Theodore Dreiser Jennie Gerhardt; a novel

particularly. He was interested in the possibilities of becoming an electrical 
engineer, a career which one of his school-teachers had pointed out to him 
as being attractive and promising. 
Jennie heard of Martha's marriage after it was all over, a note from Veronica 
giving her the main details. She was glad from one point of view, but realized 
that her brothers and sisters were drifting away from her. 
A little while after Martha's marriage Veronica and William went to reside 
with George, a break which was brought about by the attitude of Gerhardt 
himself. Ever since his wife's death and the departure of the other children 
he had been subject to moods of profound gloom, from which he was not 
easily aroused. Life, it seemed, was drawing to a close for him, although he 
was only sixty-five years of age. The earthly ambitions he had once 
cherished were gone forever. He saw Sebastian, Martha, and George out in 
the world practically ignoring him, contributing nothing at all to a home 
which should never have taken a dollar from Jennie. Veronica and William 
were restless. They objected to leaving school and going to work, apparently 
preferring to live on money which Gerhardt had long since concluded was 
not being come by honestly. He was now pretty well satisfied as to the true 
relations of Jennie and Lester. At first he had believed them to be married, 
but the way Lester had neglected Jennie for long periods, the humbleness 
with which she ran at his beck and call, her fear of telling him about Vesta—
somehow it all pointed to the same thing. She had not been married at 
home. Gerhardt had never had sight of her marriage certificate. Since she 
was away she might have been married, but he did not believe it. 
The real trouble was that Gerhardt had grown intensely morose and 
crotchety, and it was becoming impossible for young people to live with him. 
Veronica and William felt it. They resented the way in which he took charge 
of the expenditures after Martha left. He accused them of spending too 
much on clothes and amusements, he insisted that a smaller house should 
be taken, and he regularly sequestered a part of the money which Jennie 
sent, for what purpose they could hardly guess. As a matter of fact, 
Gerhardt was saving as much as possible in order to repay Jennie 
eventually. He thought it was sinful to go on in this way, and this was his 
one method, out side of his meager earnings, to redeem himself. If his other 
children had acted rightly by him he felt that he would not now be left in his 

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old age the recipient of charity from one, who, despite her other good 
qualities, was certainly not leading a righteous life. So they quarreled. 
It ended one winter month when George agreed to receive his complaining 
brother and sister on condition that they should get something to do. 
Gerhardt was nonplussed for a moment, but invited them to take the 
furniture and go their way. His generosity shamed them for the moment; 
they even tentatively invited him to come and live with them, but this he 
would not do. He would ask the foreman of the mill he watched for the 
privilege of sleeping in some out-of-the-way garret. He was always liked and 
trusted. And this would save him a little money. 
So in a fit of pique he did this, and there was seen the spectacle of an old 
man watching through a dreary season of nights, in a lonely trafficless 
neighborhood while the city pursued its gaiety elsewhere. He had a wee 
small corner in the topmost loft of a warehouse away from the tear and 
grind of the factory proper. Here Gerhardt slept by day. In the afternoon he 
would take a little walk, strolling toward the business center, or out along 
the banks of the Cuyahoga, or the lake. As a rule his hands were below his 
back, his brow bent in meditation. He would even talk to himself a little—an 
occasional "By chops!" or "So it is" being indicative of his dreary mood. At 
dusk he would return, taking his stand at the lonely gate which was his post 
of duty. His meals he secured at a nearby workingmen's boarding-house, 
such as he felt he must have. 
The nature of the old German's reflections at this time were of a peculiarly 
subtle and somber character. What was this thing—life? What did it all 
come to after the struggle, and the worry, and the grieving? Where does it all 
go to? People die; you hear nothing more from them. His wife, now, she had 
gone. Where had her spirit taken its flight? 
Yet he continued to hold some strongly dogmatic convictions. He believed 
there was a hell, and that people who sinned would go there. How about 
Mrs. Gerhardt? How about Jennie? He believed that both had sinned 
woefully. He believed that the just would be rewarded in heaven. But who 
were the just? Mrs. Gerhardt had not had a bad heart. Jennie was the soul 
of generosity. Take his son Sebastian. Sebastian was a good boy, but he was 
cold, and certainly indifferent to his father. Take Martha—she was 
ambitious, but obviously selfish. Somehow the children, outside of Jennie, 
seemed self-centered. Bass walked off when he got married, and did nothing 
more for anybody. Martha insisted that she needed all she made to live on. 
George had contributed for a little while, but had finally refused to help out. 
Veronica and William had been content to live on Jennie's money so long as 
he would allow it, and yet they knew it was not right. His very existence, was 
it not a commentary on the selfishness of his children? And he was getting 

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so old. He shook his head. Mystery of mysteries. Life was truly strange, and 
dark, and uncertain. Still he did not want to go and live with any of his 
children. Actually they were not worthy of him—none but Jennie, and she 
was not good. So he grieved. 
This woeful condition of affairs was not made known to Jennie for some 
time. She had been sending her letters to Martha, but, on her leaving, 
Jennie had been writing directly to Gerhardt. After Veronica's departure 
Gerhardt wrote to Jennie saying that there was no need of sending any more 
money. Veronica and William were going to live with George. He himself had 
a good place in a factory, and would live there a little while. He returned her 
a moderate sum that he had saved—one hundred and fifteen dollars—with 
the word that he would not need it. 
Jennie did not understand, but as the others did not write, she was not sure 
but what it might be all right—her father was so determined. But by 
degrees, however, a sense of what it really must mean overtook her—a sense 
of something wrong, and she worried, hesitating between leaving Lester and 
going to see about her father, whether she left him or not. Would he come 
with her? Not here certainly. If she were married, yes, possibly. If she were 
alone—probably. Yet if she did not get some work which paid well they 
would have a difficult time. It was the same old problem. What could she 
do? Nevertheless, she decided to act. If she could get five or six dollars a 
week they could live. This hundred and fifteen dollars which Gerhardt had 
saved would tide them over the worst difficulties perhaps.