An American Tragedy - Theodore Dreiser [274]
And all this time Roberta at his side was imagining that she was not going to anything but marriage—tomorrow morning sure; and now only to the passing pleasure of seeing this beautiful lake of which he had been talking—talking, as though it were something more important and delectable than any that had as yet been in her or his life for that matter.
But now the guide was speaking again, and to him: “You’re not mindin’ to stay over, I suppose. I see you left the young lady’s bag over there.” He nodded in the direction of Gun Lodge.
“No, we’re going on down tonight—on that 8:10. You take people over to that?”
“Oh, sure.”
“They said you did—at Grass Lake.”
But now why should he have added that reference to Grass Lake, for that showed that he and Roberta had been there before coming here. But this fool with his reference to “the young lady’s bag”! And leaving it at Gun Lodge. The Devil! Why shouldn’t he mind his own business? Or why should he have decided that he and Roberta were not married? Or had he so decided? At any rate, why such a question when they were carrying two bags and he had brought one? Strange! The effrontery! How should he know or guess or what? But what harm could it do—married or unmarried? If she were not found—”married or unmarried” would make no difference, would it? And if she were, and it was discovered that she was not married, would that not prove that she was off with some one else? Of course! So why worry over that now?
And Roberta asking: “Are there any hotels or boarding houses on the lake besides this one we’re going to?”
“Not a one, miss, outside o’ the inn that we’re goin’ to. There was a crowd of young fellers and girls campin’ over on the east shore, yisterday, I believe, about a mile from the inn—but whether they’re there now or not, I dunno. Ain’t seen none of ‘em to-day.”
A crowd of young fellows and girls! For God’s sake! And might not they now be out on the water—all of them—rowing—or sailing—or what? And he here with her! Maybe some of them from Twelfth Lake! Just as he and Sondra and Harriet and Stuart and Bertine had come up two weeks before—some of them friends of the Cranstons, Harriets, Finchleys or others who had come up here to play and who would remember him, of course. And again, then, there must be a road to the east of this lake. And all this knowledge and their presence there now might make this trip of his useless. Such silly plotting! Such pointless planning as this—when at least he might have taken more time—chosen a lake still farther away and should have—only so tortured had he been for these last many days, that he could scarcely think how to think. Well, all he could do now was to go and see. If there were many he must think of some way to row to some real lonely spot or maybe turn and return to Grass Lake—or where? Oh, what could or would he do—if there were many over here?
But just then a long aisle of green trees giving out at the far end as he now recalled upon a square of lawn, and the lake itself, the little inn with its pillared verandah, facing the dark blue waters of Big Bittern. And that low, small red-roofed boathouse to the right on the water that he had seen before when he was here. And Roberta exclaiming on sight, “Oh, it is pretty, isn’t it—just beautiful.” And Clyde surveying that dark, low island in the distance, to the south, and seeing but few people about—none on the lake itself—exclaiming nervously, “Yes, it is, you bet.” But feeling half choked as he said it.
And now the host of the inn himself appearing and approaching—a medium-sized, red-faced, broad-shouldered man who was saying most intriguingly, “Staying over for a few days?”
But Clyde, irritated by this new development and after paying the guide a dollar, replying crustily and irritably, “No, no—just came over for the afternoon. We’re going on down tonight.”
“You’ll be staying over for dinner then, I suppose? The train doesn’t leave till eight-fifteen.”
“Oh, yes—that’s so. Sure. Yes, well, in that case, we will.” … For, of course, Roberta on her honeymoon—the day before her wedding and on a trip like this, would be expecting her dinner. Damn this stocky, red-faced fool, anyway.