An American Tragedy (1925) Theodore Dreiser (1871-1945)

 

"Yes, sir."

 

"And did he give you the name of any particular doctor?"

 

"Well--yes--but I wouldn't care to say which one."

 

"All right, you needn't. But did you send Miss Alden to any doctor?"

 

"Yes, sir."

 

"Did she go alone or did you go with her?"

 

"I went with her--that is, to the door."

 

"Why only to the door?"

 

"Well, we talked it over, and she thought just as I did, that it might be better that way. I didn't 

have any too much money at the time. I thought he might be willing to help her for less if she went 

by herself than if we both went together."

 

("I'll be damned if he isn't stealing most of my thunder," thought Mason to himself at this 

point. "He's forestalling most of the things I intended to riddle him with." And he sat up worried. 

Burleigh and Redmond and Earl Newcomb--all now saw clearly what Jephson was attempting to 

do.)

 

"I see. And it wasn't by any chance because you were afraid that your uncle or Miss X might 

hear of it?"

 

"Oh, yes, I . . . that is, we both thought of that and talked of it. She understood how things 

were with me down there."

 

"But not about Miss X?"

 

"No, not about Miss X."

 

"And why not?"

 

"Well, because I didn't think I could very well tell her just then. It would have made her feel 

too bad. I wanted to wait until she was all right again."

 

"And then tell her and leave her. Is that what you mean?"

 

"Well, yes, if I still couldn't care for her any more--yes, sir."

 

"But not if she was in trouble?"

 

"Well, no, sir, not if she was in trouble. But you see, at that time I was expecting to be able 

to get her out of that."

 

"I see. But didn't her condition affect your attitude toward her-- cause you to want to 

straighten the whole thing out by giving up this Miss X and marrying Miss Alden?"

 

"Well, no, sir--not then exactly--that is, not at that time."

 

"How do you mean--'not at that time'?"

 

"Well, I did come to feel that way later, as I told you--but not then--that was afterwards--

after we started on our trip to the Adirondacks--"

 

"And why not then?"

 

"I've said why. I was too crazy about Miss X to think of anything but her."

 

"You couldn't change even then?"

 

"No, sir. I felt sorry, but I couldn't."

 

"I see. But never mind that now. I will come to that later. Just now I want to have you 

explain to the jury, if you can, just what it was about this Miss X, as contrasted with Miss Alden, 

that made her seem so very much more desirable in your eyes. Just what characteristics of manner 

or face or mind or position--or whatever it was that so enticed you? Or do you know?"

 

This was a question which both Belknap and Jephson in various ways and for various 

reasons--psychic, legal, personal--had asked Clyde before, and with varying results. At first he 

could not and would not discuss her at all, fearing that whatever he said would be seized upon and 

used in his trial and the newspapers along with her name. But later, when because of the silence of 

the newspapers everywhere in regard to her true name, it became plain that she was not to be 

featured, he permitted himself to talk more freely about her. But now here on the stand, he grew 

once more nervous and reticent.

 

"Well, you see, it's hard to say. She was very beautiful to me. Much more so than Roberta--

but not only that, she was different from any one I had ever known--more independent--and 

everybody paid so much attention to what she did and what she said. She seemed to know more 

than any one else I ever knew. Then she dressed awfully well, and was very rich and in society and 

her name and pictures were always in the paper. I used to read about her every day when I didn't see 

her, and that seemed to keep her before me a lot. She was daring, too---not so simple or trusting as 

Miss Alden was--and at first it was hard for me to believe that she was becoming so interested in 

me. It got so that I couldn't think of any one or anything else, and I didn't want Roberta any more. I 

just couldn't, with Miss X always before me."

 

"Well, it looks to me as if you might have been in love, or hypnotized at that," insinuated 

Jephson at the conclusion of this statement, the tail of his right eye upon the jury. "If that isn't a 

picture of pretty much all gone, I guess I don't know one when I see it." But with the audience and 

the jury as stony-faced as before, as he could see.

 

But immediately thereafter the swift and troubled waters of the alleged plot which was the 

stern trail to which all this was leading.

 

"Well, now, Clyde, from there on, just what happened? Tell us now, as near as you can 

recall. Don't shade it or try to make yourself look any better or any worse. She is dead, and you may 

be, eventually, if these twelve gentlemen here finally so decide." (And at this an icy chill seemed to 

permeate the entire courtroom as well as Clyde.) "But the truth for the peace of your own soul is the 

best,"--and here Jephson thought of Mason--let him counteract that if he can.

 

"Yes, sir," said Clyde, simply.

 

"Well, then, after she got in trouble and you couldn't help her, then what? What was it you 

did? How did you act? . . . By the way, one moment--what was your salary at that time?"

 

"Twenty-five dollars a week," confessed Clyde.

 

"No other source of income?"

 

"I didn't quite hear."

 

"Was there any other source from which you were obtaining any money at that time in any 

way?"

 

"No, sir."

 

"And how much was your room?"

 

"Seven dollars a week."

 

"And your board?"

 

"Oh, from five to six."

 

"Any other expenses?"

 

"Yes, sir--my clothes and laundry."

 

"You had to stand your share of whatever social doings were on foot, didn't you?"

 

"Objected to as leading!" called Mason.

 

"Objection sustained," replied Justice Oberwaltzer.

 

"Any other expenses that you can think of?"

 

"Well, there were carfares and trainfares. And then I had to share in whatever social 

expenses there were."

 

"Exactly!" cried Mason, with great irritation. "I wish you would quit leading this parrot 

here."

 

"I wish the honorable district attorney would mind his own business!" snorted Jephson--as 

much for Clyde's benefit as for his own. He wished to break down his fear of Mason. "I'm 

examining this defendant, and as for parrots we've seen quite a number of them around here in the 

last few weeks, and coached to the throat like school-boys."

 

"That's a malicious lie!" shouted Mason. "I object and demand an apology."

 

"The apology is to me and to this defendant, if your Honor pleases, and will be exacted 

quickly if your Honor will only adjourn this court for a few minutes," and then stepping directly in 

front of Mason, he added: "And I will be able to obtain it without any judicial aid." Whereupon 

Mason, thinking he was about to be attacked, squared off, the while assistants and deputy sheriffs, 

and stenographers and writers, and the clerk of the court himself, gathered round and seized the two 

lawyers while Justice Oberwaltzer pounded violently on his desk with his gavel:

 

"Gentlemen! Gentlemen! You are both in contempt of court, both of you! You will apologize 

to the court and to each other, or I'll declare a mistrial and commit you both for ten days and fine 

you five hundred dollars each." With this he leaned down and frowned on both. And at once 

Jephson replied, most suavely and ingratiatingly: "Under the circumstances, your Honor, I 

apologize to you and to the attorney for the People and to this jury. The attack on this defendant, by 

the district attorney, seemed too unfair and uncalled for--that was all."

 

"Never mind that," continued Oberwaltzer.

 

"Under the circumstances, your Honor, I apologize to you and to the counsel for the defense. 

I was a little hasty, perhaps. And to this defendant also," sneered Mason, after first looking into 

Justice Oberwaltzer's angry and uncompromising eyes and then into Clyde's, who instantly recoiled 

and turned away.

 

"Proceed," growled Oberwaltzer, sullenly.

 

"Now, Clyde," resumed Jephson anew, as calm as though he had just lit and thrown away a 

match. "You say your salary was twenty-five dollars and you had these various expenses. Had you, 

up to this time, been able to put aside any money for a rainy day?"

 

"No, sir--not much--not any, really."

 

"Well, then, supposing some doctor to whom Miss Alden had applied had been willing to 

assist her and wanted--say a hundred dollars or so--were you ready to furnish that?"

 

"No, sir--not right off, that is."

 

"Did she have any money of her own that you know of?"

 

"None that I know of--no, sir."

 

"Well, how did you intend to help her then?"

 

"Well, I thought if either she or I found any one and he would wait and let me pay for it on 

time, that I could save and pay it that way, maybe."

 

"I see. You were perfectly willing to do that, were you?"

 

"Yes, sir, I was."

 

"You told her so, did you?"

 

"Yes, sir. She knew that."

 

"Well, when neither you nor she could find any one to help her, then what? What did you do 

next?"

 

"Well, then she wanted me to marry her."

 

"Right away?"

 

"Yes, sir. Right away."

 

"And what did you say to that?"

 

"I told her I just couldn't then. I didn't have any money to get married on. And besides if I 

did and didn't go away somewhere, at least until the baby was born, everybody would find out and I 

couldn't have stayed there anyhow. And she couldn't either."

 

"And why not?"

 

"Well, there were my relatives. They wouldn't have wanted to keep me any more, or her 

either, I guess."

 

"I see. They wouldn't have considered you fit for the work you were doing, or her either. Is 

that it?"

 

"I thought so, anyhow," replied Clyde.

 

"And then what?"

 

"Well, even if I had wanted to go away with her and marry her, I didn't have enough money 

to do that and she didn't either. I would have had to give up my place and gone and found another 

somewhere before I could let her come. Besides that, I didn't know any place where I could go and 

earn as much as I did there."

 

"How about hotel work? Couldn't you have gone back to that?"

 

"Well, maybe--if I had an introduction of some kind. But I didn't want to go back to that."

 

"And why not?"

 

"Well, I didn't like it so much any more--not that kind of life."

 

"But you didn't mean that you didn't want to do anything at all, did you? That wasn't your 

attitude, was it?"

 

"Oh, no, sir. That wasn't it. I told her right away if she would go away for a while--while she 

had her baby--and let me stay on there in Lycurgus, that I would try to live on less and give her all I 

could save until she was all right again."

 

"But not marry her?"

 

"No, sir, I didn't feel that I could do that then."

 

"And what did she say to that?"

 

"She wouldn't do it. She said she couldn't and wouldn't go through with it unless I would 

marry her."

 

"I see. Then and there?"

 

"Well, yes--pretty soon, anyhow. She was willing to wait a little while, but she wouldn't go 

away unless I would marry her."

 

"And did you tell her that you didn't care for her any more?"

 

"Well, nearly--yes, sir"

 

"What do you mean by 'nearly'?"

 

"Well, that I didn't want to. Besides, she knew I didn't care for her any more. She said so 

herself."

 

"To you, at that time?"

 

"Yes, sir. Lots of times."

 

"Well, yes, that's true--it was in all of those letters of hers that were read here. But when she 

refused so flatly, what did you do then?"

 

"Well, I didn't know what to do. But I thought maybe if I could get her to go up to her home 

for a while, while I tried and saved what I could--well . . . maybe . . . once she was up there and saw 

how much I didn't want to marry her--" (Clyde paused and fumbled at his lips. This lying was hard.)

 

"Yes, go on. And remember, the truth, however ashamed of it you may be, is better than any 

lie."

 

"And maybe when she was a little more frightened and not so determined--"

 

"Weren't you frightened, too?"

 

"Yes, sir, I was."

 

"Well, go on."

 

"That then--well--maybe if I offered her all that I had been able to save up to then--you see I 

thought maybe I might be able to borrow some from some one too--that she might be willing to go 

away and not make me marry her--just live somewhere and let me help her."

 

"I see. But she wouldn't agree to that?"

 

"Well, no--not to my not marrying her, no--but to going up there for a month, yes. I couldn't 

get her to say that she would let me off."

 

"But did you at that or any other time before or subsequent to that say that you would come 

up there and marry her?"

 

"No, sir. I never did."

 

"Just what did you say then?"

 

"I said that . . . as soon as I could get the money," stuttered Clyde at this point, so nervous 

and shamed was he, "I would come for her in about a month and we could go away somewhere 

until-- until--well, until she was out of that."

 

"But you did not tell her that you would marry her?"

 

"No, sir. I did not."

 

"But she wanted you to, of course."

 

"Yes, sir."

 

"Had you any notion that she could force you so to do at that time-- marry her against your 

will, I mean?"

 

"No, sir, I didn't. Not if I could help it. My plan was to wait as long as I could and save all 

the money I could and then when the time came just refuse and give her all the money that I had 

and help her all I could from then on."

 

"But you know," proceeded Jephson, most suavely and diplomatically at this point, "there 

are various references in these letters here which Miss Alden wrote you"--and he reached over and 

from the district attorney's table picked up the original letters of Roberta and weighed them 

solemnly in his hand--"to a PLAN which you two had in connection with this trip--or at least that 

she seemed to think you had. Now, exactly what was that plan? She distinctly refers to it, if I recall 

aright, as 'our plan.'"

 

"I know that," replied Clyde--since for two months now he, along with Belknap and 

Jephson, had discussed this particular question. "But the only plan I know of"--and here he did his 

best to look frank and be convincing--"was the one I offered over and over."

 

"And what was that?"

 

"Why, that she go away and take a room somewhere and let me help her and come over and 

see her once in a while."

 

"Well, no, you're wrong there," returned Jephson, slyly. "That isn't and couldn't be the plan 

she had in mind. She says in one of these letters that she knows it will be hard on you to have to go 

away and stay so long, or until she is out of this thing, but that it can't be helped."

 

"Yes, I know," replied Clyde, quickly and exactly as he had been told to do, "but that was 

her plan, not mine. She kept saying to me most of the time that that was what she wanted me to do, 

and that I would have to do it. She told me that over the telephone several times, and I may have 

said all right, all right, not meaning that I agreed with her entirely but that I wanted to talk with her 

about it some more later."

 

"I see. And so that's what you think--that she meant one thing and you meant another."

 

"Well, I know I never agreed to her plan--exactly. That is, I never did any more than just to 

ask her to wait and not do anything until I could get money enough together to come up there and 

talk to her some more and get her to go away--the way I suggested."

 

"But if she wouldn't accede to your plan, then what?"

 

"Well, then I was going to tell her about Miss X, and beg her to let me go."

 

"And if she still wouldn't?"

 

"Well, then I thought I might run away, but I didn't like to think about that very much."

 

"You know, Clyde, of course, that some here are of the opinion that there was a plot on your 

part which originated in your mind about this time to conceal your identity and hers and lure her up 

there to one of those lone lakes in the Adirondacks and slay her or drown her in cold blood, in order 

that you might be free to marry this Miss X. Any truth in that? Tell this jury--yes or no--which is 

it?"

 

"No! No! I never did plot to kill her, or any one," protested Clyde, quite dramatically, and 

clutching at the arms of his chair and seeking to be as emphatic as possible, since he had been 

instructed so to do. At the same time he arose in his seat and sought to look stern and convincing, 

although in his heart and mind was the crying knowledge that he had so plotted, and this it was that 

most weakened him at this moment--most painfully and horribly weakened him. The eyes of all 

these people. The eyes of the judge and jury and Mason and all the men and women of the press. 

And once more his brow was wet and cold and he licked his thin lips nervously and swallowed with 

difficulty because his throat was dry.

 

And then it was that piecemeal, and beginning with the series of letters written by Roberta to 

Clyde after she reached her home and ending with the one demanding that he come for her or she 

would return to Lycurgus and expose him, Jephson took up the various phases of the "alleged" plot 

and crime, and now did his best to minimize and finally dispel all that had been testified to so far.

 

Clyde's suspicious actions in not writing Roberta. Well, he was afraid of complications in 

connection with his relatives, his work, everything. And the same with his arranging to meet her in 

Fonda. He had no plan as to any trip with her anywhere in particular at the time. He only thought 

vaguely of meeting her somewhere-- anywhere--and possibly persuading her to leave him. But July 

arriving and his plan still so indefinite, the first thing that occurred to him was that they might go 

off to some inexpensive resort somewhere. It was Roberta who in Utica had suggested some of the 

lakes north of there. It was there in the hotel, not at the railway station, that he had secured some 

maps and folders--a fatal contention in one sense, for Mason had one folder with a Lycurgus House 

stamp on the cover, which Clyde had not noticed at the time. And as he was so testifying, Mason 

was thinking of this. In regard to leaving Lycurgus by a back street--well, there had been a desire to 

conceal his departure with Roberta, of course, but only to protect her name and his from notoriety. 

And so with the riding in separate cars, registering as Mr. and Mrs. Clifford Golden, and so on 

indefinitely throughout the entire list of shifty concealments and evasions. In regard to the two hats, 

well, the one hat was soiled and seeing one that he liked he bought it. Then when he lost the hat in 

the accident he naturally put on the other. To be sure, he had owned and carried a camera, and it was 

true that he had it at the Cranstons' on his first visit there on the eighteenth of June. The only reason 

he denied having it at first was because he was afraid of being identified with this purely accidental 

death of Roberta in a way that would be difficult to explain. He had been falsely charged with her 

murder immediately upon his arrest in the woods, and he was fearful of his entire connection with 

this ill-fated trip, and not having any lawyer or any one to say a word for him, he thought it best to 

say nothing and so for the time being had denied everything, although at once on being provided 

counsel he had confided to his attorneys the true facts of the case.

 

And so, too, with the missing suit, which because it was wet and muddy he had done up in a 

bundle in the woods and after reaching the Cranstons' had deposited it behind some stones there, 

intending to return and secure it and have it dry-cleaned. But on being introduced to Mr. Belknap 

and Mr. Jephson he had at once told both and they had secured it and had it cleaned for him.

 

"But now, Clyde, in regard to your plans and your being out on that lake in the first place--

let's hear about that now."

 

And then--quite as Jephson had outlined it to Belknap, came the story of how he and 

Roberta had reached Utica and afterwards Grass Lake. And yet no plan. He intended, if worst came 

to worst, to tell her of his great love for Miss X and appeal to her sympathy and understanding to set 

him free at the same time that he offered to do anything that he could for her. If she refused he 

intended to defy her and leave Lycurgus, if necessary, and give up everything.

 

"But when I saw her at Fonda, and later in Utica, looking as tired and worried as she was,"