An American Tragedy Theodore Dreiser (whitelam books .TXT) 📖

pulled herself up, while the boat rolled past only to reverse later. And Clyde, because of a happy smile in his direction, was seized by an uncontrollable desire for her⁠—her love, sympathy, generosity, courage. And so now, to match her smiles, he jumped up and after assisting Jill to the steps, quickly climbed up after her, pretending a gayety and enthusiasm that was as hollow inwardly as outwardly it was accurate.

“Gee! Some athlete you are!”

And then on the links a little later with her, and under her guidance and direction, playing as successful a game as it was possible with his little experience and as troubled as he was. And she, because of the great delight of having him all to herself in shadowy hazards where they might kiss and embrace, beginning to tell him of a proposed camping trip which she, Frank Harriet, Wynette Phant, Burchard Taylor, her brother Stuart, Grant Cranston and Bertine, as well as Harley Baggott, Perley Haynes, Jill Trumbull and Violet Taylor, had been organizing for a week, and which was to begin on the morrow afternoon, with a motor trip thirty miles up the lake and then forty miles east to a lake known as Bear, along which, with tents and equipment, they were to canoe to certain beaches and scenes known only to Harley and Frank. Different days, different points. The boys would kill squirrels and catch fish for food. Also there would be moonlight trips to an inn that could be reached by boat, so they said. A servant or two or three from different homes was to accompany them, as well as a chaperon or two. But, oh, the walks in the woods! The opportunities for love⁠—canoe trips on the lake⁠—hours of uninterrupted lovemaking for at least a week!

In spite of all that had occurred thus far to give him pause, he could not help thinking that whatever happened, was it not best to go? How wonderful to have her love him so! And what else here could he do? It would take him out of this, would it not⁠—farther and farther from the scene of the⁠—of the⁠—accident and in case anyone were looking for anyone who looked like him, for instance⁠—well, he would not be around where he could be seen and commented upon. Those three men.

Yet, as it now instantly occurred to him, under no circumstances must he leave here without first finding out as definitely as possible whether anyone was as yet suspected. And once at the Casino, and for the moment left alone, he learned on inquiring at the news stand that there would be no Albany, Utica, or any local afternoon paper there until seven or seven-thirty. He must wait until then to know.

And so although after the lunch there was swimming and dancing, then a return to the Cranstons with Harley Baggott and Bertine⁠—Sondra going to Pine Point, with an agreement to meet him afterwards at the Harriets’ for dinner⁠—still his mind was on the business of getting these papers at the first possible opportunity. Yet unless, as he now saw, he was so fortunate as to be able to stop on his way from the Cranstons’ to the Harriets’ and so obtain one or all, he must manage to come over to this Casino in the morning before leaving for Bear Lake. He must have them. He must know what, if anything, was either being said or done so far in regard to that drowned couple.

But on his way to Harriets’ he was not able to get the papers. They had not come. And none at the Harriets’ either, when he first arrived. Yet sitting on the veranda about a half hour later, talking with the others although brooding as to all this, Sondra herself appeared and said: “Oh, say, people! I’ve got something to tell you. Two people were drowned this morning or yesterday up at Big Bittern, so Blanche Locke was telling me just now over the phone. She’s up at Three Mile Bay today and she says they’ve found the body of the girl but not the man yet. They were drowned in the south part of the lake somewhere, she said.”

At once Clyde sat up, rigid and white, his lips a bloodless line, his eyes fixed not on anything here but rather the distant scene at Big Bittern⁠—the tall pines, the dark water closing over Roberta. Then they had found her body. And now would they believe that his body was down there, too, as he had planned? But, listen! He must hear in spite of his dizziness.

“Gee, that’s tough!” observed Burchard Taylor, stopping his strumming on a mandolin. “Anybody we know?”

“She says she didn’t hear yet.”

“I never did like that lake,” put in Frank Harriet. “It’s too lonely. Dad and I and Mr. Randall were up there fishing last summer, but we didn’t stay long. It’s too gloomy.”

“We were up there three weeks ago⁠—don’t you remember, Sondra?” added Harley Baggott. “You didn’t care for it.”

“Yes, I remember,” replied Sondra. “A dreadfully lonely place. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to go up there for anything.”

“Well, I only hope it isn’t anyone we know from around here,” added Burchard, thoughtfully. “It would put a crimp in the fun around here for a while, anyhow.”

And Clyde unconsciously wet his dry lips with his tongue and swallowed to moisten his already dry throat.

“I don’t suppose any of today’s papers would have anything about it yet. Has anyone looked?” inquired Wynette Phant, who had not heard Sondra’s opening remark.

“There ain’t no papers,” commented Burchard Taylor. “Besides, it’s not likely yet, didn’t Sondra say she just heard it from Blanche Locke over the phone? She’s up near there.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right.”

And yet might not that small local afternoon paper of Sharon⁠—The Banner, wasn’t it⁠—have something as to this? If only he could see it yet tonight!

But another thought! For Heaven’s sake! It came to him now for the first time. His footprints! Were there any