AN AMERICAN TRAGEDY. Theodore Dreiser

as he was, were seated upon a long bench near him, or were to be seen darting here and there, sometimes, returning to this one with a slip of paper or a key or note of some kind, and then seating themselves upon the bench to await another call apparently, which seemed to come swiftly enough. A telephone upon the small desk at which stood the uniformed youth was almost constantly buzzing, and after ascertaining what was wanted, this youth struck a small bell before him, or called “front,” to which the first boy on the bench, responded. Once called, they went hurrying up one or the other stairs or toward one of the several entrances or elevators, and almost invariably were to be seen escorting individuals whose bags and suitcases and overcoats and golf sticks they carried. There were others who disappeared and returned, carrying drinks on trays or some package or other, which they were taking to one of the rooms above. Plainly this was the work that he should be called upon to do, assuming that he would be so fortunate as to connect himself with such an institution as this.

      And it was all so brisk and enlivening that he wished that he might be so fortunate as to secure a position here. But would he be? And where was Mr. Squires? He approached the youth at the small desk: “Do you know where I will find Mr. Squires?” he asked.

      “Here he comes now,” replied the youth, looking up and examining Clyde with keen, gray eyes.

      Clyde gazed in the direction indicated, and saw approaching a brisk and dapper and decidedly sophisticated-looking person of perhaps twenty-nine or thirty years of age. He was so very slender, keen, hatchet-faced and well-dressed that Clyde was not only impressed but overawed at once — a very shrewd and cunning-looking person. His nose was so long and thin, his eyes so sharp, his lips thin, and chin pointed.

      “Did you see that tall, gray-haired man with the Scotch plaid shawl who went through here just now?” he paused to say to his assistant at the desk. The assistant nodded. “Well, they tell me that’s the Earl of Landreil. He just came in this morning with fourteen trunks and four servants. Can you beat it! He’s somebody in Scotland. That isn’t the name he travels under, though, I hear. He’s registered as Mr. Blunt. Can you beat that English stuff? They can certainly lay on the class, eh?”

      “You said it!” replied his assistant deferentially.

      He turned for the first time, glimpsing Clyde, but paying no attention to him. His assistant came to Clyde’s aid.

      “That young fella there is waiting to see you,” he explained.

      “You want to see me?” queried the captain of the bellhops, turning to Clyde, and observing his none-too-good clothes, at the same time making a comprehensive study of him.

      “The gentleman in the drug store,” began Clyde, who did not quite like the looks of the man before him, but was determined to present himself as agreeably as possible, “was saying — that is, he said that I might ask you if there was any chance here for me as a bell- boy. I’m working now at Klinkle’s drug store at 7th and Brooklyn, as a helper, but I’d like to get out of that and he said you might — that is — he thought you had a place open now.” Clyde was so flustered and disturbed by the cool, examining eyes of the man before him that he could scarcely get his breath properly, and swallowed hard.

      For the first time in his life, it occurred to him that if he wanted to get on he ought to insinuate himself into the good graces of people — do or say something that would make them like him. So now he contrived an eager, ingratiating smile, which he bestowed on Mr. Squires, and added: “If you’d like to give me a chance, I’d try very hard and I’d be very willing.”

      The man before him merely looked at him coldly, but being the soul of craft and self-acquisitiveness in a petty way, and rather liking anybody who had the skill and the will to be diplomatic, he now put aside an impulse to shake his head negatively, and observed: “But you haven’t had any training in this work.”

      “No, sir, but couldn’t I pick it up pretty quick if I tried hard?”

      “Well, let me see,” observed the head of the bell-hops, scratching his head dubiously. “I haven’t any time to talk to you now. Come around Monday afternoon. I’ll see you then.” He turned on his heel and walked away.

      Clyde, left alone in this fashion, and not knowing just what it meant, stared, wondering. Was it really true that he had been invited to come back on Monday? Could it be possible that — He turned and hurried out, thrilling from head to toe. The idea! He had asked this man for a place in the very finest hotel in Kansas City and he had asked him to come back and see him on Monday. Gee! what would that mean? Could it be possible that he would be admitted to such a grand world as this — and that so speedily? Could it really be?

      Chapter 5

       Table of Contents

      The imaginative flights of Clyde in connection with all this — his dreams of what it might mean for him to be connected with so glorious an institution — can only be suggested. For his ideas of luxury were in the main so extreme and mistaken and gauche — mere wanderings of a repressed and unsatisfied fancy, which as yet had had nothing but imaginings to feed it.

      He went back to his old duties at the drug-store — to his home after hours in order to eat and sleep — but now for the balance of this Friday and Saturday and Sunday and Monday until late in the day, he walked on air, really. His mind was not on what he was doing, and several times his superior at the drugstore had to remind him to “wake-up.” And after hours, instead of going directly home, he walked north to the corner of 14th and Baltimore, where stood this great hotel, and looked at it. There, at midnight even, before each of the three principal entrances — one facing each of three streets — was a doorman in a long maroon coat with many buttons and a high-rimmed and long-visored maroon cap. And inside, behind looped and fluted French silk curtains, were the still blazing lights, the a la carte dining-room and the American grill in the basement near one corner still open. And about them were many taxis and cars. And there was music always — from somewhere.

      After surveying it all this Friday night and again on Saturday and Sunday morning, he returned on Monday afternoon at the suggestion of Mr. Squires and was greeted by that individual rather crustily, for by then he had all but forgotten him. But seeing that at the moment he was actually in need of help, and being satisfied that Clyde might be of service, he led him into his small office under the stair, where, with a very superior manner and much actual indifference, he proceeded to question him as to his parentage, where he lived, at what he had worked before and where, what his father did for a living — a poser that for Clyde, for he was proud and so ashamed to admit that his parents conducted a mission and preached on the streets. Instead he replied (which was true at times) that his father canvassed for a washing machine and wringer company — and on Sundays preached — a religious revelation, which was not at all displeasing to this master of boys who were inclined to be anything but home-loving and conservative. Could he bring a reference from where he now was? He could.

      Mr. Squires proceeded to explain that this hotel was very strict. Too many boys, on account of the scenes and the show here, the contact made with undue luxury to which they were not accustomed — though these were not the words used by Mr. Squires — were inclined to lose their heads and go wrong. He was constantly being forced to discharge boys who, because they made a little extra money, didn’t know how to conduct themselves. He must have boys who were willing, civil, prompt, courteous to everybody. They must be clean and neat about their persons and clothes and show up promptly — on the dot — and in good condition for the work every day. And any boy who got to thinking that because he made a little money he could flirt with anybody or talk back, or go off on parties at night, and then not show up on time or too tired to be quick and bright, needn’t think that he would be here long. He would be fired, and that promptly. He would not tolerate any nonsense. That must be understood now, once and for all.

      Clyde nodded assent often and interpolated a few eager “yes, sirs” and “no, sirs,” and assured him at the last that it was the furtherest thing from his thoughts and temperament to dream of any such high crimes