第2天 ! 看望布坎农夫妇

Hisspeaking voice, a gruff husky tenor, added to the impression of fractiousnesshe conveyed. There was a touch of paternal contempt in it, even toward peoplehe liked--and there were men at New Haven who had hated his guts.

"Now,don't think my opinion on these matters is final," he seemed to say,"just because I'm stronger and more of a man than you are." We werein the same Senior Society, and while we were never intimate I always had theimpression that he approved of me and wanted me to like him with some harsh,defiant wistfulness of his own.

Wetalked for a few minutes on the sunny porch.

"I'vegot a nice place here," he said, his eyes flashing about restlessly.

Turningme around by one arm he moved a broad flat hand along the front vista,including in its sweep a sunken Italian garden, a half acre of deep pungentroses and a snub-nosed motor boat that bumped the tide off shore.

"Itbelonged to Demaine the oil man." He turned me around again, politely andabruptly. "We'll go inside."

Wewalked through a high hallway into a bright rosy-colored space, fragilely boundinto the house by French windows at either end.

Thewindows were ajar and gleaming white against the fresh grass outside thatseemed to grow a little way into the house. A breeze blew through the room,blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them uptoward the frosted wedding cake of the ceiling--and then rippled over thewine-colored rug, making a shadow on it as wind does on the sea.

Theonly completely stationary object in the room was an enormous couch on whichtwo young women were buoyed up as though upon an anchored balloon. They wereboth in white and their dresses were rippling and fluttering as if they hadjust been blown back in after a short flight around the house. I must havestood for a few moments listening to the whip and snap of the curtains and thegroan of a picture on the wall.

Thenthere was a boom as Tom Buchanan shut the rear windows and the caught wind diedout about the room and the curtains and the rugs and the two young womenballooned slowly to the floor.

Theyounger of the two was a stranger to me. She was extended full length at herend of the divan, completely motionless and with her chin raised a little as ifshe were balancing something on it which was quite likely to fall. If she sawme out of the corner of her eyes she gave no hint of it--indeed, I was almostsurprised into murmuring an apology for having disturbed her by coming in.

Theother girl, Daisy, made an attempt to rise--she leaned slightly forward with aconscientious expression--then she laughed, an absurd, charming little laugh,and I laughed too and came forward into the room.

"I'mp-paralyzed with happiness."

Shelaughed again, as if she said something very witty, and held my hand for amoment, looking up into my face, promising that there was no one in the worldshe so much wanted to see. That was a way she had.

Shehinted in a murmur that the surname of the balancing girl was Baker.

(I'veheard it said that Daisy's murmur was only to make people lean toward her; anirrelevant criticism that made it no less charming.)

Atany rate Miss Baker's lips fluttered, she nodded at me almost imperceptibly andthen quickly tipped her head back again--the object she was balancing hadobviously tottered a little and given her something of a fright. Again a sortof apology arose to my lips. Almost any exhibition of complete self sufficiencydraws a stunned tribute from me.

Ilooked back at my cousin who began to ask me questions in her low, thrillingvoice. It was the kind of voice that the ear follows up and down as if eachspeech is an arrangement of notes that will never be played again. Her face wassad and lovely with bright things in it, bright eyes and a bright passionatemouth--but there was an excitement in her voice that men who had cared for herfound difficult to forget: a singing compulsion, a whispered "Listen,"a promise that she had done gay, exciting things just a while since and thatthere were gay, exciting things hovering in the next hour.

Itold her how I had stopped off in Chicago for a day on my way east and how adozen people had sent their love through me.

"Dothey miss me?" she cried ecstatically.

"Thewhole town is desolate. All the cars have the left rear wheel painted black asa mourning wreath and there's a persistent wail all night along the NorthShore."

"Howgorgeous! Let's go back, Tom. Tomorrow!" Then she added irrelevantly,"You ought to see the baby."

"I'dlike to."

"She'sasleep. She's two years old. Haven't you ever seen her?"

"Never."

"Well,you ought to see her. She's----"

TomBuchanan who had been hovering restlessly about the room stopped and rested hishand on my shoulder.

"Whatyou doing, Nick?"

"I'ma bond man."

"Whowith?"

Itold him.

"Neverheard of them," he remarked decisively.

Thisannoyed me.

"Youwill," I answered shortly. "You will if you stay in the East."

"Oh,I'll stay in the East, don't you worry," he said, glancing at Daisy andthen back at me, as if he were alert for something more.

"I'dbe a God Damned fool to live anywhere else."

Atthis point Miss Baker said "Absolutely!" with such suddenness that Istarted--it was the first word she uttered since I came into the room.

Evidentlyit surprised her as much as it did me, for she yawned and with a series ofrapid, deft movements stood up into the room.

"I'mstiff," she complained, "I've been lying on that sofa for as long asI can remember."

"Don'tlook at me," Daisy retorted. "I've been trying to get you to New Yorkall afternoon."

"No,thanks," said Miss Baker to the four cocktails just in from the pantry,"I'm absolutely in training."

Herhost looked at her incredulously.

"Youare!" He took down his drink as if it were a drop in the bottom of aglass. "How you ever get anything done is beyond me."

Ilooked at Miss Baker wondering what it was she "got done." I enjoyedlooking at her. She was a slender, small-breasted girl, with an erect carriagewhich she accentuated by throwing her body backward at the shoulders like ayoung cadet. Her grey sun-strained eyes looked back at me with politereciprocal curiosity out of a wan, charming discontented face. It occurred to menow that I had seen her, or a picture of her, somewhere before.

"Youlive in West Egg," she remarked contemptuously. "I know somebodythere."

"Idon't know a single----"

"Youmust know Gatsby."

"Gatsby?"demanded Daisy. "What Gatsby?"

BeforeI could reply that he was my neighbor dinner was announced; wedging his tensearm imperatively under mine Tom Buchanan compelled me from the room as thoughhe were moving a checker to another square.

Slenderly,languidly, their hands set lightly on their hips the two young women precededus out onto a rosy-colored porch open toward the sunset where four candlesflickered on the table in the diminished wind.

"WhyCANDLES?" objected Daisy, frowning. She snapped them out with her fingers."In two weeks it'll be the longest day in the year."

Shelooked at us all radiantly. "Do you always watch for the longest day ofthe year and then miss it? I always watch for the longest day in the year andthen miss it."

"Weought to plan something," yawned Miss Baker, sitting down at the table asif she were getting into bed.

"Allright," said Daisy. "What'll we plan?" She turned to mehelplessly.

"Whatdo people plan?"

BeforeI could answer her eyes fastened with an awed expression on her little finger.

"Look!"she complained. "I hurt it."

Weall looked--the knuckle was black and blue.

"Youdid it, Tom," she said accusingly. "I know you didn't mean to but youDID do it. That's what I get for marrying a brute of a man, a great big hulkingphysical specimen of a----"

"Ihate that word hulking," objected Tom crossly, "even inkidding."

"Hulking,"insisted Daisy.

Sometimesshe and Miss Baker talked at once, unobtrusively and with a banteringinconsequence that was never quite chatter, that was as cool as their whitedresses and their impersonal eyes in the absence of all desire. They werehere--and they accepted Tom and me, making only a polite pleasant effort toentertain or to be entertained. They knew that presently dinner would be overand a little later the evening too would be over and casually put away. It wassharply different from the West where an evening was hurried from phase tophase toward its close in a continually disappointed anticipation or else insheer nervous dread of the moment itself.

"Youmake me feel uncivilized, Daisy," I confessed on my second glass of corkybut rather impressive claret. "Can't you talk about crops orsomething?"

Imeant nothing in particular by this remark but it was taken up in an unexpectedway.

"Civilization'sgoing to pieces," broke out Tom violently.

"I'vegotten to be a terrible pessimist about things. Have you read 'The Rise of theColoured Empires' by this man Goddard?"

"Why,no," I answered, rather surprised by his tone.

"Well,it's a fine book, and everybody ought to read it. The idea is if we don't lookout the white race will be--will be utterly submerged.

It'sall scientific stuff; it's been proved."

"Tom'sgetting very profound," said Daisy with an expression of unthoughtfulsadness. "He reads deep books with long words in them.

Whatwas that word we----"

"Well,these books are all scientific," insisted Tom, glancing at herimpatiently. "This fellow has worked out the whole thing. It's up to uswho are the dominant race to watch out or these other races will have controlof things."

"We'vegot to beat them down," whispered Daisy, winking ferociously toward thefervent sun.

"Youought to live in California--" began Miss Baker but Tom interrupted her byshifting heavily in his chair.

"Thisidea is that we're Nordics. I am, and you are and you are and----" Afteran infinitesimal hesitation he included Daisy with a slight nod and she winkedat me again. "--and we've produced all the things that go to makecivilization--oh, science and art and all that.

Doyou see?"

Therewas something pathetic in his concentration as if his complacency, more acutethan of old, was not enough to him any more. When, almost immediately, thetelephone rang inside and the butler left the porch Daisy seized upon themomentary interruption and leaned toward me.

"I'lltell you a family secret," she whispered enthusiastically. "It'sabout the butler's nose. Do you want to hear about the butler's nose?"

"That'swhy I came over tonight."

"Well,he wasn't always a butler; he used to be the silver polisher for some people inNew York that had a silver service for two hundred people.

Hehad to polish it from morning till night until finally it began to affect hisnose----"

"Thingswent from bad to worse," suggested Miss Baker.

"Yes.Things went from bad to worse until finally he had to give up hisposition."