An American Tragedy - Theodore Dreiser [162]
“I’ll tell you what, though,” she went on after a period of reflection, “I have a sister living in Homer, New York. That’s about thirty-five miles north of here. I might say I was going up there some Saturday afternoon or Sunday. She’s been writing me to come up, but I hadn’t thought of it before. But I might go—that is—I might—”
“Oh, why not do that?” exclaimed Clyde eagerly. “That’s fine! A good idea!”
“Let me see,” she added, ignoring his exclamation. “If I remember right you have to go to Fonda first, then change cars there. But I could leave here any time on the trolley and there are only two trains a day from Fonda, one at two, and one at seven on Saturday. So I might leave here any time before two, you see, and then if I didn’t make the two o’clock train, it would be all right, wouldn’t it? I could go on the seven. And you could be over there, or meet me on the way, just so no one here saw us. Then I could go on and you could come back. I could arrange that with Agnes, I’m sure. I would have to write her.”
“How about all the time between then and now, though?” he queried peevishly. “It’s a long time till then, you know.”
“Well, I’ll have to see what I can think of, but I’m not sure, dear. I’ll have to see. And you think too. But I ought to be going back now,” she added nervously. She at once arose, causing Clyde to rise, too, and consult his watch, thereby discovering that it was already near ten.
“But what about us!” he continued persistently. “Why couldn’t you pretend next Sunday that you’re going to some other church than yours and meet me somewhere instead? Would they have to know?”
At once Clyde noted Roberta’s face darken slightly, for here he was encroaching upon something that was still too closely identified with her early youth and convictions to permit infringement.
“Hump, uh,” she replied quite solemnly. “I wouldn’t want to do that. I wouldn’t feel right about it. And it wouldn’t be right, either.”
Immediately Clyde sensed that he was treading on dangerous ground and withdrew the suggestion because he did not care to offend or frighten her in any way. “Oh, well. Just as you say. I only thought since you don’t seem to be able to think of any other way.”
“No, no, dear,” she pleaded softly, because she noted that he felt that she might be offended. “It’s all right, only I wouldn’t want to do that. I couldn’t.”
Clyde shook his head. A recollection of his own youthful inhibitions caused him to feel that perhaps it was not right for him to have suggested it.
They returned in the direction of Taylor Street without, apart from the proposed trip to Fonda, either having hit upon any definite solution. Instead, after kissing her again and again and just before letting her go, the best he could suggest was that both were to try and think of some way by which they could meet before, if possible. And she, after throwing her arms about his neck for a moment, ran east along Taylor Street, her little figure swaying in the moonlight.
However, apart from another evening meeting which was made possible by Roberta’s announcing a second engagement with Mrs. Braley, there was no other encounter until the following Saturday when Roberta departed for Fonda. And Clyde, having ascertained the exact hour, left by the car ahead, and joined Roberta at the first station west. From that point on until evening, when she was compelled to take the seven o’clock train, they were unspeakably happy together, loitering near the little city comparatively strange to both.
For outside of Fonda a few miles they came to a pleasure park called Starlight where, in addition to a few clap-trap pleasure concessions such as a ring of captive aeroplanes, a Ferris wheel, a merry-go-round, an old mill and a dance floor, was a small lake with boats. It was