And he thought at once that this was typical of all that seemed to occur in his family.
Here he was just getting a start, trying to be somebody and get along in the world and have a good time.
And here was Esta, after her first venture in the direction of doing something for herself, coming to such a finish as this.
It made him a little sick and resentful.
“How long have you been back, Esta?” he repeated dubiously, scarcely knowing just what to say now, for now that he was here and she was as she was he began to scent expense, trouble, distress and to wish almost that he had not been so curious.
Why need he have been?
It could only mean that he must help.
“Oh, not so very long, Clyde.
About a month, now, I guess. Not more than that.” “I thought so. I saw you up on Eleventh near Baltimore about a month ago, didn’t I?
Sure I did,” he added a little less joyously — a change that Esta noted.
At the same time she nodded her head affirmatively.
“I knew I did.
I told Ma so at the time, but she didn’t seem to think so.
She wasn’t as surprised as I thought she would be, though.
I know why, now.
She acted as though she didn’t want me to tell her about it either.
But I knew I wasn’t wrong.”
He stared at Esta oddly, quite proud of his prescience in this case. He paused though, not knowing quite what else to say and wondering whether what he had just said was of any sense or import.
It didn’t seem to suggest any real aid for her.
And she, not quite knowing how to pass over the nature of her condition, or to confess it, either, was puzzled what to say.
Something had to be done.
For Clyde could see for himself that her predicament was dreadful.
She could scarcely bear the look of his inquiring eyes.
And more to extricate herself than her mother, she finally observed,
“Poor Mamma.
You mustn’t think it strange of her, Clyde.
She doesn’t know what to do, you see, really.
It’s all my fault, of course.
If I hadn’t run away, I wouldn’t have caused her all this trouble.
She has so little to do with and she’s always had such a hard time.”
She turned her back to him suddenly, and her shoulders began to tremble and her sides to heave.
She put her hands to her face and bent her head low — and then he knew that she was silently crying.
“Oh, come now, sis,” exclaimed Clyde, drawing near to her instantly and feeling intensely sorry for her at the moment.
“What’s the matter?
What do you want to cry for?
Didn’t that man that you went away with marry you?”
She shook her head negatively and sobbed the more.
And in that instant there came to Clyde the real psychological as well as sociological and biological import of his sister’s condition.
She was in trouble, pregnant — and with no money and no husband.
That was why his mother had been looking for a room. That was why she had tried to borrow a hundred dollars from him.
She was ashamed of Esta and her condition. She was ashamed of not only what people outside the family would think, but of what he and Julia and Frank might think — the effect of Esta’s condition upon them perhaps — because it was not right, unmoral, as people saw it.
And for that reason she had been trying to conceal it, telling stories about it — a most amazing and difficult thing for her, no doubt.
And yet, because of poor luck, she hadn’t succeeded very well.
And now he was again confused and puzzled, not only by his sister’s condition and what it meant to him and the other members of the family here in Kansas City, but also by his mother’s disturbed and somewhat unmoral attitude in regard to deception in this instance.
She had evaded if not actually deceived him in regard to all this, for she knew Esta was here all the time.
At the same time he was not inclined to be too unsympathetic in that respect toward her — far from it.
For such deception in such an instance had to be, no doubt, even where people were as religious and truthful as his mother, or so he thought.
You couldn’t just let people know.
He certainly wouldn’t want to let people know about Esta, if he could help it.
What would they think?