The thoughts of Clyde at this time in regard to Roberta and his general
situation in Lycurgus were for the most part confused and disturbing.
For had not Gilbert warned him against associating with the help here?
On the other hand, in so far as his actual daily life was concerned,
his condition was socially the same as before. Apart from the fact
that his move to Mrs. Peyton's had taken him into a better street and
neighborhood, he was really not so well off as he had been at Mrs.
Cuppy's. For there at least he had been in touch with those young
people who would have been diverting enough had he felt that it would
have been wise to indulge them. But now, aside from a bachelor brother
who was as old as Mrs. Peyton herself, and a son thirty--slim and
reserved, who was connected with one of the Lycurgus banks--he saw no
one who could or would trouble to entertain him. Like the others with
whom he came in contact, they thought him possessed of relationships
which would make it unnecessary and even a bit presumptuous for them to
suggest ways and means of entertaining him.
On the other hand, while Roberta was not of that high world to which he
now aspired, still there was that about her which enticed him beyond
measure. Day after day and because so much alone, and furthermore
because of so strong a chemic or temperamental pull that was so
definitely asserting itself, he could no longer keep his eyes off
her--or she hers from him. There were evasive and yet strained and
feverish eye-flashes between them. And after one such in his case--a
quick and furtive glance on her part at times--by no means intended to
be seen by him, he found himself weak and then feverish. Her pretty
mouth, her lovely big eyes, her radiant and yet so often shy and
evasive smile. And, oh, she had such pretty arms--such a trim, lithe,
sentient, quick figure and movements. If he only dared be friendly with
her--venture to talk with and then see her somewhere afterwards--if she
only would and if he only dared.
Confusion. Aspiration. Hours of burning and yearning. For indeed he
was not only puzzled but irritated by the anomalous and paradoxical
contrasts which his life here presented--loneliness and wistfulness as
against the fact that it was being generally assumed by such as knew
him that be was rather pleasantly and interestingly employed socially.
Therefore in order to enjoy himself in some way befitting his present
rank, and to keep out of the sight of those who were imagining that
he was being so much more handsomely entertained than he was, he had
been more recently, on Saturday afternoons and Sundays, making idle
sightseeing trips to Gloversville, Fonda, Amsterdam and other places,
as well as Gray and Crum Lakes, where there were boats, beaches
and bathhouses, with bathing suits for rent. And there, because he
was always thinking that if by chance he should be taken up by the
Griffiths, he would need as many social accomplishments as possible,
and by reason of encountering a man who took a fancy to him and who
could both swim and dive, he learned to do both exceedingly well. But
canoeing fascinated him really. He was pleased by the picturesque and
summery appearance he made in an outing shirt and canvas shoes paddling
about Crum Lake in one of the bright red or green or blue canoes that
were leased by the hour. And at such times these summer scenes appeared
to possess an airy, fairy quality, especially with a summer cloud or
two hanging high above in the blue. And so his mind indulged itself in
day dreams as to how it would feel to be a member of one of the wealthy
groups that frequented the more noted resorts of the north--Racquette
Lake--Schroon Lake--Lake George and Champlain--dance, golf, tennis,
canoe with those who could afford to go to such places--the rich of
Lycurgus.
But it was about this time that Roberta with her friend Grace found
Crum Lake and had decided on it, with the approval of Mr. and Mrs.
Newton, as one of the best and most reserved of all the smaller
watering places about here. And so it was that they, too, were already
given to riding out to the pavilion on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon,
and once there following the west shore along which ran a well-worn
footpath which led to clumps of trees, underneath which they sat
and looked at the water, for neither could row a boat or swim. Also
there were wild flowers and berry bushes to be plundered. And from
certain marshy spots, to be reached by venturing out for a score of
feet or more, it was possible to reach and take white lilies with
their delicate yellow hearts. They were decidedly tempting and on two
occasions already the marauders had brought Mrs. Newton large armfuls
of blooms from the fields and shore line here.
On the third Sunday afternoon in July, Clyde, as lonely and rebellious
as ever, was paddling about in a dark blue canoe along the south bank
of the lake about a mile and a half from the boathouse. His coat
and hat were off, and in a seeking and half resentful mood he was
imagining vain things in regard to the type of life he would really
like to lead. At different points on the lake in canoes, or their more
clumsy companions, the rowboats, were boys and girls, men and women.
And over the water occasionally would come their laughter or bits of
their conversation. And in the distance would be other canoes and other
dreamers, happily in love, as Clyde invariably decided, that being to
him the sharpest contrast to his own lorn state.
At any rate, the sight of any other youth thus romantically engaged
with his girl was sufficient to set dissonantly jangling the repressed
and protesting libido of his nature. And this would cause his mind to
paint another picture in which, had fortune favored him in the first
place by birth, he would now be in some canoe on Schroon or Racquette
or Champlain Lake with Sondra Finchley or some such girl, paddling and
looking at the shores of a scene more distingué than this. Or might he
not be riding or playing tennis, or in the evening dancing or racing
from place to place in some high-powered car, Sondra by his side? He
felt so out of it, so lonely and restless and tortured by all that he
saw here, for everywhere that he looked he seemed to see love, romance,
contentment. What to do? Where to go? He could not go on alone like
this forever. He was too miserable.
In memory as well as mood his mind went back to the few gay happy days
he had enjoyed in Kansas City before that dreadful accident--Ratterer,
Hegglund, Higby, Tina Kogel, Hortense, Ratterer's sister Louise--in
short, the gay company of which he was just beginning to be a part
when that terrible accident had occurred. And next to Dillard, Rita,
Zella,--a companionship that would have been better than this,
certainly. Were the Griffiths never going to do any more for him than
this? Had he only come here to be sneered at by his cousin, pushed
aside, or rather completely ignored by all the bright company of which
the children of his rich uncle were a part? And so plainly, from so
many interesting incidents, even now in this dead summertime, he could
see how privileged and relaxed and apparently decidedly happy were
those of that circle. Notices in the local papers almost every day as
to their coming and going here and there, the large and expensive cars
of Samuel as well as Gilbert Griffiths parked outside the main office
entrance on such days as they were in Lycurgus--an occasional group
of young society figures to be seen before the grill of the Lycurgus
Hotel, or before one of the fine homes in Wykeagy Avenue, some one
having returned to the city for an hour or a night.
And in the factory itself, whenever either was there--Gilbert or
Samuel--in the smartest of summer clothes and attended by either
Messrs. Smillie, Latch, Gotboy or Burkey, all high officials of the
company, making a most austere and even regal round of the immense
plant and consulting with or listening to the reports of the various
minor department heads. And yet here was he--a full cousin to this same
Gilbert, a nephew to this distinguished Samuel--being left to drift and
pine by himself, and for no other reason than, as he could now clearly
see, he was not good enough. His father was not as able as this, his
great uncle--his mother (might Heaven keep her) not as distinguished or
as experienced as his cold, superior, indifferent aunt. Might it not be
best to leave? Had he not made a foolish move, after all, in coming on
here? What, if anything, did these high relatives ever intend to do for
him?
In loneliness and resentment and disappointment, his mind now wandered
from the Griffiths and their world, and particularly that beautiful
Sondra Finchley, whom he recalled with a keen and biting thrill, to
Roberta and the world which she as well as he was occupying here. For
although a poor factory girl, she was still so much more attractive
than any of these other girls with whom he was every day in contact.
How unfair and ridiculous for the Griffiths to insist that a man in
his position should not associate with a girl such as Roberta, for
instance, and just because she worked in the mill. He might not even
make friends with her and bring her to some such lake as this or visit
her in her little home on account of that. And yet he could not go with
others more worthy of him, perhaps, for lack of means or contacts. And
besides she was so attractive--very--and especially enticing to him. He
could see her now as she worked with her swift, graceful movements at
her machine. Her shapely arms and hands, her smooth skin and her bright
eyes as she smiled up at him. And his thoughts were played over by
exactly the same emotions that swept him so regularly at the factory.
For poor or not--a working girl by misfortune only--he could see how
he could be very happy with her if only he did not need to marry her.
For now his ambitions toward marriage had been firmly magnetized by the
world to which the Griffiths belonged. And yet his desires were most
colorfully inflamed by her. If only he might venture to talk to her
more--to walk home with her some day from the mill--to bring her out
here to this lake on a Saturday or Sunday, and row about--just to idle
and dream with her.
He rounded a point studded with a clump of trees and bushes and
covering a shallow where were scores of water lilies afloat, their
large leaves resting flat upon the still water of the lake. And on the
bank to the left was a girl standing and looking at them. She had her
hat off and one hand to her eyes for she was facing the sun and was
looking down in the water. Her lips were parted in careless inquiry.
She was very pretty, he thought, as he paused in his paddling to look
at her. The sleeves of a pale blue waist came only to her elbows. And
a darker blue skirt of flannel reconveyed to him the trimness of her
figure. It wasn't Roberta! It couldn't be! Yes, it was!
Almost before he had decided, he was quite beside her, some twenty
feet from the shore, and was looking up at her, his face lit by the
radiance of one who had suddenly, and beyond his belief, realized a
dream. And as though he were a pleasant apparition suddenly evoked out
of nothing and nowhere, a poetic effort taking form out of smoke or
vibrant energy, she in turn stood staring down at him, her lips unable
to resist the wavy line of beauty that a happy mood always brought to
them.
"My, Miss Alden! It is you, isn't it?" he called. "I was wondering
whether it was. I couldn't be sure from out there."
"Why, yes it is," she laughed, puzzled, and again just the least bit
abashed by the reality of him. For in spite of her obvious pleasure
at seeing him again, only thinly repressed for the first moment or
two, she was on the instant beginning to be troubled by her thoughts
in regard to him--the difficulties that contact with him seemed to
prognosticate. For this meant contact and friendship, maybe, and she
was no longer in any mood to resist him, whatever people might think.
And yet here was her friend, Grace Marr. Would she want her to know of
Clyde and her interest in him? She was troubled. And yet she could not
resist smiling and looking at him in a frank and welcoming way. She had
been thinking of him so much and wishing for him in some happy, secure,
commendable way. And now here he was. And there could be nothing more
innocent than his presence here--nor hers.
"Just out for a walk?" he forced himself to say, although, because
of his delight and his fear of her really, he felt not a little
embarrassed now that she was directly before him. At the same time he
added, recalling that she had been looking so intently at the water:
"You want some of these water lilies? Is that what you're looking for?"
"Uh, huh," she replied, still smiling and looking directly at him, for
the sight of his dark hair blown by the wind, the pale blue outing
shirt he wore open at the neck, his sleeves rolled up and the yellow
paddle held by him above the handsome blue boat, quite thrilled her.
If only she could win such a youth for her very own self--just hers
and no one else's in the whole world. It seemed as though this would
be paradise--that if she could have him she would never want anything
else in all the world. And here at her very feet he sat now in this
bright canoe on this clear July afternoon in this summery world--so new
and pleasing to her. And now he was laughing up at her so directly and
admiringly. Her girl friend was far in the rear somewhere looking for
daisies. Could she? Should she?
"I was seeing if there was any way to get out to any of them," she
continued a little nervously, a tremor almost revealing itself in her
voice. "I haven't seen any before just here on this side."
"I'll get you all you want," he exclaimed briskly and gayly. "You just
stay where you are. I'll bring them." But then, bethinking him of how
much more lovely it would be if she were to get in with him, he added:
"But see here--why don't you get in here with me? There's plenty of
room and I can take you anywhere you want to go. There's lots nicer
lilies up the lake here a little way and on the other side too. I saw
hundreds of them over there just beyond that island."
Roberta looked. And as she did, another canoe paddled by, holding a
youth of about Clyde's years and a girl no older than herself. She
wore a white dress and a pink hat and the canoe was green. And far
across the water at the point of the very island about which Clyde
was talking was another canoe--bright yellow with a boy and a girl in
that. She was thinking she would like to get in without her companion,
if possible--with her, if need be. She wanted so much to have him all
to herself. If she had only come out here alone. For if Grace Marr
were included, she would know and later talk, maybe, or think, if she
heard anything else in regard to them ever. And yet if she did not,
there was the fear that he might not like her any more--might even come
to dislike her or give up being interested in her, and that would be
dreadful.
She stood staring and thinking, and Clyde, troubled and pained by her
doubt on this occasion and his own loneliness and desire for her,
suddenly called: "Oh, please don't say no. Just get in, won't you?
You'll like it. I want you to. Then we can find all the lilies you
want. I can let you out anywhere you want to get out--in ten minutes if
you want to."
She marked the "I want you to." It soothed and strengthened her. He had
no desire to take any advantage of her as she could see.
"But I have my friend with me here," she exclaimed almost sadly and
dubiously, for she still wanted to go alone--never in her life had she
wanted any one less than Grace Marr at this moment. Why had she brought
her? She wasn't so very pretty and Clyde might not like her, and that
might spoil the occasion. "Besides," she added almost in the same
breath and with many thoughts fighting her, "maybe I'd better not. Is
it safe?"
"Oh, yes, but maybe you better had," laughed Clyde seeing that she was
yielding. "It's perfectly safe," he added eagerly. Then maneuvering the
canoe next to the bank, which was a foot above the water, and laying
hold of a root to hold it still, he said: "Of course you won't be in
any danger. Call your friend then, if you want to, and I'll row the
two of you. There's room for two and there are lots of water lilies
everywhere over there." He nodded toward the east side of the lake.
Roberta could no longer resist and seized an overhanging branch by
which to steady herself. At the same time she began to call: "Oh,
Gray-ace! Gray-ace! Where are you?" for she had at last decided that it
was best to include her.
A far-off voice as quickly answered: "Hello-o! What do you want?"
"Come up here. Come on. I got something I want to tell you."
"Oh, no, you come on down here. The daisies are just wonderful."
"No, you come on up here. There's some one here that wants to take
us boating." She intended to call this loudly, but somehow her voice
failed and her friend went on gathering flowers. Roberta frowned. She
did not know just what to do. "Oh, very well, then," she suddenly
decided, and straightening up added: "We can row down to where she is,
I guess."
And Clyde, delighted, exclaimed: "Oh, that's just fine. Sure. Do get
in. We'll pick these here first and then if she hasn't come, I'll
paddle down nearer to where she is. Just step square in the center and
that will balance it."
He was leaning back and looking up at her and Roberta was looking
nervously and yet warmly into his eyes. Actually it was as though she
were suddenly diffused with joy, enveloped in a rosy mist.
She balanced one foot. "Will it be perfectly safe?"
"Sure, sure," emphasized Clyde. "I'll hold it safe. Just take hold of
that branch there and steady yourself by that." He held the boat very
still as she stepped. Then, as the canoe careened slightly to one side,
she dropped to the cushioned seat with a little cry. It was like that
of a baby to Clyde.
"It's all right," he reassured her. "Just sit in the center there. It
won't tip over. Gee, but this is funny. I can't make it out quite. You
know just as I was coming around that point I was thinking of you--how
maybe you might like to come out to a place like this sometime. And now
here you are and here I am, and it all happened just like that." He
waved his hand and snapped his fingers.
And Roberta, fascinated by this confession and yet a little frightened
by it, added: "Is that so?" She was thinking of her own thoughts in
regard to him.
"Yes, and what's more," added Clyde, "I've been thinking of you all
day, really. That's the truth. I was wishing I might see you somewhere
this morning and bring you out here."
"Oh, now, Mr. Griffiths. You know you don't mean that," pleaded
Roberta, fearful lest this sudden contact should take too intimate and
sentimental a turn too quickly. She scarcely liked that because she was
afraid of him and herself, and now she looked at him, trying to appear
a little cold or at least disinterested, but it was a very weak effort.
"That's the truth, though, just the same," insisted Clyde.
"Well, I think it is beautiful myself," admitted Roberta. "I've been
out here, too, several times now. My friend and I." Clyde was once more
delighted. She was smiling now and full of wonder.
"Oh, have you?" he exclaimed, and there was more talk as to why he
liked to come out and how he had learned to swim here. "And to think I
turned in here and there you were on the bank, looking at those water
lilies. Wasn't that queer? I almost fell out of the boat. I don't think
I ever saw you look as pretty as you did just now standing there."
"Oh, now, Mr. Griffiths," again pleaded Roberta cautiously. "You
mustn't begin that way. I'll be afraid you're a dreadful flatterer.
I'll have to think you are if you say anything like that so quickly."
Clyde once more gazed at her weakly, and she smiled because she thought
he was more handsome than ever. But what would he think, she added to
herself, if she were to tell him that just before he came around that
point she was thinking of him too, and wishing that he were there with
her, and not Grace. And how they might sit and talk, and hold hands
perhaps. He might even put his arms around her waist, and she might
let him. That would be terrible, as some people here would see it, she
knew. And it would never do for him to know that--never. That would be
too intimate--too bold. But just the same it was so. Yet what would
these people here in Lycurgus think of her and him now if they should
see her, letting him paddle her about in this canoe! He a factory
manager and she an employee in his department. The conclusion! The
scandal, maybe, even. And yet Grace Marr was along--or soon would be.
And she could explain to her--surely. He was out rowing and knew her,
and why shouldn't he help her get some lilies if he wanted to? It was
almost unavoidable--this present situation, wasn't it?
Already Clyde had maneuvered the canoe around so that they were now
among the water lilies. And as he talked, having laid his paddle aside,
he had been reaching over and pulling them up, tossing them with their
long, wet stems at her feet as she lay reclining in the seat, one
hand over the side of the canoe in the water, as she had seen other
girls holding theirs. And for the moment her thoughts were allayed and
modified by the beauty of his head and arms and the tousled hair that
now fell over his eyes. How handsome he was!