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

to remove from the scene of their happiest years and comforts and live as exiles⁠—perhaps forever⁠—in one of the suburbs of Boston, or elsewhere⁠—or forever endure the eyes and sympathy of their friends! And himself and Gilbert almost steadily conferring ever since as to the wisdom of uniting the business in stock form with some of the others of Lycurgus or elsewhere⁠—or, if not that, of transferring, not by degrees but speedily, to either Rochester or Buffalo or Boston or Brooklyn, where a main plant might be erected. The disgrace of this could only be overcome by absenting themselves from Lycurgus and all that it represented to them. They must begin life all over again⁠—socially at least. That did not mean so much to himself or his wife⁠—their day was about over anyhow. But Bella and Gilbert and Myra⁠—how to rehabilitate them in some way, somewhere?

And so, even before the trial was finished, a decision on the part of Samuel and Gilbert Griffiths to remove the business to South Boston, where they might decently submerge themselves until the misery and shame of this had in part at least been forgotten.

And because of this further aid to Clyde absolutely refused. And Belknap and Jephson then sitting down together to consider. For obviously, their time being as valuable as it was⁠—devoted hitherto to the most successful practice in Bridgeburg⁠—and with many matters waiting on account of the pressure of this particular case⁠—they were by no means persuaded that either their practical self-interest or their charity permitted or demanded their assisting Clyde without further recompense. In fact, the expense of appealing this case was going to be considerable as they saw it. The record was enormous. The briefs would be large and expensive, and the State’s allowance for them was pitifully small. At the same time, as Jephson pointed out, it was folly to assume that the western Griffiths might not be able to do anything at all. Had they not been identified with religious and charitable work this long while? And was it not possible, the tragedy of Clyde’s present predicament pointed out to them, that they might through appeals of various kinds raise at least sufficient money to defray the actual costs of such an appeal? Of course, they had not aided Clyde up to the present time but that was because his mother had been notified that she was not needed. It was different now.

“Better wire her to come on,” suggested Jephson, practically. “We can get Oberwaltzer to set the sentence over until the tenth if we say that she is trying to come on here. Besides, just tell her to do it and if she says she can’t we’ll see about the money then. But she’ll be likely to get it and maybe some towards the appeal too.”

And forthwith a telegram and a letter to Mrs. Griffiths, saying that as yet no word had been said to Clyde but none-the-less his Lycurgus relatives had declined to assist him further in any way. Besides, he was to be sentenced not later than the tenth, and for his own future welfare it was necessary that someone⁠—preferably herself⁠—appear. Also that funds to cover the cost of an appeal be raised, or at least the same guaranteed.

And then Mrs. Griffiths, on her knees praying to her God to help her. Here, now, he must show his Almighty hand⁠—his never-failing mercy. Enlightenment and help must come from somewhere⁠—otherwise how was she to get the fare, let alone raise money for Clyde’s appeal?

Yet as she prayed⁠—on her knees⁠—a thought. The newspapers had been hounding her for interviews. They had followed her here and there. Why had she not gone to her son’s aid? What did she think of this? What of that? And now she said to herself, why should she not go to the editor of one of the great papers so anxious to question her always and tell him how great was her need? Also, that if he would help her to reach her son in time to be with him on his day of sentence that she, his mother, would report the same for him. These papers were sending their reporters here, there⁠—even to the trial, as she had read. Why not her⁠—his mother? Could she not speak and write too? How many, many tracts had she not composed?

And so now to her feet⁠—only to sink once more on her knees: “Thou hast answered me, oh, my God!” she exclaimed. Then rising, she got out her ancient brown coat, the commonplace brown bonnet with strings⁠—based on some mood in regard to religious livery⁠—and at once proceeded to the largest and most important newspaper. And because of the notoriety of her son’s trial she was shown directly to the managing editor, who was as much interested as he was impressed and who listened to her with respect and sympathy. He understood her situation and was under the impression that the paper would be interested in this. He disappeared for a few moments⁠—then returned. She would be employed as a correspondent for a period of three weeks, and after that until further notice. Her expenses to and fro would be covered. An assistant, into whose hands he would now deliver her would instruct her as to the method of preparing and filing her communications. He would also provide her with some ready cash. She might even leave tonight if she chose⁠—the sooner, the better. The paper would like a photograph or two before she left. But as he talked, and as he noticed, her eyes were closed⁠—her head back. She was offering thanks to the God who had thus directly answered her plea.

XXVIII

Bridgeburg and a slow train that set down a tired, distrait woman at its depot after midnight on the eighth of December. Bitter cold and bright stars. A lone depot assistant who on inquiry directed her to the Bridgeburg Central House⁠—straight up the street which now faced her, then two