第5天 ! 纽约三人行

 He passed his hand over the brown wash-rag ofa back. "Look at that coat. Some coat. That's a dog that'll never botheryou with catching cold."

"Ithink it's cute," said Mrs. Wilson enthusiastically. "How much isit?"

"Thatdog?" He looked at it admiringly. "That dog will cost you tendollars."

Theairedale--undoubtedly there was an airedale concerned in it somewhere thoughits feet were startlingly white--changed hands and settled down into Mrs.Wilson's lap, where she fondled the weather-proof coat with rapture.

"Isit a boy or a girl?" she asked delicately.

"Thatdog? That dog's a boy."

"It'sa bitch," said Tom decisively. "Here's your money. Go and buy tenmore dogs with it."

Wedrove over to Fifth Avenue, so warm and soft, almost pastoral, on the summerSunday afternoon that I wouldn't have been surprised to see a great flock ofwhite sheep turn the corner.

"Holdon," I said, "I have to leave you here."

"No,you don't," interposed Tom quickly. "Myrtle'll be hurt if you don'tcome up to the apartment. Won't you, Myrtle?"

"Comeon," she urged. "I'll telephone my sister Catherine. She's said to bevery beautiful by people who ought to know."

"Well,I'd like to, but----"

Wewent on, cutting back again over the Park toward the West Hundreds.

At158th Street the cab stopped at one slice in a long white cake of apartmenthouses. Throwing a regal homecoming glance around the neighborhood, Mrs. Wilsongathered up her dog and her other purchases and went haughtily in.

"I'mgoing to have the McKees come up," she announced as we rose in theelevator. "And of course I got to call up my sister, too."

Theapartment was on the top floor--a small living room, a small dining room, asmall bedroom and a bath. The living room was crowded to the doors with a setof tapestried furniture entirely too large for it so that to move about was tostumble continually over scenes of ladies swinging in the gardens ofVersailles. The only picture was an over-enlarged photograph, apparently a hensitting on a blurred rock. Looked at from a distance however the hen resolveditself into a bonnet and the countenance of a stout old lady beamed down intothe room. Several old copies of "Town Tattle "lay on the tabletogether with a copy of "Simon Called Peter" and some of the smallscandal magazines of Broadway. Mrs. Wilson was first concerned with the dog. Areluctant elevator boy went for a box full of straw and some milk to which headded on his own initiative a tin of large hard dog biscuits--one of whichdecomposed apathetically in the saucer of milk all afternoon. Meanwhile Tombrought out a bottle of whiskey from a locked bureau door.

Ihave been drunk just twice in my life and the second time was that afternoon soeverything that happened has a dim hazy cast over it although until after eighto'clock the apartment was full of cheerful sun. Sitting on Tom's lap Mrs.Wilson called up several people on the telephone; then there were no cigarettesand I went out to buy some at the drug store on the corner. When I came backthey had disappeared so I sat down discreetly in the living room and read achapter of "Simon Called Peter"--either it was terrible stuff or thewhiskey distorted things because it didn't make any sense to me.

Justas Tom and Myrtle--after the first drink Mrs. Wilson and I called each other byour first names--reappeared, company commenced to arrive at the apartment door.

Thesister, Catherine, was a slender, worldly girl of about thirty with a solidsticky bob of red hair and a complexion powdered milky white. Her eyebrows hadbeen plucked and then drawn on again at a more rakish angle but the efforts ofnature toward the restoration of the old alignment gave a blurred air to herface. When she moved about there was an incessant clicking as innumerablepottery bracelets jingled up and down upon her arms. She came in with such aproprietary haste and looked around so possessively at the furniture that Iwondered if she lived here. But when I asked her she laughed immoderately,repeated my question aloud and told me she lived with a girl friend at a hotel.

Mr.McKee was a pale feminine man from the flat below. He had just shaved for therewas a white spot of lather on his cheekbone and he was most respectful in hisgreeting to everyone in the room. He informed me that he was in the"artistic game" and I gathered later that he was a photographer andhad made the dim enlargement of Mrs.

Wilson'smother which hovered like an ectoplasm on the wall. His wife was shrill,languid, handsome and horrible. She told me with pride that her husband hadphotographed her a hundred and twenty-seven times since they had been married.

Mrs.Wilson had changed her costume some time before and was now attired in anelaborate afternoon dress of cream colored chiffon, which gave out a continualrustle as she swept about the room.

Withthe influence of the dress her personality had also undergone a change. Theintense vitality that had been so remarkable in the garage was converted intoimpressive hauteur. Her laughter, her gestures, her assertions became moreviolently affected moment by moment and as she expanded the room grew smalleraround her until she seemed to be revolving on a noisy, creaking pivot throughthe smoky air.

"Mydear," she told her sister in a high mincing shout, "most of thesefellas will cheat you every time. All they think of is money. I had a woman uphere last week to look at my feet and when she gave me the bill you'd ofthought she had my appendicitus out."

"Whatwas the name of the woman?" asked Mrs. McKee.

"Mrs.Eberhardt. She goes around looking at people's feet in their own homes."

"Ilike your dress," remarked Mrs. McKee, "I think it's adorable."

Mrs.Wilson rejected the compliment by raising her eyebrow in disdain.

"It'sjust a crazy old thing," she said. "I just slip it on sometimes whenI don't care what I look like."

"Butit looks wonderful on you, if you know what I mean," pursued Mrs. McKee."If Chester could only get you in that pose I think he could makesomething of it."

Weall looked in silence at Mrs. Wilson who removed a strand of hair from over hereyes and looked back at us with a brilliant smile. Mr. McKee regarded herintently with his head on one side and then moved his hand back and forthslowly in front of his face.

"Ishould change the light," he said after a moment. "I'd like to bringout the modelling of the features. And I'd try to get hold of all the backhair."

"Iwouldn't think of changing the light," cried Mrs. McKee. "I thinkit's----"

Herhusband said "SH!" and we all looked at the subject again whereuponTom Buchanan yawned audibly and got to his feet.

"YouMcKees have something to drink," he said. "Get some more ice andmineral water, Myrtle, before everybody goes to sleep."

"Itold that boy about the ice." Myrtle raised her eyebrows in despair at theshiftlessness of the lower orders. "These people! You have to keep afterthem all the time."

Shelooked at me and laughed pointlessly. Then she flounced over to the dog, kissedit with ecstasy and swept into the kitchen, implying that a dozen chefs awaitedher orders there.

"I'vedone some nice things out on Long Island," asserted Mr. McKee.

Tomlooked at him blankly.

"Twoof them we have framed downstairs."

"Twowhat?" demanded Tom.

"Twostudies. One of them I call 'Montauk Point--the Gulls,' and the other I call'Montauk Point--the Sea.' "

Thesister Catherine sat down beside me on the couch.

"Doyou live down on Long Island, too?" she inquired.

"Ilive at West Egg."

"Really?I was down there at a party about a month ago. At a man named Gatsby's. Do youknow him?"

"Ilive next door to him."

"Well,they say he's a nephew or a cousin of Kaiser Wilhelm's. That's where all hismoney comes from."

"Really?"

Shenodded.

"I'mscared of him. I'd hate to have him get anything on me."