But the remedy he purchased failed to work. And because of nausea and
his advice she had not gone to the factory, but lay about worrying.
But, no saving result appearing, she began to take two pills every hour
instead of one--eager at any cost to escape the fate which seemingly
had overtaken her. And this made her exceedingly sick--so much so that
when Clyde arrived at six-thirty he was really moved by her deathly
white face, drawn cheeks and large and nervous eyes, the pupils of
which were unduly dilated. Obviously she was facing a crisis, and
because of him, and, while it frightened, at the same time it made him
sorry for her. Still, so confused and perplexed was he by the problem
which her unchanged state presented to him that his mind now leaped
forward to the various phases and eventualities of such a failure
as this. The need of additional advice or service of some physician
somewhere! But where and how and who? And besides, as he now asked
himself, where was he to obtain the money in any such event?
Plainly in view of no other inspiration it was necessary for him to
return to the druggist at once and there inquire if there was anything
else--some other drug or some other thing that one might do. Or if not
that, then some low-priced shady doctor somewhere, who, for a small
fee, or a promise of payments on time, would help in this case.
Yet even though this other matter was so important--tragic
almost---once outside his spirits lifted slightly. For he now recalled
that he had an appointment with Sondra at the Cranstons', where at nine
he and she, along with a number of others, were to meet and play about
as usual--a party. Yet once at the Cranstons', and despite the keen
allurement of Sondra, he could not keep his mind off Roberta's state,
which rose before him as a specter. Supposing now any one of those whom
he found gathered here--Nadine Harriet, Perley Haynes, Violet Taylor,
Jill Trumbull, Bella, Bertine, and Sondra, should gain the least
inkling of the scene he had just witnessed? In spite of Sondra at the
piano throwing him a welcoming smile over her shoulder as he entered,
his thoughts were on Roberta. He must go around there again after this
was over, to see how she was and so relieve his own mind in case she
were better. In case she was not, he must write to Ratterer at once for
advice.
In spite of his distress he was trying to appear as gay and unconcerned
as ever--dancing first with Perley Haynes and then with Nadine and
finally, while waiting for a chance to dance with Sondra, he approached
a group who were trying to help Vanda Steele solve a new scenery
puzzle and asserted that he could read messages written on paper and
sealed in envelopes (the old serial letter trick which he had found
explained in an ancient book of parlor tricks discovered on a shelf
at the Peytons'). It had been his plan to use it before in order to
give himself an air of ease and cleverness, but to-night he was using
it to take his mind off the greater problem that was weighing on him.
And, although with the aid of Nadine Harriet, whom he took into his
confidence, he succeeded in thoroughly mystifying the others, still his
mind was not quite on it. Roberta was always there. Supposing something
should really be wrong with her and he could not get her out of it. She
might even expect him to marry her, so fearful was she of her parents
and people. What would he do then? He would lose the beautiful Sondra
and she might even come to know how and why he had lost her. But that
would be wild of Roberta to expect him to do that. He would not do it.
He could not do it.
One thing was certain. He must get her out of this. He must! But how?
How?
And although at twelve o'clock Sondra signaled that she was ready to
go and that if he chose he might accompany her to her door (and even
stop in for a few moments) and although once there, in the shade of a
pergola which ornamented the front gate, she had allowed him to kiss
her and told him that she was beginning to think he was the nicest ever
and that the following spring when the family moved to Twelfth Lake
she was going to see if she couldn't think of some way by which she
could arrange to have him there over week-ends, still, because of this
pressing problem in connection with Roberta, Clyde was so worried that
he was not able to completely enjoy this new and to him exquisitely
thrilling demonstration of affection on her part--this new and amazing
social and emotional victory of his.
He must send that letter to Ratterer to-night. But before that he must
return to Roberta as he had promised and find out if she was better.
And after that he must go over to Schenectady in the morning, sure,
to see the druggist over there. For something must be done about this
unless she were better to-night.
And so, with Sondra's kisses thrilling on his lips, he left her to go
to Roberta, whose white face and troubled eyes told him as he entered
her room that no change had taken place. If anything she was worse and
more distressed than before, the larger dosage having weakened her to
the point of positive illness. However, as she said, nothing mattered
if only she could get out of this--that she would almost be willing
to die rather than face the consequences. And Clyde, realizing what
she meant and being so sincerely concerned for himself, appeared in
part distressed for her. However, his previous indifference and the
manner in which he had walked off and left her alone this very evening
prevented her from feeling that there was any abiding concern in him
for her now. And this grieved her terribly. For she sensed now that he
did not really care for her any more, even though now he was saying
that she mustn't worry and that it was likely that if these didn't work
he would get something else that would; that he was going back to the
druggist at Schenectady the first thing in the morning to see if there
wasn't something else that he could suggest.
But the Gilpins had no telephone, and since he never ventured to call
at her room during the day and he never permitted her to call him at
Mrs. Peyton's, his plan in this instance was to pass by the following
morning before work. If she were all right, the two front shades would
be raised to the top; if not, then lowered to the center. In that case
he would depart for Schenectady at once, telephoning Mr. Liggett that
he had some outside duties to perform.
Just the same, both were terribly depressed and fearful as to what this
should mean for each of them. Clyde could not quite assure himself
that, in the event that Roberta was not extricated, he would be able
to escape without indemnifying her in some form which might not mean
just temporary efforts to aid her, but something more--marriage,
possibly--since already she had reminded him that he had promised to
see her through. But what had he really meant by that at the time that
he said it, he now asked himself. Not marriage, most certainly, since
his thought was not that he had ever wanted to marry her, but rather
just to play with her happily in love, although, as he well knew, she
had no such conception of his eager mood at that time. He was compelled
to admit to himself that she had probably thought his intentions were
more serious or she would not have submitted to him at all.
But reaching home, and after writing and mailing the letter to
Ratterer, Clyde passed a troubled night. Next morning he paid a visit
to the druggist at Schenectady, the curtains of Roberta's windows
having been lowered to the center when he passed. But on this occasion
the latter had no additional aid to offer other than the advisability
of a hot and hence weakening bath, which he had failed to mention in
the first instance. Also some wearying form of physical exercise. But
noting Clyde's troubled expression and judging that the situation was
causing him great worry, he observed: "Of course, the fact that your
wife has skipped a month doesn't mean that there is anything seriously
wrong, you know. Women do that sometimes. Anyhow, you can't ever be
sure until the second month has passed. Any doctor will tell you that.
If she's nervous, let her try something like this. But even if it fails
to work, you can't be positive. She might be all right next month just
the same."
Thinly cheered by this information, Clyde was about to depart, for
Roberta might be wrong. He and she might be worrying needlessly.
Still--he was brought up with a round turn as he thought of it--there
might be real danger, and waiting until the end of the second period
would only mean that a whole month had elapsed and nothing helpful
accomplished--a freezing thought. In consequence he now observed: "In
case things don't come right, you don't happen to know of a doctor she
could go to, do you? This is rather a serious business for both of us,
and I'd like to get her out of it if I could."
Something about the way in which Clyde said this--his extreme
nervousness as well as his willingness to indulge in a form of
malpractice which the pharmacist by some logic all his own considered
very different from just swallowing a preparation intended to achieve
the same result--caused him to look suspiciously at Clyde, the thought
stirring in his brain that very likely after all Clyde was not married,
also that this was one of those youthful affairs which spelled license
and future difficulty for some unsophisticated girl. Hence his mood now
changed, and instead of being willing to assist, he now said coolly:
"Well, there may be a doctor around here, but if so I don't know. And I
wouldn't undertake to send any one to a doctor like that. It's against
the law. It would certainly go hard with any doctor around here who
was caught doing that sort of thing. That's not to say, though, that
you aren't at liberty to look around for yourself, if you want to,"
he added gravely, giving Clyde a suspicious and examining glance, and
deciding it were best if he had nothing further to do with such a
person.
Clyde therefore returned to Roberta with the same prescription renewed,
although she had most decidedly protested that, since the first box
had not worked, it was useless to get more. But since he insisted, she
was willing to try the drug the new way, although the argument that a
cold or nerves was the possible cause was only sufficient to convince
her that Clyde was at the end of his resources in so far as she was
concerned, or if not that, he was far from being alive to the import of
this both to herself and to him. And supposing this new treatment did
not work, then what? Was he going to stop now and let the thing rest
there?
Yet so peculiar was Clyde's nature that in the face of his fears
in regard to his future, and because it was far from pleasant to
be harried in this way and an infringement on his other interests,
the assurance that the delay of a month might not prove fatal was
sufficient to cause him to be willing to wait, and that rather
indifferently, for that length of time. Roberta might be wrong. She
might be making all this trouble for nothing. He must see how she felt
after she had tried this new way.
But the treatment failed. Despite the fact that in her distress Roberta
returned to the factory in order to weary herself, until all the girls
in the department assured her that she must be ill--that she should
not be working when she looked and plainly felt so bad--still nothing
came of it. And the fact that Clyde could dream of falling back on the
assurance of the druggist that a first month's lapse was of no import
only aggravated and frightened her the more.
The truth was that in this crisis he was as interesting an illustration
of the enormous handicaps imposed by ignorance, youth, poverty and fear
as one could have found. Technically he did not even know the meaning
of the word "midwife," or the nature of the services performed by her.
(And there were three here in Lycurgus at this time in the foreign
family section.) Again, he had been in Lycurgus so short a time, and
apart from the young society men and Dillard whom he had cut, and the
various department heads at the factory, he knew no one--an occasional
barber, haberdasher, cigar dealer and the like, the majority of whom,
as he saw them, were either too dull or too ignorant for his purpose.
One thing, however, which caused him to pause before ever he decided
to look up a physician was the problem of who was to approach him
and how. To go himself was simply out of the question. In the first
place, he looked too much like Gilbert Griffiths, who was decidedly
too well-known here and for whom he might be mistaken. Next, it was
unquestionable that, being as well-dressed as he was, the physician
would want to charge him more, maybe, than he could afford and ask him
all sorts of embarrassing questions, whereas if it could be arranged
through some one else--the details explained before ever Roberta was
sent--Why not Roberta herself! Why not? She looked so simple and
innocent and unassuming and appealing at all times. And in such a
situation as this, as depressed and downcast as she was, well.... For
after all, as he now casuistically argued with himself, it was she and
not he who was facing the immediate problem which had to be solved.
And again, as it now came to him, would she not be able to get it done
cheaper? For looking as she did now, so distrait--If only he could get
her to say that she had been deserted by some young man, whose name she
would refuse to divulge, of course, well, what physician seeing a girl
like her alone and in such a state--no one to look after her--would
refuse her? It might even be that he would help her out for nothing.
Who could tell? And that would leave him clear of it all.
And in consequence he now approached Roberta, intending to prepare her
for the suggestion that, assuming that he could provide a physician
and the nature of his position being what it was, she must speak for
herself. But before he had spoken she at once inquired of him as
to what, if anything, more he had heard or done. Wasn't some other
remedy sold somewhere? And this giving him the opportunity he desired,
he explained: "Well, I've asked around and looked into most of the
drug-stores and they tell me if this one won't work that none will.
That leaves me sorta stumped now, unless you're willing to go and see
a doctor. But the trouble with that is they're hard to find--the ones
who'll do anything and keep their mouths shut. I've talked with several
fellows without saying who it's for, of course, but it ain't so easy to
get one around here, because they are all too much afraid. It's against
the law, you see. But what I want to know now is, supposing I find a
doctor who would do it, will you have the nerve to go and see him and
tell him what the trouble is? That's what I want to know."
She looked at him dazedly, not quite grasping that he was hinting
that she was to go entirely alone, but rather assuming that of course
he meant to go with her. Then, her mind concentrating nervously upon
the necessity of facing a doctor in his company, she first exclaimed:
"Oh, dear, isn't it terrible to think of us having to go to a doctor
in this way? Then he'll know all about us, won't he? And besides it's
dangerous, isn't it, although I don't suppose it could be much worse
than those old pills." She went off into more intimate inquiries as to
what was done and how, but Clyde could not enlighten her.
"Oh, don't be getting nervous over that now," he said. "It isn't
anything that's going to hurt you, I know. Besides we'll be lucky if we
find some one to do it. What I want to know is if I do find a doctor,
will you be willing to go to him alone?" She started as if struck, but
unabashed now he went on, "As things stand with me here, I can't go
with you, that's sure. I'm too well known around here, and besides I
look too much like Gilbert and he's known to everybody. If I should be
mistaken for him, or be taken for his cousin or relative, well, then
the jig's up."
His eyes were not only an epitome of how wretched he would feel were
he exposed to all Lycurgus for what he was, but also in them lurked
a shadow of the shabby rôle he was attempting to play in connection
with her--in hiding thus completely behind her necessity. And yet so
tortured was he by the fear of what was about to befall him in case
he did not succeed in so doing, that he was now prepared, whatever
Roberta might think or say, to stand his ground. But Roberta, sensing
only the fact that he was thinking of sending her alone, now exclaimed
incredulously: "Not alone, Clyde! Oh, no, I couldn't do that! Oh,
dear, no! Why, I'd be frightened to death. Oh, dear, no. Why, I'd be
so frightened I wouldn't know what to do. Just think how I'd feel,
trying to explain to him alone. I just couldn't do that. Besides, how
would I know what to say--how to begin? You'll just have to go with
me at first, that's all, and explain, or I never can go--I don't care
what happens." Her eyes were round and excited and her face, while
registering all the depression and fear that had recently been there,
was transfigured by definite opposition.
But Clyde was not to be shaken either.
"You know how it is with me here, Bert. I can't go, and that's all
there is to it. Why, supposing I were seen--supposing some one should
recognize me? What then? You know how much I've been going around
here since I've been here. Why, it's crazy to think that I could go.
Besides, it will be a lot easier for you than for me. No doctor's going
to think anything much of your coming to him, especially if you're
alone. He'll just think you're some one who's got in trouble and with
no one to help you. But if I go, and it should be any one who knows
anything about the Griffiths, there'd be the deuce to pay. Right off
he'd think I was stuffed with money. Besides, if I didn't do just what
he wanted me to do afterwards, he could go to my uncle, or my cousin,
and then, good-night! That would be the end of me. And if I lost my
place here now, and with no money and that kind of a scandal connected
with me, where do you suppose I would be after that, or you either? I
certainly couldn't look after you then. And then what would you do? I
should think you'd wake up and see what a tough proposition this is. My
name can't be pulled into this without trouble for both of us. It's got
to be kept out, that's all, and the only way for me to keep it out is
for me to stay away from any doctor. Besides, he'd feel a lot sorrier
for you than he would for me. You can't tell me!"
His eyes were distressed and determined, and, as Roberta could gather
from his manner, a certain hardness, or at least defiance, the result
of fright, showed in every gesture. He was determined to protect
his own name, come what might--a fact which, because of her own
acquiescence up to this time, still carried great weight with her.
"Oh, dear! dear!" she exclaimed, nervously and sadly now, the growing
and drastic terror of the situation dawning upon her, "I don't see
how we are to do then. I really don't. For I can't do that and that's
all there is to it. It's all so hard--so terrible. I'd feel too much
ashamed and frightened to ever go alone."
But even as she said this she began to feel that she might, and even
would, go alone, if must be. For what else was there to do? And how
was she to compel him, in the face of his own fears and dangers, to
jeopardize his position here? He began once more, in self-defense more
than from any other motive:
"Besides, unless this thing isn't going to cost very much, I don't see
how I'm going to get by with it anyhow, Bert. I really don't. I don't
make so very much, you know--only twenty-five dollars up to now."
(Necessity was at last compelling him to speak frankly with Roberta.)
"And I haven't saved anything--not a cent. And you know why as well as
I do. We spent the most of it together. Besides if I go and he thought
I had money, he might want to charge me more than I could possibly
dig up. But if you go and just tell him how things are--and that you
haven't got anything--if you'd only say I'd run away or something,
see--"
He paused because, as he said it, he saw a flicker of shame, contempt,
despair at being connected with anything so cheap and shabby, pass
over Roberta's face. And yet in spite of this sly and yet muddy
tergiversation on his part--so great is the compelling and enlightening
power of necessity--she could still see that there was some point to
his argument. He might be trying to use her as a foil, a mask, behind
which he, and she too for that matter, was attempting to hide. But just
the same, shameful as it was, here were the stark, bald headlands of
fact, and at their base the thrashing, destroying waves of necessity.
She heard him say: "You wouldn't have to give your right name, you
know, or where you came from. I don't intend to pick out any doctor
right around here, see. Then, if you'd tell him you didn't have much
money--just your weekly salary--"
She sat down weakly to think, the while this persuasive trickery
proceeded from him--the import of most of his argument going straight
home. For as false and morally meretricious as this whole plan was,
still, as she could see for herself, her own as well as Clyde's
situation was desperate. And as honest and punctilious as she might
ordinarily be in the matter of truth-telling and honest-dealing,
plainly this was one of those whirling tempests of fact and reality in
which the ordinary charts and compasses of moral measurement were for
the time being of small use.
And so, insisting then that they go to some doctor far away, Utica
or Albany, maybe--but still admitting by this that she would go--the
conversation was dropped. And he having triumphed in the matter of
excepting his own personality from this, took heart to the extent, at
least, of thinking that at once now, by some hook or crook, he must
find a doctor to whom he could send her. Then his terrible troubles in
connection with all this would be over. And after that she could go her
way, as surely she must; then, seeing that he would have done all that
he could for her he would go his to the glorious dénouement that lay
directly before him in case only this were adjusted.