The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald : Chapter 9. After two years I remember the rest of that day, and that night and the next day, only as an endless drill of police and photographers and newspaper men in and out of Gatsby. A rope stretched across the main gate and a policeman by it kept out the curious, but little boys soon discovered that they could enter through my yard, and there were always a few of them clustered open- mouthed about the pool. Someone with a positive manner, perhaps a detective, used the expression . She showed a surprising amount of character about it too . She convinced herself of it, and cried into her handkerchief, as if the very suggestion was more than she could endure.
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Wilson was reduced to a man . And it rested there. But all this part of it seemed remote and unessential. I found myself on Gatsby. From the moment I telephoned news of the catastrophe to West Egg village, every surmise about him, and every practical question, was referred to me. At first I was surprised and confused; then, as he lay in his house and didn. But she and Tom had gone away early that afternoon, and taken baggage with them.?
How I could reach them? I wanted to go into the room where he lay and reassure him: .
The butler gave me his office address on Broadway, and I called Information, but by the time I had the number it was long after five, and no one answered the phone. But, as they drew back the sheet and looked at Gatsby with unmoved eyes, his protest continued in my brain. But there was nothing . That request seemed superfluous when I wrote it. Wolfsheim arrived; no one arrived except more police and photographers and newspaper men. When the butler brought back Wolfsheim.
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This has been one of the most terrible shocks of my life to me I hardly can believe it that it is true at all. Such a mad act as that man did should make us all think. I cannot come down now as I am tied up in some very important business and cannot get mixed up in this thing now. If there is anything I can do a little later let me know in a letter by Edgar. I hardly know where I am when I hear about a thing like this and am completely knocked down and out.
Yours truly Meyer Wolfshiemand then hasty addenda beneath: Let me know about the funeral etc. Do not know his family at all. When the phone rang that afternoon and Long Distance said Chicago was calling I thought this would be Daisy at last. But the connection came through as a man. They got a circular from New York giving . You never can tell in these hick towns . Gatz arrived from a town in Minnesota.
It said only that the sender was leaving immediately and to postpone the funeral until he came. It was Gatsby. His eyes leaked continuously with excitement, and when I took the bag and umbrella from his hands he began to pull so incessantly at his sparse gray beard that I had difficulty in getting off his coat. He was on the point of collapse, so I took him into the music room and made him sit down while I sent for something to eat. I started right away.
Where have they got Jimmy? Some little boys had come up on the steps and were looking into the hall; when I told them who had arrived, they went reluctantly away. After a little while Mr.
Gatz opened the door and came out, his mouth ajar, his face flushed slightly, his eyes leaking isolated and unpunctual tears. He had reached an age where death no longer has the quality of ghastly surprise, and when he looked around him now for the first time and saw the height and splendor of the hall and the great rooms opening out from it into other rooms, his grief began to be mixed with an awed pride. I helped him to a bedroom up- stairs; while he took off his coat and vest I told him that all arrangements had been deferred until he came. I thought you might want to take the body West. He rose up to his position in the East.
Were you a friend of my boy. He was only a young man, but he had a lot of brain power here. They were hard to find.
What I called up about is . My address is care of B. However, that was my fault, for he was one of those who used to sneer most bitterly at Gatsby on the courage of Gatsby. The door that I pushed open, on the advice of an elevator boy, was marked . Carraway wants to see him. In a moment Meyer Wolfsheim stood solemnly in the doorway, holding out both hands.
He drew me into his office, remarking in a reverent voice that it was a sad time for all of us, and offered me a cigar. He was so hard up he had to keep on wearing his uniform because he couldn. First time I saw him was when he come into Winebrenner. He ate more than four dollars! I saw right away he was a fine- appearing, gentlemanly young man, and when he told me he was at Oggsford I knew I could use him good.
I got him to join up in the American Legion and he used to stand high there. Right off he did some work for a client of mine up to Albany. We were so thick like that in everything. When I was a young man it was different . After changing my clothes I went next door and found Mr.
Gatz walking up and down excitedly in the hall. His pride in his son and in his son. He pointed out every detail to me eagerly. He had shown it so often that I think it was more real to him now than the house itself. Had you seen him lately? Of course we was broke up when he run off from home, but I see now there was a reason for it.
He knew he had a big future in front of him. And ever since he made a success he was very generous with me. Then he returned the wallet and pulled from his pocket a ragged old copy of a book called Hopalong Cassidy. On the last fly- leaf was printed the word Schedule, and the date September 1.
Rise from bed. He always had some resolves like this or something. Do you notice what he? He was always great for that. He told me I et like a hog once, and I beat him for it. I think he rather expected me to copy down the list for my own use. A little before three the Lutheran minister arrived from Flushing, and I began to look involuntarily out the windows for other cars. And as the time passed and the servants came in and stood waiting in the hall, his eyes began to blink anxiously, and he spoke of the rain in a worried, uncertain way.
The minister glanced several times at his watch, so I took him aside and asked him to wait for half an hour. Nobody came. About five o. Gatz and the minister and I in the limousine, and a little later four or five servants and the postman from West Egg in Gatsby. As we started through the gate into the cemetery I heard a car stop and then the sound of someone splashing after us over the soggy ground. It was the man with owl- eyed glasses whom I had found marvelling over Gatsby.
The rain poured down his thick glasses, and he took them off and wiped them to see the protecting canvas unrolled from Gatsby. Dimly I heard someone murmur, . Owl- eyes spoke to me by the gate.
Those who went farther than Chicago would gather in the old dim Union Station at six o. I remember the fur coats of the girls returning from Miss This- or- that? And last the murky yellow cars of the Chicago, Milwaukee and St.
Paul railroad looking cheerful as Christmas itself on the tracks beside the gate. When we pulled out into the winter night and the real snow, our snow, began to stretch out beside us and twinkle against the windows, and the dim lights of small Wisconsin stations moved by, a sharp wild brace came suddenly into the air. We drew in deep breaths of it as we walked back from dinner through the cold vestibules, unutterably aware of our identity with this country for one strange hour, before we melted indistinguishably into it again. That. I am part of that, a little solemn with the feel of those long winters, a little complacent from growing up in the Carraway house in a city where dwellings are still called through decades by a family.
I see now that this has been a story of the West, after all . West Egg, especially, still figures in my more fantastic dreams. I see it as a night scene by El Greco: a hundred houses, at once conventional and grotesque, crouching under a sullen, overhanging sky and a lustreless moon. In the foreground four solemn men in dress suits are walking along the sidewalk with a stretcher on which lies a drunken woman in a white evening dress. Her hand, which dangles over the side, sparkles cold with jewels.
Gravely the men turn in at a house . But no one knows the woman. So when the blue smoke of brittle leaves was in the air and the wind blew the wet laundry stiff on the line I decided to come back home. There was one thing to be done before I left, an awkward, unpleasant thing that perhaps had better have been let alone. But I wanted to leave things in order and not just trust that obliging and indifferent sea to sweep my refuse away.
I saw Jordan Baker and talked over and around what had happened to us together, and what had happened afterward to me, and she lay perfectly still, listening, in a big chair. She was dressed to play golf, and I remember thinking she looked like a good illustration, her chin raised a little jauntily, her hair the color of an autumn leaf, her face the same brown tint as the fingerless glove on her knee. When I had finished she told me without comment that she was engaged to another man. I doubted that, though there were several she could have married at a nod of her head, but I pretended to be surprised. For just a minute I wondered if I wasn. Well, I met another bad driver, didn? I mean it was careless of me to make such a wrong guess.
I thought you were rather an honest, straightforward person. I thought it was your secret pride. Angry, and half in love with her, and tremendously sorry, I turned away. One afternoon late in October I saw Tom Buchanan.
He was walking ahead of me along Fifth Avenue in his alert, aggressive way, his hands out a little from his body as if to fight off interference, his head moving sharply here and there, adapting itself to his restless eyes. Just as I slowed up to avoid overtaking him he stopped and began frowning into the windows of a jewelry store.