An American Tragedy - Theodore Dreiser [306]
“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 any one wanting to go up there for anything.”
“Well, I only hope it isn’t any one 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 to-day’s papers would have anything about it yet. Has any one 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 in the mud of that shore? He had not even stopped to look, climbing out so hastily as he did. And might there not have been? And then would they not know and proceed to follow him—the man those three men saw? Clifford Golden! That ride down this morning. His going out to the Cranstons’ in their car. That wet suit over in the room at the Cranstons’! Had any one in his absence been in his room as yet to look, examine, inquire—open his bag, maybe? An officer? God! It was there in his bag. But why in his bag or anywhere else near him now? Why had he not hidden it before this—thrown it in the lake here, maybe, with a stone in it? That would keep it down. God! What was he thinking in the face of such a desperate situation as this? Supposing he did need the suit!
He was now up, standing—mentally and physically frozen really—his eyes touched with a stony glaze for the moment. He must get out of here. He must go back there, at once, and dispose of that suit— drop it in the lake—hide it somewhere in those woods beyond the house! And yet—he could not do that so swiftly, either—leave so instantly after this light conversation about the drowning of those two people. How would that look?
And as instantly there came the thought—no—be calm—show no trace of excitement of any kind, if you can manage it—appear cool—make some unimportant remark, if you can.
And so now, mustering what nervous strength he had, and drawing near to Sondra, he said: “Too bad, eh?” Yet in a voice that for all its thinly-achieved normality was on the borderline of shaking and trembling. His knees and his hands, also.
“Yes, it certainly is,” replied Sondra, turning to him alone now. “I always hate to hear of anything like that, don’t you? Mother worries so about Stuart and me fooling around these lakes as it is.”
“Yes, I know.” His voice was thick and heavy. He could scarcely form the words. They were smothered, choked. His lips tightened to a thinner white line than before. His face grew paler still.
“Why, what’s the matter, Clydie?” Sondra asked, of a sudden, looking at him more closely. “You look so pale! Your eyes. Anything wrong? Aren’t you feeling well tonight, or is it this light out here?”
She turned to look at some of the others in order to make sure, then back at him. And he, feeling the extreme importance of looking anything but the way she was describing him now drew himself up as best he could, and replied: “Oh, no. It must be the light, I guess. Sure, it’s the light. I had—a—a hard day yesterday, that’s all. I shouldn’t have come over tonight, I suppose.” And then achieving the weirdest and most impossible of smiles. And Sondra, gazing most sympathetically, adding: “Was he so tired? My Clydie-mydie boy, after his work yesterday. Why didn’t my baby boy tell me that this morning instead of doing all that we did today? Want me to get Frank to run you down to the Cranstons’ now? Or maybe you’d like to go up in his room and lie down? He won