An American Tragedy - Theodore Dreiser (librera reader txt) 📗

that’s the way it was,” replied Clyde.

“Excellent! Incomparable,” shouted Mason.

And here he wearily and sighfully drew forth his large white handkerchief once more and surveying the courtroom at large proceeded to mop his face as much as to say: Well, this is a task indeed, then continuing with more force than ever:

“Griffiths, only yesterday on the witness stand you swore that you personally had no plan to go to Big Bittern when you left Lycurgus.”

“No, sir, I hadn’t.”

“But when you two got in that room at the Renfrew House in Utica and you saw how tired she looked, it was you that suggested that a vacation of some kind⁠—a little one⁠—something within the range of your joint purses at the time⁠—would be good for her. Wasn’t that the way of it?”

“Yes, sir. That was the way of it,” replied Clyde.

“But up to that time you hadn’t even thought of the Adirondacks specifically.”

“Well, no sir⁠—no particular lake, that is. I did think we might go to some summer place maybe⁠—they’re mostly lakes around there⁠—but not to any particular one that I knew of.”

“I see. And after you suggested it, it was she that said that you had better get some folders or maps, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And then it was that you went downstairs and got them?”

“Yes, sir.”

“At the Renfrew House in Utica?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Not anywhere else by any chance?”

“No, sir.”

“And afterwards, in looking over those maps, you saw Grass Lake and Big Bittern and decided to go up that way. Was that the way of it?”

“Yes, we did,” lied Clyde, most nervously, wishing now that he had not testified that it was in the Renfrew House that he had secured the folders. There might be some trap here again.

“You and Miss Alden?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you picked on Grass Lake as being the best because it was the cheapest. Wasn’t that the way of it?”

“Yes, sir. That was the way.”

“I see. And now do you remember these?” he added, reaching over and taking from his table a series of folders all properly identified as part and parcel of the contents of Clyde’s bag at Bear Lake at the time he was arrested and which he now placed in Clyde’s hands. “Look them over. Are those the folders I found in your bag at Bear Lake?”

“Well, they look like the ones I had there.”

“Are these the ones you found in the rack at the Renfrew House and took upstairs to show Miss Alden?”

Not a little terrified by the care with which this matter of folders was now being gone into by Mason, Clyde opened them and turned them over. Even now, because the label of the Lycurgus House (“Compliments of Lycurgus House, Lycurgus, NY.”) was stamped in red very much like the printed red lettering on the rest of the folder, he failed to notice it at first. He turned and turned them over, and then having decided that there was no trap here, replied:

“Yes, I think these are the ones.”

“Well, now,” went on Mason, slyly, “in which one of these was it that you found that notice of Grass Lake Inn and the rate they charged up there? Wasn’t it in this one?” And here he returned the identical stamped folder, on one page of which⁠—and the same indicated by Mason’s left forefinger⁠—was the exact notice to which Clyde had called Roberta’s attention. Also in the center was a map showing the Indian Chain together with Twelfth, Big Bittern, and Grass Lakes, as well as many others, and at the bottom of this map a road plainly indicated as leading from Grass Lake and Gun Lodge south past the southern end of Big Bittern to Three Mile Bay. Now seeing this after so long a time again, he suddenly decided that it must be his knowledge of this road that Mason was seeking to establish, and a little quivery and creepy now, he replied: “Yes, it may be the one. It looks like it. I guess it is, maybe.”

“Don’t you know that it is?” insisted Mason, darkly and dourly. “Can’t you tell from reading that item there whether it is or not?”

“Well, it looks like it,” replied Clyde, evasively after examining the item which had inclined him toward Grass Lake in the first place. “I suppose maybe it is.”

“You suppose! You suppose! Getting a little more cautious now that we’re getting down to something practical. Well, just look at that map there again and tell me what you see. Tell me if you don’t see a road marked as leading south from Grass Lake.”

“Yes,” replied Clyde, a little sullenly and bitterly after a time, so flayed and bruised was he by this man who was so determined to harry him to his grave. He fingered the map and pretended to look as directed, but was seeing only all that he had seen long before there in Lycurgus, so shortly before he departed for Fonda to meet Roberta. And now here it was being used against him.

“And where does it run, please? Do you mind telling the jury where it runs⁠—from where to where?”

And Clyde, nervous and fearful and physically very much reduced, now replied: “Well, it runs from Grass Lake to Three Mile Bay.”

“And to what or near what other places in between?” continued Mason, looking over his shoulder.

“Gun Lodge. That’s all.”

“What about Big Bittern? Doesn’t it run near that when it gets to the south of it?”

“Yes, sir, it does here.”

“Ever notice or study that map before you went to Grass Lake from Utica?” persisted Mason, tensely and, forcefully.

“No, sir⁠—I did not.”

“Never knew the road was on there?”

“Well, I may have seen it,” replied Clyde, “but if so I didn’t pay any attention to it.”

“And, of course, by no possible chance could you have seen or studied this folder and that road before you left Utica?”

“No, sir. I never saw it before.”

“I see. You’re absolutely positive as to that?”

“Yes, sir. I am.”

“Well then, explain to me, or to this jury, if you