An American Tragedy (113 page)

“No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. That’s the way it was.” Clyde was very eager to get those much-rehearsed and very important answers, just right.

“But you must have thought of something—one or both of you. You were twenty-one and she was twenty-three.”

“Yes, sir. I suppose we did—I suppose I did think of something now and then.”

“And what was it that you thought? Can you recollect?”

“Well, yes, sir. I suppose I can. That is, I know that I did think at times that if things went all right and I made a little more money and she got a place somewhere else, that I would begin taking her out openly, and then afterwards maybe, if she and I kept on caring for each other as we did then, marry her, maybe.”

“You actually thought of marrying her then, did you?”

“Yes, sir. I know I did in the way that I’ve said, of course.”

“But that was before you met this Miss X?”

“Yes, sir, that was before that.” (“Beautifully done!” observed Mason, sarcastically, under his breath to State Senator Redmond. “Excellent stage play,” replied Redmond in a stage whisper.)

“But did you ever tell her in so many words?” continued Jephson.

“Well, no, sir. I don’t recall that I did—not just in so many words.”

“You either told her or you didn’t tell her. Now, which was it?”

“Well, neither, quite. I used to tell her that I loved her and that I never wanted her to leave me and that I hoped she never would.”

“But not that you wanted to marry her?”

“No, sir. Not that I wanted to marry her.”

“Well, well, all right!—and she—what did she say?”

“That she never would leave me,” replied Clyde, heavily and fearsomely, thinking, as he did so, of Roberta’s last cries and her eyes bent on him. And he took from his pocket a handkerchief and began to wipe his moist, cold face and hands.

(“Well staged!” murmured Mason, softly and cynically. “Pretty shrewd—pretty shrewd!” commented Redmond, lightly.)

“But, tell me,” went on Jephson, softly and coldly, “feeling as you did about Miss Alden, how was it that upon meeting this Miss X, you could change so quickly? Are you so fickle that you don’t know your own mind from day to day?”

“Well, I didn’t think so up to that time—no, sir!”

“Had you ever had a strong and binding love affair at any time in your life before you met Miss Alden?”

“No, sir.”

“But did you consider this one with Miss Alden strong and binding—a true love affair—up to the time you met this Miss X?”

“Yes, sir, I did.”

“And afterwards—then what?”

“Well—afterwards—it wasn’t quite like that any more.”

“You mean to say that on sight of Miss X, after encountering her once or twice, you ceased to care for Miss Alden entirely?”

“Well, no, sir. It wasn’t quite like that,” volunteered Clyde, swiftly and earnestly. “I did continue to care for her some—quite a lot, really. But before I knew it I had completely lost my head over—over Miss—Miss——”

“Yes, this Miss X. We know. You fell madly and unreasonably in love with her. Was that the way of it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And then?”

“Well—and then—I just couldn’t care for Miss Alden so much any more.” A thin film of moisture covered Clyde’s forehead and cheeks as he spoke.

“I see! I see!” went on Jephson, oratorically and loudly, having the jury and audience in mind. “A case of the Arabian Nights, of the enscorcelled and the enscorcellor.”

“I don’t think I know what you mean,” said Clyde.

“A case of being bewitched, my poor boy—by beauty, love, wealth, by things that we sometimes think we want very, very much, and cannot ever have—that is what I mean, and that is what much of the love in the world amounts to.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Clyde, quite innocently, concluding rightly that this was mere show of rhetoric on Jephson’s part.

“But what I want to know is—how was it that loving Miss Alden as much as you say you did—and having reached that relationship which should have been sanctified by marriage—how was it that you could have felt so little bound or obligated to her as to entertain the idea of casting her over for this Miss X? Now just how was that? I would like to know, and so would this jury, I am sure. Where was your sense of gratitude? Your sense of moral obligation? Do you mean to say that you have none? We want to know.”

This was really cross-examination—an attack on his own witness. Yet Jephson was within his rights and Mason did not interfere.

“Well . . .” and here Clyde hesitated and stumbled, quite as if he had not been instructed as to all this beforehand, and seemed to and did truly finger about in his own mind or reason for some thought that would help him to explain all this. For although it was true that he had memorized the answer, now that he was confronted by the actual question here in court, as well as the old problem that had so confused and troubled him in Lycurgus, he could scarcely think clearly of all he had been told to say, but instead twisted and turned, and finally came out with:

“The fact is, I didn’t think about those things at all very much. I couldn’t after I saw her. I tried to at times, but I couldn’t. I only wanted her and I didn’t want Miss Alden any more. I knew I wasn’t doing right—exactly—and I felt sorry for Roberta—but just the same I didn’t seem able to do anything much about it. I could only think of Miss X and I could-n’t think of Roberta as I had before no matter how hard I tried.”

“Do you mean to say that you didn’t suffer in your own conscience on account of this?”

“Yes, sir, I suffered,” replied Clyde. “I knew I wasn’t doing right, and it made me worry a lot about her and myself, but just the same I didn’t seem to be able to do any better.” (He was repeating words that Jephson had written out for him, although at the time he first read them he felt them to be fairly true. He had suffered some.)

“And then?”

“Well, then she began to complain because I didn’t go round to see her as much as before.”

“In other words, you began to neglect her.”

“Yes, sir, some—but not entirely—no, sir.”

“Well, when you found you were so infatuated with this Miss X, what did you do? Did you go and tell Miss Alden that you were no longer in love with her but in love with some one else?”

“No, I didn’t. Not then.”

“Why not then? Did you think it fair and honorable to be telling two girls at once that you cared for them?”

“No, sir, but it wasn’t quite like that either. You see at that time I was just getting acquainted with Miss X, and I wasn’t telling her anything. She wouldn’t let me. But I knew then, just the same, that I couldn’t care for Miss Alden any more.”

“But what about the claim Miss Alden had on you? Didn’t you feel that that was enough or should be, to prevent you from running after another girl?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, why did you then?”

“I couldn’t resist her.”

“Miss X, you mean?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And so you continued to run after her until you had made her care for you?”

“No, sir, that wasn’t the way at all.”

“Well then, what was the way?”

“I just met her here and there and got crazy about her.”

“I see. But still you didn’t go and tell Miss Alden that you couldn’t care for her any longer?”

“No, sir. Not then.”

“And why not?”

“Because I thought it would hurt her, and I didn’t want to do that.”

“Oh, I see. You didn’t have the moral or mental courage to do it then?”

“I don’t know about the moral or mental courage,” replied Clyde, a little hurt and irritated by this description of himself, “but I felt sorry for her just the same. She used to cry and I didn’t have the heart to tell her anything.”

“I see. Well, let it stand that way, if you want to. But now answer me one other thing. That relationship between you two—what about that—after you knew that you didn’t care for her any more. Did that continue?”

“Well, no, sir, not so very long, anyhow,” replied Clyde, most nervously and shamefacedly. He was thinking of all the people before him now—of his mother—Sondra—of all the people throughout the entire United States—who would read and so know. And on first being shown these questions weeks and weeks before he had wanted to know of Jephson what the use of all that was. And Jephson had replied: “Educational effect. The quicker and harder we can shock ’em with some of the real facts of life around here, the easier it is going to be for you to get a little more sane consideration of what your problem was. But don’t worry your head over that now. When the time comes, just answer ’em and leave the rest to us. We know what we’re doing.” And so now Clyde added:

“You see, after meeting Miss X I couldn’t care for her so much that way any more, and so I tried not to go around her so much any more. But anyhow, it wasn’t so very long after that before she got in trouble and then—well——”

“I see. And when was that—about?”

“Along in the latter part of January last year.”

“And once that happened, then what? Did you or did you not feel that it was your duty under the circumstances to marry her?”

“Well, no—not the way things were then—that is, if I could get her out of it, I mean.”

“And why not? What do you mean by ‘as things were then’?”

“Well, you see, it was just as I told you. I wasn’t caring for her any more, and since I hadn’t promised to marry her, and she knew it, I thought it would be fair enough if I helped her out of it and then told her that I didn’t care for her as I once did.”

“But couldn’t you help her out of it?”

“No, sir. But I tried.”

“You went to that druggist who testified here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“To anybody else?”

“Yes, sir—to seven others before I could get anything at all.”

“But what you got didn’t help?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you go to that young haberdasher who testified here as he said?”

“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.”