I'm here to-night is
because I thought I might see you again. I haven't thought of any one or
anything else since I saw you last."
Indeed so infatuated was he with her ways and airs, that instead of being
irritated by her pretended indifference, he was all the more attracted. And he
now achieved an intensity which to her was quite compelling. His eyelids
narrowed and his eyes lit with a blazing desire which was quite disturbing to
see.
"My, but you can say the nicest things in the nicest way when you want to."
She was toying with a large Spanish comb in her hair for the moment and
smiling. "And you say them just as though you meant them."
"Do you mean to say that you don't believe me, Sondra," he inquired
almost feverishly, this second use of her name thrilling her now as much as it
did him. Although inclined to frown on so marked a presumption in his case,
she let it pass because it was pleasing to her.
"Oh, yes, I do. Of course," she said a little dubiously, and for the first time
nervously, where he was concerned. She was beginning to find it a little hard
to decipher her proper line of conduct in connection with him, whether to
repress him more or less. "But you must say now what dance you want. I see
some one coming for me." And she held her small program up to him archly
and intriguingly. "You may have the eleventh. That's the next after this."
"Is that all?"
"Well, and the fourteenth, then, greedy," she laughed into Clyde's eyes, a
laughing look which quite enslaved him.
Subsequently learning from Frank Harriet in the course of a dance that
Clyde had been invited to his house for Christmas Eve, as well as that
Jessica Phant had invited him to Utica for New Year's Eve, she at once
conceived of him as slated for real success and decided that he was likely to
prove less of a social burden than she had feared. He was charming—there

---

was no doubt of it. And he was so devoted to her. In consequence, as she
now decided, it might be entirely possible that some of these other girls,
seeing him recognized by some of the best people here and elsewhere, would
become sufficiently interested, or drawn to him even, to wish to overcome
his devotion to her. Being of a vain and presumptuous disposition herself, she
decided that that should not be. Hence, in the course of her second dance
with Clyde, she said: "You've been invited to the Harriets' for Christmas
Eve, haven't you?"
"Yes, and I owe it all to you, too," he exclaimed warmly. "Are you going to
be there?"
"Oh, I'm awfully sorry. I am invited and I wish now that I was going. But
you know I arranged some time ago to go over to Albany and then up to
Saratoga for the holidays. I'm going to-morrow, but I'll be back before New
Year's. Some friends of Freddie's are giving a big affair over in Schenectady
New Year's Eve, though. And your cousin Bella and my brother Stuart and
Grant and Bertine are going. If you'd like to go, you might go along with us
over there."
She had been about to say "me," but had changed it to "us." She was
thinking that this would certainly demonstrate her control over him to all
those others, seeing that it nullified Miss Phant's invitation. And at once
Clyde accepted, and with delight, since it would bring him in contact with
her again.
At the same time he was astonished and almost aghast over the fact that in
this casual and yet very intimate and definite way she was planning for him to
reencounter Bella, who would at once carry the news of his going with her
and these others to her family. And what would not that spell, seeing that
even as yet the Griffiths had not invited him anywhere—not even for
Christmas? For although the fact of Clyde having been picked up by Sondra
in her car as well as later, that he had been invited to the Now and Then, had
come to their ears, still nothing had been done. Gilbert Griffiths was wroth,
his father and mother puzzled as to their proper course but remaining inactive
nonetheless.
But the group, according to Sondra, might remain in Schenectady until the
following morning, a fact which she did not trouble to explain to Clyde at
first. And by now he had forgotten that Roberta, having returned from her
long stay at Biltz by then, and having been deserted by him over Christmas,
would most assuredly be expecting him to spend New Year's Eve with her.

---

That was a complication which was to dawn later. Now he only saw bliss in
Sandra's thought of him and at once eagerly and enthusiastically agreed.
"But you know," she said cautiously, "you mustn't pay so very much
attention to me over there or here or anywhere or think anything of it, if I
don't to you. I may not be able to see so very much of you if you do. I'll tell
you about that sometime. You see my father and mother are funny people. And
so are some of my friends here. But if you'll just be nice and sort of
indifferent—you know—I may be able to see quite a little of you this winter
yet. Do you see?"
Thrilled beyond words by this confession, which came because of his too
ardent approaches as he well knew, he looked at her eagerly and searchingly.
"But you care for me a little, then, don't you?" he half-demanded, half-
pleaded, his eyes lit with that alluring light which so fascinated her. And
cautious and yet attracted, swayed sensually and emotionally and yet dubious
as to the wisdom of her course, Sondra replied: "Well, I'll tell you. I do and I
don't. That is, I can't tell yet. I like you a lot. Sometimes I think I like you
more than others. You see we don't know each other very well yet. But you'll
come with me to Schenectady, though, won't you?"
"Oh, will I?"
"I'll write you more about that, or call you up. You have a telephone,
haven't you?"
He gave her the number.
"And if by any chance there's any change or I have to break the
engagement, don't think anything of it. I'll see you later— somewhere, sure."
She smiled and Clyde felt as though he were choking. The mere thought of
her being so frank with him, and saying that she cared for him a lot, at times,
was sufficient to cause him to almost reel with joy. To think that this beautiful
girl was so anxious to include him in her life if she could—this wonderful
girl who was surrounded by so many friends and admirers from which she
could take her pick.

---

28
Chapter
Six-thirty the following morning. And Clyde, after but a single hour's rest
after his return from Gloversville, rising, his mind full of mixed and troubled
thoughts as to how to readjust his affairs in connection with Roberta. She
was going to Biltz to-day. He had promised to go as far as Fonda. But now he
did not want to go. Of course he would have to concoct some excuse. But
what?
Fortunately the day before he had heard Whiggam tell Liggett there was to
be a meeting of department heads after closing hours in Smillie's office to-
day, and that he was to be there. Nothing was said to Clyde, since his
department was included in Liggett's, but now he decided that he could offer
this as a reason and accordingly, about an hour before noon, he dropped a
note on her desk which read:
"HONEY: Awfully sorry, but just told that I have to be at a meeting of
department heads downstairs at three. That means I can't go to Fonda
with you, but will drop around to the room for a few minutes right after
closing. Have something I want to give you, so be sure and wait. But
don't feel too bad. It can't be helped. See you sure when you come back
Wednesday.
"CLYDE."
At first, since she could not read it at once, Roberta was pleased because
she imagined it contained some further favorable word about the afternoon.
But on opening it in the ladies' rest room a few minutes afterwards, her face
fell. Coupled as this was with the disappointment of the preceding evening,
when Clyde had failed to appear, together with his manner of the morning
which to her had seemed self-absorbed, if not exactly distant, she began to
wonder what it was that was bringing about this sudden change. Perhaps he
could not avoid attending a meeting any more than he could avoid going to

---

his uncle's when he was asked. But the day before, following his word to her
that he could not be with her that evening, his manner was gayer, less sober,
than his supposed affection in the face of her departure would warrant. After
all he had known before that she was to be gone for three days. He also knew
that nothing weighed on her more than being absent from him any length of
time.
At once her mood from one of hopefulness changed to one of deep
depression—the blues. Life was always doing things like this to her. Here it
was—two days before Christmas, and now she would have to go to Biltz,
where there was nothing much but such cheer as she could bring, and all by
herself, and after scarcely a moment with him. She returned to her bench, her
face showing all the unhappiness that had suddenly overtaken her. Her
manner was listless and her movements indifferent—a change which Clyde
noticed; but still, because of his sudden and desperate feeling for Sondra, he
could not now bring himself to repent.
At one, the giant whistles of some of the neighboring factories sounding the
Saturday closing hours, both he and Roberta betook themselves separately to
her room. And he was thinking to himself as he went what to say now. What
to do? How in the face of this suddenly frosted and blanched affection to
pretend an interest he did not feel—how, indeed, continue with a relationship
which now, as alive and vigorous as it might have been as little as fifteen
days before, appeared exceedingly anemic and colorless. It would not do to
say or indicate in any way that he did not care for her any more—for that
would be so decidedly cruel and might cause Roberta to say what? Do what?
And on the other hand, neither would it do, in the face of his longings and
prospects in the direction of Sondra to continue in a type of approach and
declaration that was not true or sound and that could only tend to maintain
things as they were. Impossible! Besides, at the first hint of reciprocal love
on the part of Sondra, would he not be anxious and determined to desert
Roberta if he could? And why not? As contrasted with one of Sondra's
position and beauty, what had Roberta really to offer him? And would it be
fair in one of her station and considering the connections and the possibilities
that Sondra offered, for her to demand or assume that he should continue a
deep and undivided interest in her as opposed to this other? That would not
really be fair, would it?
It was thus that he continued to speculate while Roberta, preceding him to
her room, was asking herself what was this now that had so suddenly come

---

upon her—over Clyde—this sudden indifference, this willingness to break a
pre-Christmas date, and when she was about to leave for home and not to see
him for three days and over Christmas, too, to make him not wish to ride with
her even so far as Fonda. He might say that it was that meeting, but was it?
She could have waited until four if necessary, but something in his manner
had precluded that—something distant and evasive. Oh, what did this all
mean? And, so soon after the establishing of this intimacy, which at first and
up to now at least had seemed to be drawing them indivisibly together. Did it
spell a change—danger to or the end even of their wonderful love dream?
Oh, dear! And she had given him so much and now his loyalty meant
everything—her future—her life.
She stood in her room pondering this new problem as Clyde arrived, his
Christmas package under his arm, but still fixed in his determination to
modify his present relationship with Roberta, if he could—yet, at the same
time anxious to put as inconsequential a face on the proceeding as possible.
"Gee, I'm awfully sorry about this, Bert," he began briskly, his manner a
mixture of attempted gayety, sympathy and uncertainty. "I hadn't an idea until
about a couple of hours ago that they were going to have this meeting. But
you know how it is. You just can't get out of a thing like this. You're not going
to feel too bad, are you?" For already, from her expression at the factory as
well as here, he had gathered that her mood was of the darkest. "I'm glad I
got the chance to bring this around to you, though," he added, handing the gift
to her. "I meant to bring it around last night only that other business came up.
Gee, I'm sorry about the whole thing. Really, I am."
Delighted as she might have been the night before if this gift had been
given to her, Roberta now put the box on the table, all the zest that might have
been joined with it completely banished.
"Did you have a good time last night, dear?" she queried, curious as to the
outcome of the event that had robbed her of him.
"Oh, pretty good," returned Clyde, anxious to put as deceptive a face as
possible on the night that had meant so much to him and spelled so much
danger to her. "I thought I was just going over to my uncle's for dinner like I
told you. But after I got there I found that what they really wanted me for was
to escort Bella and Myra over to some doings in Gloversvile. There's a rich
family over there, the Steeles—big glove people, you know. Well, anyhow,
they were giving a dance and they wanted me to take them over because Gil
couldn't go. But it wasn't so very interesting. I was glad when it was all

---

over." He used the names Bella, Myra and Gilbert as though they were long
and assured intimates of his—an intimacy which invariably impressed
Roberta greatly.
"You didn't get through in time then to come around here, did you?"
"No, I didn't, 'cause I had to wait for the bunch to come back. I just
couldn't get away. But aren't you going to open your present?" he added,
anxious to divert her thoughts from this desertion which he knew was preying
on her mind.
She began to untie the ribbon that bound his gift, at the same time that her
mind was riveted by the possibilities of the party which he had felt called
upon to mention. What girls beside Bella and Myra had been there? Was
there by any chance any girl outside of herself in whom he might have
become recently interested? He was always talking about Sondra Finchley,
Bertine Cranston and Jill Trumbull. Were they, by any chance, at this party?
"Who all were over there beside your cousins?" she suddenly asked.
"Oh, a lot of people that you don't know. Twenty or thirty from different
places around here."
"Any others from Lycurgus beside your cousins?" she persisted.
"Oh, a few. We picked up Jill Trumbull and her sister, because Bella
wanted to. Arabella Stark and Perley Haynes were already over there when
we got there." He made no mention of Sondra or any of the others who so
interested him.
But because of the manner in saying it—something in the tone of his voice
and flick of his eyes, the answer did not satisfy Roberta. She was really
intensely troubled by this new development, but did not feel that under the
circumstances it was wise to importune Clyde too much. He might resent it.
After all he had always been identified with this world since ever she had
known him. And she did not want him to feel that she was attempting to assert
any claims over him, though such was her true desire.
"I wanted so much to be with you last night to give you your present," she
returned instead, as much to divert her own thoughts as to appeal to his
regard for her. Clyde sensed the sorrow in her voice and as of old it
appealed to him, only now he could not and would not let it take hold of him
as much as otherwise it might have.
"But you know how that was, Bert," he replied, with almost an air of
bravado. "I just told you."

---

"I know," she replied sadly and attempting to conceal the true mood that
was dominating her. At the same time she was removing the paper and
opening the lid to the case that contained her toilet set. And once opened, her
mood changed slightly because never before had she possessed anything so
valuable or original. "Oh, this is beautiful, isn't it?" she exclaimed, interested
for the moment in spite of herself. "I didn't expect anything like this. My two
little presents won't seem like very much now."
She crossed over at once to get her gifts. Yet Clyde could see that although
his gift was exceptional, still it was not sufficient to overcome the depression
which his indifference had brought upon her. His continued love was far
more vital than any present.
"You like it, do you?" he asked, eagerly hoping against hope that it would
serve to divert her.
"Of course, dear," she replied, looking at it interestedly. "But mine won't
seem so much," she added gloomily, and not a little depressed by the general
outcome of all her plans. "But they'll be useful to you and you'll always have
them near you, next your heart, where I want them to be."
She handed over the small box which contained the metal Eversharp
pencil and the silver ornamental fountain pen she had chosen for him because
she fancied they would be useful to him in his work at the factory. Two
weeks before he would have taken her in his arms and sought to console her
for the misery he was now causing her. But now he merely stood there
wondering how, without seeming too distant, he could assuage her and yet not
enter upon the customary demonstrations. And in order so to do he burst into
enthusiastic and yet somehow hollow words in regard to her present to him.
"Oh, gee, these are swell, honey, and just what I need. You certainly
couldn't have given me anything that would come in handier. I can use them
all the time." He appeared to examine them with the utmost pleasure and
afterwards fastened them in his pocket ready for use. Also, because for the
moment she was before him so downcast and wistful, epitomizing really all
the lure of the old relationship, he put his arms around her and kissed her.
She was winsome, no doubt of it. And then when she threw her arms around
his neck and burst into tears, he held her close, saying that there was no cause
for all this and that she would be back Wednesday and all would be as
before. At the same time he was thinking that this was not true, and how
strange that was—seeing that only so recently he had cared for her so much.
It was amazing how another girl could divert him in this way. And yet so it

---

was. And although she might be thinking that he was still caring for her as he
did before, he was not and never would again. And because of this he felt
really sorry for her.
Something of this latest mood in him reached Roberta now, even as she
listened to his words and felt his caresses. They failed to convey sincerity.
His manner was too restless, his embraces too apathetic, his tone without
real tenderness. Further proof as to this was added when, after a moment or
two, he sought to disengage himself and look at his watch, saying, "I guess I'll
have to be going now, honey. It's twenty of three now and that meeting is for
three. I wish I could ride over with you, but I'll see you when you get back."
He bent down to kiss her but with Roberta sensing once and for all, this
time, that his mood in regard to her was different, colder. He was interested
and kind, but his thoughts were elsewhere—and at this particular season of
the year, too—of all times. She tried to gather her strength and her self-
respect together and did, in part—saying rather coolly, and determinedly
toward the last: "Well, I don't want you to be late, Clyde. You better hurry.
But I don't want to stay over there either later than Christmas night. Do you
suppose if I come back early Christmas afternoon, you will come over here
at all? I don't want to be late Wednesday for work."
"Why, sure, of course, honey, I'll be around," replied Clyde genially and
even wholeheartedly, seeing that he had nothing else scheduled, that he knew
of, for then, and would not so soon and boldly seek to evade her in this
fashion. "What time do you expect to get in?"
The hour was to be eight and he decided that for that occasion, anyhow, a
reunion would be acceptable. He drew out his watch again and saying, "I'll
have to be going now, though," moved toward the door.
Nervous as to the significance of all this and concerned about the future,
she now went over to him and seizing his coat lapels and looking into his
eyes, half-pleaded and half-demanded: "Now, this is sure for Christmas
night, is it, Clyde? You won't make any other engagement this time, will
you?"
"Oh, don't worry. You know me. You know I couldn't help that other,
honey, but I'll be on hand Tuesday, sure," he returned. And kissing her, he
hurried out, feeling, perhaps, that he was not acting as wisely as he should,
but not seeing clearly how otherwise he was to do. A man couldn't break off
with a girl as he was trying to do, or at least might want to, without
exercising some little tact or diplomacy, could he? There was no sense in that

---

nor any real skill, was there? There must be some other and better way than
that, surely. At the same time his thoughts were already running forward to
Sondra and New Year's Eve. He was going with her to Schenectady to a