{"id":23,"date":"2021-06-01T11:12:25","date_gmt":"2021-06-01T15:12:25","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.ryerson.ca\/thegreatgatsby\/chapter\/the-project-gutenberg-ebook-of-the-great-gatsby-3\/"},"modified":"2022-02-02T09:39:20","modified_gmt":"2022-02-02T14:39:20","slug":"5","status":"publish","type":"chapter","link":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thegreatgatsby\/chapter\/5\/","title":{"raw":"Chapter V","rendered":"Chapter V"},"content":{"raw":"When I came home to West Egg that night I was afraid for a moment that my house was on fire. Two o\u2019clock and the whole corner of the peninsula was blazing with light, which fell unreal on the shrubbery and made thin elongating glints upon the roadside wires. Turning a corner, I saw that it was Gatsby\u2019s house, lit from tower to cellar.\r\n\r\nAt first I thought it was another party, a wild rout that had resolved itself into \u201chide-and-go-seek\u201d or \u201csardines-in-the-box\u201d with all the house thrown open to the game. But there wasn\u2019t a sound. Only wind in the trees, which blew the wires and made the lights go off and on again as if the house had winked into the darkness. As my taxi groaned away I saw Gatsby walking toward me across his lawn.\r\n\r\n\u201cYour place looks like the World\u2019s Fair,\u201d I said.\r\n\r\n\u201cDoes it?\u201d He turned his eyes toward it absently. \u201cI have been glancing into some of the rooms. Let\u2019s go to Coney Island, old sport. In my car.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cIt\u2019s too late.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cWell, suppose we take a plunge in the swimming pool? I haven\u2019t made use of it all summer.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cI\u2019ve got to go to bed.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cAll right.\u201d\r\n\r\nHe waited, looking at me with suppressed eagerness.\r\n\r\n\u201cI talked with Miss Baker,\u201d I said after a moment. \u201cI\u2019m going to call up Daisy tomorrow and invite her over here to tea.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cOh, that\u2019s all right,\u201d he said carelessly. \u201cI don\u2019t want to put you to any trouble.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cWhat day would suit you?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cWhat day would suit you<\/i>?\u201d he corrected me quickly. \u201cI don\u2019t want to put you to any trouble, you see.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cHow about the day after tomorrow?\u201d\r\n\r\nHe considered for a moment. Then, with reluctance: \u201cI want to get the grass cut,\u201d he said.\r\n\r\nWe both looked down at the grass\u2014there was a sharp line where my ragged lawn ended and the darker, well-kept expanse of his began. I suspected that he meant my grass.\r\n\r\n\u201cThere\u2019s another little thing,\u201d he said uncertainly, and hesitated.\r\n\r\n\u201cWould you rather put it off for a few days?\u201d I asked.\r\n\r\n\u201cOh, it isn\u2019t about that. At least\u2014\u201d He fumbled with a series of beginnings. \u201cWhy, I thought\u2014why, look here, old sport, you don\u2019t make much money, do you?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cNot very much.\u201d\r\n\r\nThis seemed to reassure him and he continued more confidently.\r\n\r\n\u201cI thought you didn\u2019t, if you\u2019ll pardon my\u2014you see, I carry on a little business on the side, a sort of side line, you understand. And I thought that if you don\u2019t make very much\u2014You\u2019re selling bonds, aren\u2019t you, old sport?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cTrying to.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cWell, this would interest you. It wouldn\u2019t take up much of your time and you might pick up a nice bit of money. It happens to be a rather confidential sort of thing.\u201d\r\n\r\nI realize now that under different circumstances that conversation might have been one of the crises of my life. But, because the offer was obviously and tactlessly for a service to be rendered, I had no choice except to cut him off there.\r\n\r\n\u201cI\u2019ve got my hands full,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019m much obliged but I couldn\u2019t take on any more work.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cYou wouldn\u2019t have to do any business with Wolfshiem.\u201d Evidently he thought that I was shying away from the \u201cgonnegtion\u201d mentioned at lunch, but I assured him he was wrong. He waited a moment longer, hoping I\u2019d begin a conversation, but I was too absorbed to be responsive, so he went unwillingly home.\r\n\r\nThe evening had made me lightheaded and happy; I think I walked into a deep sleep as I entered my front door. So I don\u2019t know whether or not Gatsby went to Coney Island, or for how many hours he \u201cglanced into rooms\u201d while his house blazed gaudily on. I called up Daisy from the office next morning, and invited her to come to tea.\r\n\r\n\u201cDon\u2019t bring Tom,\u201d I warned her.\r\n\r\n\u201cWhat?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cDon\u2019t bring Tom.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cWho is \u2018Tom\u2019?\u201d she asked innocently.\r\n\r\nThe day agreed upon was pouring rain. At eleven o\u2019clock a man in a raincoat, dragging a lawn-mower, tapped at my front door and said that Mr. Gatsby had sent him over to cut my grass. This reminded me that I had forgotten to tell my Finn to come back, so I drove into West Egg Village to search for her among soggy whitewashed alleys and to buy some cups and lemons and flowers.\r\n\r\nThe flowers were unnecessary, for at two o\u2019clock a greenhouse arrived from Gatsby\u2019s, with innumerable receptacles to contain it. An hour later the front door opened nervously, and Gatsby in a white flannel suit, silver shirt, and gold-coloured tie, hurried in. He was pale, and there were dark signs of sleeplessness beneath his eyes.\r\n\r\n\u201cIs everything all right?\u201d he asked immediately.\r\n\r\n\u201cThe grass looks fine, if that\u2019s what you mean.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cWhat grass?\u201d he inquired blankly. \u201cOh, the grass in the yard.\u201d He looked out the window at it, but, judging from his expression, I don\u2019t believe he saw a thing.\r\n\r\n\u201cLooks very good,\u201d he remarked vaguely. \u201cOne of the papers said they thought the rain would stop about four. I think it was The Journal<\/i>. Have you got everything you need in the shape of\u2014of tea?\u201d\r\n\r\nI took him into the pantry, where he looked a little reproachfully at the Finn. Together we scrutinized the twelve lemon cakes from the delicatessen shop.\r\n\r\n\u201cWill they do?\u201d I asked.\r\n\r\n\u201cOf course, of course! They\u2019re fine!\u201d and he added hollowly, \u201c\u2026 old sport.\u201d\r\n\r\nThe rain cooled about half-past three to a damp mist, through which occasional thin drops swam like dew. Gatsby looked with vacant eyes through a copy of Clay\u2019s Economics<\/i>, starting at the Finnish tread that shook the kitchen floor, and peering towards the bleared windows from time to time as if a series of invisible but alarming happenings were taking place outside. Finally he got up and informed me, in an uncertain voice, that he was going home.\r\n\r\n\u201cWhy\u2019s that?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cNobody\u2019s coming to tea. It\u2019s too late!\u201d He looked at his watch as if there was some pressing demand on his time elsewhere. \u201cI can\u2019t wait all day.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cDon\u2019t be silly; it\u2019s just two minutes to four.\u201d\r\n\r\nHe sat down miserably, as if I had pushed him, and simultaneously there was the sound of a motor turning into my lane. We both jumped up, and, a little harrowed myself, I went out into the yard.\r\n\r\nUnder the dripping bare lilac-trees a large open car was coming up the drive. It stopped. Daisy\u2019s face, tipped sideways beneath a three-cornered lavender hat, looked out at me with a bright ecstatic smile.\r\n\r\n\u201cIs this absolutely where you live, my dearest one?\u201d\r\n\r\nThe exhilarating ripple of her voice was a wild tonic in the rain. I had to follow the sound of it for a moment, up and down, with my ear alone, before any words came through. A damp streak of hair lay like a dash of blue paint across her cheek, and her hand was wet with glistening drops as I took it to help her from the car.\r\n\r\n\u201cAre you in love with me,\u201d she said low in my ear, \u201cor why did I have to come alone?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cThat\u2019s the secret of Castle Rackrent. Tell your chauffeur to go far away and spend an hour.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cCome back in an hour, Ferdie.\u201d Then in a grave murmur: \u201cHis name is Ferdie.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cDoes the gasoline affect his nose?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cI don\u2019t think so,\u201d she said innocently. \u201cWhy?\u201d\r\n\r\nWe went in. To my overwhelming surprise the living-room was deserted.\r\n\r\n\u201cWell, that\u2019s funny,\u201d I exclaimed.\r\n\r\n\u201cWhat\u2019s funny?\u201d\r\n\r\nShe turned her head as there was a light dignified knocking at the front door. I went out and opened it. Gatsby, pale as death, with his hands plunged like weights in his coat pockets, was standing in a puddle of water glaring tragically into my eyes.\r\n\r\nWith his hands still in his coat pockets he stalked by me into the hall, turned sharply as if he were on a wire, and disappeared into the living-room. It wasn\u2019t a bit funny. Aware of the loud beating of my own heart I pulled the door to against the increasing rain.\r\n\r\nFor half a minute there wasn\u2019t a sound. Then from the living-room I heard a sort of choking murmur and part of a laugh, followed by Daisy\u2019s voice on a clear artificial note:\r\n\r\n\u201cI certainly am awfully glad to see you again.\u201d\r\n\r\nA pause; it endured horribly. I had nothing to do in the hall, so I went into the room.\r\n\r\nGatsby, his hands still in his pockets, was reclining against the mantelpiece in a strained counterfeit of perfect ease, even of boredom. His head leaned back so far that it rested against the face of a defunct mantelpiece clock, and from this position his distraught eyes stared down at Daisy, who was sitting, frightened but graceful, on the edge of a stiff chair.\r\n\r\n\u201cWe\u2019ve met before,\u201d muttered Gatsby. His eyes glanced momentarily at me, and his lips parted with an abortive attempt at a laugh. Luckily the clock took this moment to tilt dangerously at the pressure of his head, whereupon he turned and caught it with trembling fingers, and set it back in place. Then he sat down, rigidly, his elbow on the arm of the sofa and his chin in his hand.\r\n\r\n\u201cI\u2019m sorry about the clock,\u201d he said.\r\n\r\nMy own face had now assumed a deep tropical burn. I couldn\u2019t muster up a single commonplace out of the thousand in my head.\r\n\r\n\u201cIt\u2019s an old clock,\u201d I told them idiotically.\r\n\r\nI think we all believed for a moment that it had smashed in pieces on the floor.\r\n\r\n\u201cWe haven\u2019t met for many years,\u201d said Daisy, her voice as matter-of-fact as it could ever be.\r\n\r\n\u201cFive years next November.\u201d\r\n\r\nThe automatic quality of Gatsby\u2019s answer set us all back at least another minute. I had them both on their feet with the desperate suggestion that they help me make tea in the kitchen when the demoniac Finn brought it in on a tray.\r\n\r\nAmid the welcome confusion of cups and cakes a certain physical decency established itself. Gatsby got himself into a shadow and, while Daisy and I talked, looked conscientiously from one to the other of us with tense, unhappy eyes. However, as calmness wasn\u2019t an end in itself, I made an excuse at the first possible moment, and got to my feet.\r\n\r\n\u201cWhere are you going?\u201d demanded Gatsby in immediate alarm.\r\n\r\n\u201cI\u2019ll be back.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cI\u2019ve got to speak to you about something before you go.\u201d\r\n\r\nHe followed me wildly into the kitchen, closed the door, and whispered: \u201cOh, God!\u201d in a miserable way.\r\n\r\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the matter?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cThis is a terrible mistake,\u201d he said, shaking his head from side to side, \u201ca terrible, terrible mistake.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cYou\u2019re just embarrassed, that\u2019s all,\u201d and luckily I added: \u201cDaisy\u2019s embarrassed too.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cShe\u2019s embarrassed?\u201d he repeated incredulously.\r\n\r\n\u201cJust as much as you are.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cDon\u2019t talk so loud.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cYou\u2019re acting like a little boy,\u201d I broke out impatiently. \u201cNot only that, but you\u2019re rude. Daisy\u2019s sitting in there all alone.\u201d\r\n\r\nHe raised his hand to stop my words, looked at me with unforgettable reproach, and, opening the door cautiously, went back into the other room.\r\n\r\nI walked out the back way\u2014just as Gatsby had when he had made his nervous circuit of the house half an hour before\u2014and ran for a huge black knotted tree, whose massed leaves made a fabric against the rain. Once more it was pouring, and my irregular lawn, well-shaved by Gatsby\u2019s gardener, abounded in small muddy swamps and prehistoric marshes. There was nothing to look at from under the tree except Gatsby\u2019s enormous house, so I stared at it, like Kant at his church steeple, for half an hour. A brewer had built it early in the \u201cperiod\u201d craze, a decade before, and there was a story that he\u2019d agreed to pay five years\u2019 taxes on all the neighbouring cottages if the owners would have their roofs thatched with straw. Perhaps their refusal took the heart out of his plan to Found a Family\u2014he went into an immediate decline. His children sold his house with the black wreath still on the door. Americans, while willing, even eager, to be serfs, have always been obstinate about being peasantry.\r\n\r\nAfter half an hour, the sun shone again, and the grocer\u2019s automobile rounded Gatsby\u2019s drive with the raw material for his servants\u2019 dinner\u2014I felt sure he wouldn\u2019t eat a spoonful. A maid began opening the upper windows of his house, appeared momentarily in each, and, leaning from the large central bay, spat meditatively into the garden. It was time I went back. While the rain continued it had seemed like the murmur of their voices, rising and swelling a little now and then with gusts of emotion. But in the new silence I felt that silence had fallen within the house too.\r\n\r\nI went in\u2014after making every possible noise in the kitchen, short of pushing over the stove\u2014but I don\u2019t believe they heard a sound. They were sitting at either end of the couch, looking at each other as if some question had been asked, or was in the air, and every vestige of embarrassment was gone. Daisy\u2019s face was smeared with tears, and when I came in she jumped up and began wiping at it with her handkerchief before a mirror. But there was a change in Gatsby that was simply confounding. He literally glowed; without a word or a gesture of exultation a new well-being radiated from him and filled the little room.\r\n\r\n\u201cOh, hello, old sport,\u201d he said, as if he hadn\u2019t seen me for years. I thought for a moment he was going to shake hands.\r\n\r\n\u201cIt\u2019s stopped raining.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cHas it?\u201d When he realized what I was talking about, that there were twinkle-bells of sunshine in the room, he smiled like a weather man, like an ecstatic patron of recurrent light, and repeated the news to Daisy. \u201cWhat do you think of that? It\u2019s stopped raining.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cI\u2019m glad, Jay.\u201d Her throat, full of aching, grieving beauty, told only of her unexpected joy.\r\n\r\n\u201cI want you and Daisy to come over to my house,\u201d he said, \u201cI\u2019d like to show her around.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cYou\u2019re sure you want me to come?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cAbsolutely, old sport.\u201d\r\n\r\nDaisy went upstairs to wash her face\u2014too late I thought with humiliation of my towels\u2014while Gatsby and I waited on the lawn.\r\n\r\n\u201cMy house looks well, doesn\u2019t it?\u201d he demanded. \u201cSee how the whole front of it catches the light.\u201d\r\n\r\nI agreed that it was splendid.\r\n\r\n\u201cYes.\u201d His eyes went over it, every arched door and square tower. \u201cIt took me just three years to earn the money that bought it.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cI thought you inherited your money.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cI did, old sport,\u201d he said automatically, \u201cbut I lost most of it in the big panic\u2014the panic of the war.\u201d\r\n\r\nI think he hardly knew what he was saying, for when I asked him what business he was in he answered: \u201cThat\u2019s my affair,\u201d before he realized that it wasn\u2019t an appropriate reply.\r\n\r\n\u201cOh, I\u2019ve been in several things,\u201d he corrected himself. \u201cI was in the drug business and then I was in the oil business. But I\u2019m not in either one now.\u201d He looked at me with more attention. \u201cDo you mean you\u2019ve been thinking over what I proposed the other night?\u201d\r\n\r\nBefore I could answer, Daisy came out of the house and two rows of brass buttons on her dress gleamed in the sunlight.\r\n\r\n\u201cThat huge place there<\/i>?\u201d she cried pointing.\r\n\r\n\u201cDo you like it?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cI love it, but I don\u2019t see how you live there all alone.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cI keep it always full of interesting people, night and day. People who do interesting things. Celebrated people.\u201d\r\n\r\nInstead of taking the shortcut along the Sound we went down to the road and entered by the big postern. With enchanting murmurs Daisy admired this aspect or that of the feudal silhouette against the sky, admired the gardens, the sparkling odour of jonquils and the frothy odour of hawthorn and plum blossoms and the pale gold odour of kiss-me-at-the-gate. It was strange to reach the marble steps and find no stir of bright dresses in and out the door, and hear no sound but bird voices in the trees.\r\n\r\nAnd inside, as we wandered through Marie Antoinette music-rooms and Restoration Salons, I felt that there were guests concealed behind every couch and table, under orders to be breathlessly silent until we had passed through. As Gatsby closed the door of \u201cthe Merton College Library\u201d I could have sworn I heard the owl-eyed man break into ghostly laughter.\r\n\r\nWe went upstairs, through period bedrooms swathed in rose and lavender silk and vivid with new flowers, through dressing-rooms and poolrooms, and bathrooms with sunken baths\u2014intruding into one chamber where a dishevelled man in pyjamas was doing liver exercises on the floor. It was Mr. Klipspringer, the \u201cboarder.\u201d I had seen him wandering hungrily about the beach that morning. Finally we came to Gatsby\u2019s own apartment, a bedroom and a bath, and an Adam\u2019s study, where we sat down and drank a glass of some Chartreuse he took from a cupboard in the wall.\r\n\r\nHe hadn\u2019t once ceased looking at Daisy, and I think he revalued everything in his house according to the measure of response it drew from her well-loved eyes. Sometimes too, he stared around at his possessions in a dazed way, as though in her actual and astounding presence none of it was any longer real. Once he nearly toppled down a flight of stairs.\r\n\r\nHis bedroom was the simplest room of all\u2014except where the dresser was garnished with a toilet set of pure dull gold. Daisy took the brush with delight, and smoothed her hair, whereupon Gatsby sat down and shaded his eyes and began to laugh.\r\n\r\n\u201cIt\u2019s the funniest thing, old sport,\u201d he said hilariously. \u201cI can\u2019t\u2014When I try to\u2014\u201d\r\n\r\nHe had passed visibly through two states and was entering upon a third. After his embarrassment and his unreasoning joy he was consumed with wonder at her presence. He had been full of the idea so long, dreamed it right through to the end, waited with his teeth set, so to speak, at an inconceivable pitch of intensity. Now, in the reaction, he was running down like an over-wound clock.\r\n\r\nRecovering himself in a minute he opened for us two hulking patent cabinets which held his massed suits and dressing-gowns and ties, and his shirts, piled like bricks in stacks a dozen high.\r\n\r\n\u201cI\u2019ve got a man in England who buys me clothes. He sends over a selection of things at the beginning of each season, spring and fall.\u201d\r\n\r\nHe took out a pile of shirts and began throwing them, one by one, before us, shirts of sheer linen and thick silk and fine flannel, which lost their folds as they fell and covered the table in many-coloured disarray. While we admired he brought more and the soft rich heap mounted higher\u2014shirts with stripes and scrolls and plaids in coral and apple-green and lavender and faint orange, with monograms of indian blue. Suddenly, with a strained sound, Daisy bent her head into the shirts and began to cry stormily.\r\n\r\n\u201cThey\u2019re such beautiful shirts,\u201d she sobbed, her voice muffled in the thick folds. \u201cIt makes me sad because I\u2019ve never seen such\u2014such beautiful shirts before.\u201d\r\n\r\n
\r\n\r\nAfter the house, we were to see the grounds and the swimming pool, and the hydroplane, and the midsummer flowers\u2014but outside Gatsby\u2019s window it began to rain again, so we stood in a row looking at the corrugated surface of the Sound.\r\n\r\n\u201cIf it wasn\u2019t for the mist we could see your home across the bay,\u201d said Gatsby. \u201cYou always have a green light that burns all night at the end of your dock.\u201d\r\n\r\nDaisy put her arm through his abruptly, but he seemed absorbed in what he had just said. Possibly it had occurred to him that the colossal significance of that light had now vanished forever. Compared to the great distance that had separated him from Daisy it had seemed very near to her, almost touching her. It had seemed as close as a star to the moon. Now it was again a green light on a dock. His count of enchanted objects had diminished by one.\r\n\r\nI began to walk about the room, examining various indefinite objects in the half darkness. A large photograph of an elderly man in yachting costume attracted me, hung on the wall over his desk.\r\n\r\n\u201cWho\u2019s this?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cThat? That\u2019s Mr. Dan Cody, old sport.\u201d\r\n\r\nThe name sounded faintly familiar.\r\n\r\n\u201cHe\u2019s dead now. He used to be my best friend years ago.\u201d\r\n\r\nThere was a small picture of Gatsby, also in yachting costume, on the bureau\u2014Gatsby with his head thrown back defiantly\u2014taken apparently when he was about eighteen.\r\n\r\n\u201cI adore it,\u201d exclaimed Daisy. \u201cThe pompadour! You never told me you had a pompadour\u2014or a yacht.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cLook at this,\u201d said Gatsby quickly. \u201cHere\u2019s a lot of clippings\u2014about you.\u201d\r\n\r\nThey stood side by side examining it. I was going to ask to see the rubies when the phone rang, and Gatsby took up the receiver.\r\n\r\n\u201cYes\u2026 Well, I can\u2019t talk now\u2026 I can\u2019t talk now, old sport\u2026 I said a small<\/i> town\u2026 He must know what a small town is\u2026 Well, he\u2019s no use to us if Detroit is his idea of a small town\u2026\u201d\r\n\r\nHe rang off.\r\n\r\n\u201cCome here quick<\/i>!\u201d cried Daisy at the window.\r\n\r\nThe rain was still falling, but the darkness had parted in the west, and there was a pink and golden billow of foamy clouds above the sea.\r\n\r\n\u201cLook at that,\u201d she whispered, and then after a moment: \u201cI\u2019d like to just get one of those pink clouds and put you in it and push you around.\u201d\r\n\r\nI tried to go then, but they wouldn\u2019t hear of it; perhaps my presence made them feel more satisfactorily alone.\r\n\r\n\u201cI know what we\u2019ll do,\u201d said Gatsby, \u201cwe\u2019ll have Klipspringer play the piano.\u201d\r\n\r\nHe went out of the room calling \u201cEwing!\u201d and returned in a few minutes accompanied by an embarrassed, slightly worn young man, with shell-rimmed glasses and scanty blond hair. He was now decently clothed in a \u201csport shirt,\u201d open at the neck, sneakers, and duck trousers of a nebulous hue.\r\n\r\n\u201cDid we interrupt your exercise?\u201d inquired Daisy politely.\r\n\r\n\u201cI was asleep,\u201d cried Mr. Klipspringer, in a spasm of embarrassment. \u201cThat is, I\u2019d been<\/i> asleep. Then I got up\u2026\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cKlipspringer plays the piano,\u201d said Gatsby, cutting him off. \u201cDon\u2019t you, Ewing, old sport?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cI don\u2019t play well. I don\u2019t\u2014hardly play at all. I\u2019m all out of prac\u2014\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cWe\u2019ll go downstairs,\u201d interrupted Gatsby. He flipped a switch. The grey windows disappeared as the house glowed full of light.\r\n\r\nIn the music-room Gatsby turned on a solitary lamp beside the piano. He lit Daisy\u2019s cigarette from a trembling match, and sat down with her on a couch far across the room, where there was no light save what the gleaming floor bounced in from the hall.\r\n\r\nWhen Klipspringer had played \u201cThe Love Nest\u201d he turned around on the bench and searched unhappily for Gatsby in the gloom.\r\n\r\n\u201cI\u2019m all out of practice, you see. I told you I couldn\u2019t play. I\u2019m all out of prac\u2014\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cDon\u2019t talk so much, old sport,\u201d commanded Gatsby. \u201cPlay!\u201d\r\n
\r\n
\r\n\r\n\u201cIn the morning,\r\nIn the evening,\r\nAin\u2019t we got fun\u2014\u201d<\/span>\r\n\r\n<\/div><\/blockquote>\r\nOutside the wind was loud and there was a faint flow of thunder along the Sound. All the lights were going on in West Egg now; the electric trains, men-carrying, were plunging home through the rain from New York. It was the hour of a profound human change, and excitement was generating on the air.\r\n
\r\n
\r\n\r\n\u201cOne thing\u2019s sure and nothing\u2019s surer\r\nThe rich get richer and the poor get\u2014children.\r\nIn the meantime,<\/span>\r\nIn between time\u2014\u201d<\/span>\r\n\r\n<\/div><\/blockquote>\r\nAs I went over to say goodbye I saw that the expression of bewilderment had come back into Gatsby\u2019s face, as though a faint doubt had occurred to him as to the quality of his present happiness. Almost five years! There must have been moments even that afternoon when Daisy tumbled short of his dreams\u2014not through her own fault, but because of the colossal vitality of his illusion. It had gone beyond her, beyond everything. He had thrown himself into it with a creative passion, adding to it all the time, decking it out with every bright feather that drifted his way. No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man can store up in his ghostly heart.\r\n\r\nAs I watched him he adjusted himself a little, visibly. His hand took hold of hers, and as she said something low in his ear he turned toward her with a rush of emotion. I think that voice held him most, with its fluctuating, feverish warmth, because it couldn\u2019t be over-dreamed\u2014that voice was a deathless song.\r\n\r\nThey had forgotten me, but Daisy glanced up and held out her hand; Gatsby didn\u2019t know me now at all. I looked once more at them and they looked back at me, remotely, possessed by intense life. Then I went out of the room and down the marble steps into the rain, leaving them there together.","rendered":"

When I came home to West Egg that night I was afraid for a moment that my house was on fire. Two o\u2019clock and the whole corner of the peninsula was blazing with light, which fell unreal on the shrubbery and made thin elongating glints upon the roadside wires. Turning a corner, I saw that it was Gatsby\u2019s house, lit from tower to cellar.<\/p>\n

At first I thought it was another party, a wild rout that had resolved itself into \u201chide-and-go-seek\u201d or \u201csardines-in-the-box\u201d with all the house thrown open to the game. But there wasn\u2019t a sound. Only wind in the trees, which blew the wires and made the lights go off and on again as if the house had winked into the darkness. As my taxi groaned away I saw Gatsby walking toward me across his lawn.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour place looks like the World\u2019s Fair,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cDoes it?\u201d He turned his eyes toward it absently. \u201cI have been glancing into some of the rooms. Let\u2019s go to Coney Island, old sport. In my car.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s too late.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, suppose we take a plunge in the swimming pool? I haven\u2019t made use of it all summer.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve got to go to bed.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAll right.\u201d<\/p>\n

He waited, looking at me with suppressed eagerness.<\/p>\n

\u201cI talked with Miss Baker,\u201d I said after a moment. \u201cI\u2019m going to call up Daisy tomorrow and invite her over here to tea.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, that\u2019s all right,\u201d he said carelessly. \u201cI don\u2019t want to put you to any trouble.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat day would suit you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat day would suit you<\/i>?\u201d he corrected me quickly. \u201cI don\u2019t want to put you to any trouble, you see.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow about the day after tomorrow?\u201d<\/p>\n

He considered for a moment. Then, with reluctance: \u201cI want to get the grass cut,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

We both looked down at the grass\u2014there was a sharp line where my ragged lawn ended and the darker, well-kept expanse of his began. I suspected that he meant my grass.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s another little thing,\u201d he said uncertainly, and hesitated.<\/p>\n

\u201cWould you rather put it off for a few days?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, it isn\u2019t about that. At least\u2014\u201d He fumbled with a series of beginnings. \u201cWhy, I thought\u2014why, look here, old sport, you don\u2019t make much money, do you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot very much.\u201d<\/p>\n

This seemed to reassure him and he continued more confidently.<\/p>\n

\u201cI thought you didn\u2019t, if you\u2019ll pardon my\u2014you see, I carry on a little business on the side, a sort of side line, you understand. And I thought that if you don\u2019t make very much\u2014You\u2019re selling bonds, aren\u2019t you, old sport?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTrying to.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, this would interest you. It wouldn\u2019t take up much of your time and you might pick up a nice bit of money. It happens to be a rather confidential sort of thing.\u201d<\/p>\n

I realize now that under different circumstances that conversation might have been one of the crises of my life. But, because the offer was obviously and tactlessly for a service to be rendered, I had no choice except to cut him off there.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve got my hands full,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019m much obliged but I couldn\u2019t take on any more work.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou wouldn\u2019t have to do any business with Wolfshiem.\u201d Evidently he thought that I was shying away from the \u201cgonnegtion\u201d mentioned at lunch, but I assured him he was wrong. He waited a moment longer, hoping I\u2019d begin a conversation, but I was too absorbed to be responsive, so he went unwillingly home.<\/p>\n

The evening had made me lightheaded and happy; I think I walked into a deep sleep as I entered my front door. So I don\u2019t know whether or not Gatsby went to Coney Island, or for how many hours he \u201cglanced into rooms\u201d while his house blazed gaudily on. I called up Daisy from the office next morning, and invited her to come to tea.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t bring Tom,\u201d I warned her.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t bring Tom.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWho is \u2018Tom\u2019?\u201d she asked innocently.<\/p>\n

The day agreed upon was pouring rain. At eleven o\u2019clock a man in a raincoat, dragging a lawn-mower, tapped at my front door and said that Mr. Gatsby had sent him over to cut my grass. This reminded me that I had forgotten to tell my Finn to come back, so I drove into West Egg Village to search for her among soggy whitewashed alleys and to buy some cups and lemons and flowers.<\/p>\n

The flowers were unnecessary, for at two o\u2019clock a greenhouse arrived from Gatsby\u2019s, with innumerable receptacles to contain it. An hour later the front door opened nervously, and Gatsby in a white flannel suit, silver shirt, and gold-coloured tie, hurried in. He was pale, and there were dark signs of sleeplessness beneath his eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs everything all right?\u201d he asked immediately.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe grass looks fine, if that\u2019s what you mean.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat grass?\u201d he inquired blankly. \u201cOh, the grass in the yard.\u201d He looked out the window at it, but, judging from his expression, I don\u2019t believe he saw a thing.<\/p>\n

\u201cLooks very good,\u201d he remarked vaguely. \u201cOne of the papers said they thought the rain would stop about four. I think it was The Journal<\/i>. Have you got everything you need in the shape of\u2014of tea?\u201d<\/p>\n

I took him into the pantry, where he looked a little reproachfully at the Finn. Together we scrutinized the twelve lemon cakes from the delicatessen shop.<\/p>\n

\u201cWill they do?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course, of course! They\u2019re fine!\u201d and he added hollowly, \u201c\u2026 old sport.\u201d<\/p>\n

The rain cooled about half-past three to a damp mist, through which occasional thin drops swam like dew. Gatsby looked with vacant eyes through a copy of Clay\u2019s Economics<\/i>, starting at the Finnish tread that shook the kitchen floor, and peering towards the bleared windows from time to time as if a series of invisible but alarming happenings were taking place outside. Finally he got up and informed me, in an uncertain voice, that he was going home.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy\u2019s that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNobody\u2019s coming to tea. It\u2019s too late!\u201d He looked at his watch as if there was some pressing demand on his time elsewhere. \u201cI can\u2019t wait all day.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t be silly; it\u2019s just two minutes to four.\u201d<\/p>\n

He sat down miserably, as if I had pushed him, and simultaneously there was the sound of a motor turning into my lane. We both jumped up, and, a little harrowed myself, I went out into the yard.<\/p>\n

Under the dripping bare lilac-trees a large open car was coming up the drive. It stopped. Daisy\u2019s face, tipped sideways beneath a three-cornered lavender hat, looked out at me with a bright ecstatic smile.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs this absolutely where you live, my dearest one?\u201d<\/p>\n

The exhilarating ripple of her voice was a wild tonic in the rain. I had to follow the sound of it for a moment, up and down, with my ear alone, before any words came through. A damp streak of hair lay like a dash of blue paint across her cheek, and her hand was wet with glistening drops as I took it to help her from the car.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you in love with me,\u201d she said low in my ear, \u201cor why did I have to come alone?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s the secret of Castle Rackrent. Tell your chauffeur to go far away and spend an hour.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCome back in an hour, Ferdie.\u201d Then in a grave murmur: \u201cHis name is Ferdie.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDoes the gasoline affect his nose?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t think so,\u201d she said innocently. \u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n

We went in. To my overwhelming surprise the living-room was deserted.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, that\u2019s funny,\u201d I exclaimed.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s funny?\u201d<\/p>\n

She turned her head as there was a light dignified knocking at the front door. I went out and opened it. Gatsby, pale as death, with his hands plunged like weights in his coat pockets, was standing in a puddle of water glaring tragically into my eyes.<\/p>\n

With his hands still in his coat pockets he stalked by me into the hall, turned sharply as if he were on a wire, and disappeared into the living-room. It wasn\u2019t a bit funny. Aware of the loud beating of my own heart I pulled the door to against the increasing rain.<\/p>\n

For half a minute there wasn\u2019t a sound. Then from the living-room I heard a sort of choking murmur and part of a laugh, followed by Daisy\u2019s voice on a clear artificial note:<\/p>\n

\u201cI certainly am awfully glad to see you again.\u201d<\/p>\n

A pause; it endured horribly. I had nothing to do in the hall, so I went into the room.<\/p>\n

Gatsby, his hands still in his pockets, was reclining against the mantelpiece in a strained counterfeit of perfect ease, even of boredom. His head leaned back so far that it rested against the face of a defunct mantelpiece clock, and from this position his distraught eyes stared down at Daisy, who was sitting, frightened but graceful, on the edge of a stiff chair.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ve met before,\u201d muttered Gatsby. His eyes glanced momentarily at me, and his lips parted with an abortive attempt at a laugh. Luckily the clock took this moment to tilt dangerously at the pressure of his head, whereupon he turned and caught it with trembling fingers, and set it back in place. Then he sat down, rigidly, his elbow on the arm of the sofa and his chin in his hand.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry about the clock,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

My own face had now assumed a deep tropical burn. I couldn\u2019t muster up a single commonplace out of the thousand in my head.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s an old clock,\u201d I told them idiotically.<\/p>\n

I think we all believed for a moment that it had smashed in pieces on the floor.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe haven\u2019t met for many years,\u201d said Daisy, her voice as matter-of-fact as it could ever be.<\/p>\n

\u201cFive years next November.\u201d<\/p>\n

The automatic quality of Gatsby\u2019s answer set us all back at least another minute. I had them both on their feet with the desperate suggestion that they help me make tea in the kitchen when the demoniac Finn brought it in on a tray.<\/p>\n

Amid the welcome confusion of cups and cakes a certain physical decency established itself. Gatsby got himself into a shadow and, while Daisy and I talked, looked conscientiously from one to the other of us with tense, unhappy eyes. However, as calmness wasn\u2019t an end in itself, I made an excuse at the first possible moment, and got to my feet.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere are you going?\u201d demanded Gatsby in immediate alarm.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll be back.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve got to speak to you about something before you go.\u201d<\/p>\n

He followed me wildly into the kitchen, closed the door, and whispered: \u201cOh, God!\u201d in a miserable way.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s the matter?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is a terrible mistake,\u201d he said, shaking his head from side to side, \u201ca terrible, terrible mistake.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re just embarrassed, that\u2019s all,\u201d and luckily I added: \u201cDaisy\u2019s embarrassed too.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s embarrassed?\u201d he repeated incredulously.<\/p>\n

\u201cJust as much as you are.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t talk so loud.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re acting like a little boy,\u201d I broke out impatiently. \u201cNot only that, but you\u2019re rude. Daisy\u2019s sitting in there all alone.\u201d<\/p>\n

He raised his hand to stop my words, looked at me with unforgettable reproach, and, opening the door cautiously, went back into the other room.<\/p>\n

I walked out the back way\u2014just as Gatsby had when he had made his nervous circuit of the house half an hour before\u2014and ran for a huge black knotted tree, whose massed leaves made a fabric against the rain. Once more it was pouring, and my irregular lawn, well-shaved by Gatsby\u2019s gardener, abounded in small muddy swamps and prehistoric marshes. There was nothing to look at from under the tree except Gatsby\u2019s enormous house, so I stared at it, like Kant at his church steeple, for half an hour. A brewer had built it early in the \u201cperiod\u201d craze, a decade before, and there was a story that he\u2019d agreed to pay five years\u2019 taxes on all the neighbouring cottages if the owners would have their roofs thatched with straw. Perhaps their refusal took the heart out of his plan to Found a Family\u2014he went into an immediate decline. His children sold his house with the black wreath still on the door. Americans, while willing, even eager, to be serfs, have always been obstinate about being peasantry.<\/p>\n

After half an hour, the sun shone again, and the grocer\u2019s automobile rounded Gatsby\u2019s drive with the raw material for his servants\u2019 dinner\u2014I felt sure he wouldn\u2019t eat a spoonful. A maid began opening the upper windows of his house, appeared momentarily in each, and, leaning from the large central bay, spat meditatively into the garden. It was time I went back. While the rain continued it had seemed like the murmur of their voices, rising and swelling a little now and then with gusts of emotion. But in the new silence I felt that silence had fallen within the house too.<\/p>\n

I went in\u2014after making every possible noise in the kitchen, short of pushing over the stove\u2014but I don\u2019t believe they heard a sound. They were sitting at either end of the couch, looking at each other as if some question had been asked, or was in the air, and every vestige of embarrassment was gone. Daisy\u2019s face was smeared with tears, and when I came in she jumped up and began wiping at it with her handkerchief before a mirror. But there was a change in Gatsby that was simply confounding. He literally glowed; without a word or a gesture of exultation a new well-being radiated from him and filled the little room.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, hello, old sport,\u201d he said, as if he hadn\u2019t seen me for years. I thought for a moment he was going to shake hands.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s stopped raining.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHas it?\u201d When he realized what I was talking about, that there were twinkle-bells of sunshine in the room, he smiled like a weather man, like an ecstatic patron of recurrent light, and repeated the news to Daisy. \u201cWhat do you think of that? It\u2019s stopped raining.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m glad, Jay.\u201d Her throat, full of aching, grieving beauty, told only of her unexpected joy.<\/p>\n

\u201cI want you and Daisy to come over to my house,\u201d he said, \u201cI\u2019d like to show her around.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re sure you want me to come?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAbsolutely, old sport.\u201d<\/p>\n

Daisy went upstairs to wash her face\u2014too late I thought with humiliation of my towels\u2014while Gatsby and I waited on the lawn.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy house looks well, doesn\u2019t it?\u201d he demanded. \u201cSee how the whole front of it catches the light.\u201d<\/p>\n

I agreed that it was splendid.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d His eyes went over it, every arched door and square tower. \u201cIt took me just three years to earn the money that bought it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI thought you inherited your money.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI did, old sport,\u201d he said automatically, \u201cbut I lost most of it in the big panic\u2014the panic of the war.\u201d<\/p>\n

I think he hardly knew what he was saying, for when I asked him what business he was in he answered: \u201cThat\u2019s my affair,\u201d before he realized that it wasn\u2019t an appropriate reply.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, I\u2019ve been in several things,\u201d he corrected himself. \u201cI was in the drug business and then I was in the oil business. But I\u2019m not in either one now.\u201d He looked at me with more attention. \u201cDo you mean you\u2019ve been thinking over what I proposed the other night?\u201d<\/p>\n

Before I could answer, Daisy came out of the house and two rows of brass buttons on her dress gleamed in the sunlight.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat huge place there<\/i>?\u201d she cried pointing.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you like it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI love it, but I don\u2019t see how you live there all alone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI keep it always full of interesting people, night and day. People who do interesting things. Celebrated people.\u201d<\/p>\n

Instead of taking the shortcut along the Sound we went down to the road and entered by the big postern. With enchanting murmurs Daisy admired this aspect or that of the feudal silhouette against the sky, admired the gardens, the sparkling odour of jonquils and the frothy odour of hawthorn and plum blossoms and the pale gold odour of kiss-me-at-the-gate. It was strange to reach the marble steps and find no stir of bright dresses in and out the door, and hear no sound but bird voices in the trees.<\/p>\n

And inside, as we wandered through Marie Antoinette music-rooms and Restoration Salons, I felt that there were guests concealed behind every couch and table, under orders to be breathlessly silent until we had passed through. As Gatsby closed the door of \u201cthe Merton College Library\u201d I could have sworn I heard the owl-eyed man break into ghostly laughter.<\/p>\n

We went upstairs, through period bedrooms swathed in rose and lavender silk and vivid with new flowers, through dressing-rooms and poolrooms, and bathrooms with sunken baths\u2014intruding into one chamber where a dishevelled man in pyjamas was doing liver exercises on the floor. It was Mr. Klipspringer, the \u201cboarder.\u201d I had seen him wandering hungrily about the beach that morning. Finally we came to Gatsby\u2019s own apartment, a bedroom and a bath, and an Adam\u2019s study, where we sat down and drank a glass of some Chartreuse he took from a cupboard in the wall.<\/p>\n

He hadn\u2019t once ceased looking at Daisy, and I think he revalued everything in his house according to the measure of response it drew from her well-loved eyes. Sometimes too, he stared around at his possessions in a dazed way, as though in her actual and astounding presence none of it was any longer real. Once he nearly toppled down a flight of stairs.<\/p>\n

His bedroom was the simplest room of all\u2014except where the dresser was garnished with a toilet set of pure dull gold. Daisy took the brush with delight, and smoothed her hair, whereupon Gatsby sat down and shaded his eyes and began to laugh.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s the funniest thing, old sport,\u201d he said hilariously. \u201cI can\u2019t\u2014When I try to\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

He had passed visibly through two states and was entering upon a third. After his embarrassment and his unreasoning joy he was consumed with wonder at her presence. He had been full of the idea so long, dreamed it right through to the end, waited with his teeth set, so to speak, at an inconceivable pitch of intensity. Now, in the reaction, he was running down like an over-wound clock.<\/p>\n

Recovering himself in a minute he opened for us two hulking patent cabinets which held his massed suits and dressing-gowns and ties, and his shirts, piled like bricks in stacks a dozen high.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve got a man in England who buys me clothes. He sends over a selection of things at the beginning of each season, spring and fall.\u201d<\/p>\n

He took out a pile of shirts and began throwing them, one by one, before us, shirts of sheer linen and thick silk and fine flannel, which lost their folds as they fell and covered the table in many-coloured disarray. While we admired he brought more and the soft rich heap mounted higher\u2014shirts with stripes and scrolls and plaids in coral and apple-green and lavender and faint orange, with monograms of indian blue. Suddenly, with a strained sound, Daisy bent her head into the shirts and began to cry stormily.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey\u2019re such beautiful shirts,\u201d she sobbed, her voice muffled in the thick folds. \u201cIt makes me sad because I\u2019ve never seen such\u2014such beautiful shirts before.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

After the house, we were to see the grounds and the swimming pool, and the hydroplane, and the midsummer flowers\u2014but outside Gatsby\u2019s window it began to rain again, so we stood in a row looking at the corrugated surface of the Sound.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf it wasn\u2019t for the mist we could see your home across the bay,\u201d said Gatsby. \u201cYou always have a green light that burns all night at the end of your dock.\u201d<\/p>\n

Daisy put her arm through his abruptly, but he seemed absorbed in what he had just said. Possibly it had occurred to him that the colossal significance of that light had now vanished forever. Compared to the great distance that had separated him from Daisy it had seemed very near to her, almost touching her. It had seemed as close as a star to the moon. Now it was again a green light on a dock. His count of enchanted objects had diminished by one.<\/p>\n

I began to walk about the room, examining various indefinite objects in the half darkness. A large photograph of an elderly man in yachting costume attracted me, hung on the wall over his desk.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho\u2019s this?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat? That\u2019s Mr. Dan Cody, old sport.\u201d<\/p>\n

The name sounded faintly familiar.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s dead now. He used to be my best friend years ago.\u201d<\/p>\n

There was a small picture of Gatsby, also in yachting costume, on the bureau\u2014Gatsby with his head thrown back defiantly\u2014taken apparently when he was about eighteen.<\/p>\n

\u201cI adore it,\u201d exclaimed Daisy. \u201cThe pompadour! You never told me you had a pompadour\u2014or a yacht.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLook at this,\u201d said Gatsby quickly. \u201cHere\u2019s a lot of clippings\u2014about you.\u201d<\/p>\n

They stood side by side examining it. I was going to ask to see the rubies when the phone rang, and Gatsby took up the receiver.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes\u2026 Well, I can\u2019t talk now\u2026 I can\u2019t talk now, old sport\u2026 I said a small<\/i> town\u2026 He must know what a small town is\u2026 Well, he\u2019s no use to us if Detroit is his idea of a small town\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

He rang off.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome here quick<\/i>!\u201d cried Daisy at the window.<\/p>\n

The rain was still falling, but the darkness had parted in the west, and there was a pink and golden billow of foamy clouds above the sea.<\/p>\n

\u201cLook at that,\u201d she whispered, and then after a moment: \u201cI\u2019d like to just get one of those pink clouds and put you in it and push you around.\u201d<\/p>\n

I tried to go then, but they wouldn\u2019t hear of it; perhaps my presence made them feel more satisfactorily alone.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know what we\u2019ll do,\u201d said Gatsby, \u201cwe\u2019ll have Klipspringer play the piano.\u201d<\/p>\n

He went out of the room calling \u201cEwing!\u201d and returned in a few minutes accompanied by an embarrassed, slightly worn young man, with shell-rimmed glasses and scanty blond hair. He was now decently clothed in a \u201csport shirt,\u201d open at the neck, sneakers, and duck trousers of a nebulous hue.<\/p>\n

\u201cDid we interrupt your exercise?\u201d inquired Daisy politely.<\/p>\n

\u201cI was asleep,\u201d cried Mr. Klipspringer, in a spasm of embarrassment. \u201cThat is, I\u2019d been<\/i> asleep. Then I got up\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cKlipspringer plays the piano,\u201d said Gatsby, cutting him off. \u201cDon\u2019t you, Ewing, old sport?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t play well. I don\u2019t\u2014hardly play at all. I\u2019m all out of prac\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ll go downstairs,\u201d interrupted Gatsby. He flipped a switch. The grey windows disappeared as the house glowed full of light.<\/p>\n

In the music-room Gatsby turned on a solitary lamp beside the piano. He lit Daisy\u2019s cigarette from a trembling match, and sat down with her on a couch far across the room, where there was no light save what the gleaming floor bounced in from the hall.<\/p>\n

When Klipspringer had played \u201cThe Love Nest\u201d he turned around on the bench and searched unhappily for Gatsby in the gloom.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m all out of practice, you see. I told you I couldn\u2019t play. I\u2019m all out of prac\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t talk so much, old sport,\u201d commanded Gatsby. \u201cPlay!\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n

\u201cIn the morning,
\nIn the evening,
\nAin\u2019t we got fun\u2014\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n

Outside the wind was loud and there was a faint flow of thunder along the Sound. All the lights were going on in West Egg now; the electric trains, men-carrying, were plunging home through the rain from New York. It was the hour of a profound human change, and excitement was generating on the air.<\/p>\n

\n
\n

\u201cOne thing\u2019s sure and nothing\u2019s surer
\nThe rich get richer and the poor get\u2014children.
\nIn the meantime,<\/span>
\nIn between time\u2014\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/blockquote>\n

As I went over to say goodbye I saw that the expression of bewilderment had come back into Gatsby\u2019s face, as though a faint doubt had occurred to him as to the quality of his present happiness. Almost five years! There must have been moments even that afternoon when Daisy tumbled short of his dreams\u2014not through her own fault, but because of the colossal vitality of his illusion. It had gone beyond her, beyond everything. He had thrown himself into it with a creative passion, adding to it all the time, decking it out with every bright feather that drifted his way. No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man can store up in his ghostly heart.<\/p>\n

As I watched him he adjusted himself a little, visibly. His hand took hold of hers, and as she said something low in his ear he turned toward her with a rush of emotion. I think that voice held him most, with its fluctuating, feverish warmth, because it couldn\u2019t be over-dreamed\u2014that voice was a deathless song.<\/p>\n

They had forgotten me, but Daisy glanced up and held out her hand; Gatsby didn\u2019t know me now at all. I looked once more at them and they looked back at me, remotely, possessed by intense life. Then I went out of the room and down the marble steps into the rain, leaving them there together.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":299,"menu_order":6,"template":"","meta":{"pb_show_title":"on","pb_short_title":"","pb_subtitle":"","pb_authors":[],"pb_section_license":""},"chapter-type":[48],"contributor":[],"license":[],"class_list":["post-23","chapter","type-chapter","status-publish","hentry","chapter-type-numberless"],"part":3,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thegreatgatsby\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/23","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thegreatgatsby\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thegreatgatsby\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/chapter"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thegreatgatsby\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/299"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thegreatgatsby\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/23\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":82,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thegreatgatsby\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/23\/revisions\/82"}],"part":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thegreatgatsby\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/parts\/3"}],"metadata":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thegreatgatsby\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/23\/metadata\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thegreatgatsby\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=23"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"chapter-type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thegreatgatsby\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapter-type?post=23"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thegreatgatsby\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=23"},{"taxonomy":"license","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thegreatgatsby\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/license?post=23"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}