An American Tragedy - Theodore Dreiser [397]
“Object!” shouted Mason. “There’s no evidence here to show that he could have returned to Kansas City and been paroled in the custody of his parents.”
“Objection sustained!” boomed the judge from his high throne. “The defense will please confine itself a little more closely to the letter of the testimony.”
“Exception,” noted Belknap, from his seat.
“No, sir. I didn’t know that,” replied Clyde, just the same.
“Anyhow was that the reason after you got away that you changed your name to Tenet as you told me?” continued Jephson.
“Yes, sir.”
“By the way, just where did you get that name of Tenet, Clyde?”
“It was the name of a boy I used to play with in Quincy.”
“Was he a good boy?”
“Object!” called Mason, from his chair. “Incompetent, immaterial, irrelevant.”
“Oh, he might have associated with a good boy in spite of what you would like to have the jury believe, and in that sense it is very relevant,” sneered Jephson.
“Objection sustained!” boomed Justice Oberwaltzer.
“But didn’t it occur to you at the time that he might object or that you might be doing him an injustice in using his name to cover the identity of a fellow who was running away?”
“No, sir—I thought there were lots of Tenets.”
An indulgent smile might have been expected at this point, but so antagonistic and bitter was the general public toward Clyde that such levity was out of the question in this courtroom.
“Now listen, Clyde,” continued Jephson, having, as he had just seen, failed to soften the mood of the throng, “you cared for your mother, did you?—or didn’t you?”
Objection and argument finally ending in the question being allowed.
“Yes, sir, certainly I cared for her,” replied Clyde—but after a slight hesitancy which was noticeable—a tightening of the throat and a swelling and sinking of the chest as he exhaled and inhaled.
“Much?”
“Yes, sir—much.” He didn’t venture to look at any one now.
“Hadn’t she always done as much as she could for you, in her way?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, then, Clyde, how was it, after all that, and even though that dreadful accident had occurred, you could run away and stay away so long without so much as one word to tell her that you were by no means as guilty as you seemed and that she shouldn’t worry because you were working and trying to be a good boy again?”
“But I did write her—only I didn’t sign my name.”
“I see. Anything else?”
“Yes, sir. I sent her a little money. Ten dollars once.”
“But you didn’t think of going back at all?”
“No, sir. I was afraid that if I went back they might arrest me.”
“In other words,” and here Jephson emphasized this with great clearness, “you were a moral and mental coward, as Mr. Belknap, my colleague, said.”
“I object to this interpretation of this defendant’s testimony for the benefit of the jury!” interrupted Mason.
“This defendant’s testimony really needs no interpretation. It is very plain and honest, as any one can see,” quickly interjected Jephson.
“Objection sustained!” called the judge. “Proceed. Proceed.”
“And it was because you were a moral and mental coward as I see it, Clyde—not that I am condemning you for anything that you cannot help. (After all, you didn’t make yourself, did you?)”
But this was too much, and the judge here cautioned him to use more discretion in framing his future questions.
“Then you went about in Alton, Peoria, Bloomington, Milwaukee, and Chicago—hiding away in small rooms in back streets and working as a dishwasher or soda fountain man, or a driver, and changing your name to Tenet when you really might have gone back to Kansas City and resumed your old place?” continued Jephson.
“I object! I object!” yelled Mason. “There is no evidence here to show that he could have gone there and resumed his old place.”
“Objection sustained,” ruled Oberwaltzer, although at the time in Jephson’s pocket