5

20 min

When I came home to West Egg that night I was afraid for a moment that my house was on fire. Two o’clock 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’s house, lit from tower to cellar.

When I came home to West Egg that night, I was briefly afraid my house was on fire. It was two in the morning, and the whole corner of the peninsula was blazing with light. The light gave the shrubs an unreal look and made thin, stretching glints on the roadside wires. As I turned a corner, I saw that the light came from Gatsby’s house, lit from tower to cellar.

At first I thought it was another party, a wild rout that had resolved itself into “hide-and-go-seek” or “sardines-in-the-box” with all the house thrown open to the game. But there wasn’t 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.

At first I thought it was another party, a wild gathering that had turned into “hide-and-go-seek” or “sardines-in-the-box”. The whole house had been opened up for the game. But there wasn’t a sound. There was only wind in the trees. The wind shook the wires and made the lights go off and on again. It was as if the house had winked into the darkness. As my taxi groaned away, I saw Gatsby walking toward me across his lawn.

“Your place looks like the World’s Fair,” I said.

“Does it?” He turned his eyes toward it absently. “I have been glancing into some of the rooms. Let’s go to Coney Island, old sport. In my car.”

“Does it?” He looked toward it absentmindedly. “I’ve been looking into some of the rooms. Let’s go to Coney Island, old sport. In my car.”

“It’s too late.”

“Well, suppose we take a plunge in the swimming pool? I haven’t made use of it all summer.”

“Well, how about we go for a swim in the pool? I haven’t used it all summer.”

“I’ve got to go to bed.”

“I have to go to bed.”

“All right.”

He waited, looking at me with suppressed eagerness.

He waited, looking at me with eagerness he was trying to hide.

“I talked with Miss Baker,” I said after a moment. “I’m going to call up Daisy tomorrow and invite her over here to tea.”

“I talked with Miss Baker,” I said after a moment. “I’m going to call Daisy tomorrow and invite her over here for tea.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” he said carelessly. “I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” he said casually. “I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

“What day would suit you?”

“What day would work for you?”

“What day would suit you?” he corrected me quickly. “I don’t want to put you to any trouble, you see.”

“What day works for you?” he quickly corrected me. “I don’t want to cause you any trouble, you see.”

“How about the day after tomorrow?”

He considered for a moment. Then, with reluctance: “I want to get the grass cut,” he said.

He thought for a moment. Then, reluctantly, he said, “I want to get the grass cut.”

We both looked down at the grass—there 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.

We both looked down at the grass. A clear line marked where my ragged lawn ended and his darker, well-kept lawn began. I suspected he meant my grass.

“There’s another little thing,” he said uncertainly, and hesitated.

“There’s one more little thing,” he said, sounding unsure, then hesitated.

“Would you rather put it off for a few days?” I asked.

“Would you rather wait a few days?” I asked.

“Oh, it isn’t about that. At least—” He fumbled with a series of beginnings. “Why, I thought—why, look here, old sport, you don’t make much money, do you?”

“Oh, it’s not about that. At least...” He stumbled through several attempts to begin. “Well, I thought... Look, old sport, you don’t make much money, do you?”

“Not very much.”

This seemed to reassure him and he continued more confidently.

This seemed to reassure him, and he went on more confidently.

“I thought you didn’t, if you’ll pardon my—you see, I carry on a little business on the side, a sort of side line, you understand. And I thought that if you don’t make very much—You’re selling bonds, aren’t you, old sport?”

“I thought you didn’t, if you’ll forgive me... You see, I run a little business on the side. A sideline, you understand. And I thought that if you don’t earn very much... You sell bonds, don’t you, old sport?”

“Trying to.”

“Well, this would interest you. It wouldn’t 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.”

“Well, this would interest you. It wouldn’t take much of your time, and you might make a nice bit of money. It’s a fairly confidential matter.”

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.

I realize now that, under different circumstances, that conversation might have been one of the turning points in my life. But his offer was clearly and tactlessly made in exchange for a service. Because of that, I had no choice but to cut him off there.

“I’ve got my hands full,” I said. “I’m much obliged but I couldn’t take on any more work.”

“I’ve got my hands full,” I said. “Thank you, but I couldn’t take on any more work.”

“You wouldn’t have to do any business with Wolfshiem.” Evidently he thought that I was shying away from the “gonnegtion” mentioned at lunch, but I assured him he was wrong. He waited a moment longer, hoping I’d begin a conversation, but I was too absorbed to be responsive, so he went unwillingly home.

“You wouldn’t have to do any business with Wolfshiem.” Apparently, he thought I was backing away from the “gonnegtion” mentioned at lunch. But I assured him he was wrong. He waited a little longer, hoping I’d start a conversation. But I was too lost in thought to respond, so he reluctantly went home.

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’t know whether or not Gatsby went to Coney Island, or for how many hours he “glanced into rooms” while his house blazed gaudily on. I called up Daisy from the office next morning, and invited her to come to tea.

The evening had left me lightheaded and happy. I think I fell into a deep sleep as I walked through my front door. So I don’t know whether Gatsby went to Coney Island. Nor do I know how many hours he “glanced into rooms” while his house stayed glaringly lit. The next morning, I called Daisy from the office and invited her over for tea.

“Don’t bring Tom,” I warned her.

“What?”

“Don’t bring Tom.”

“Who is ‘Tom’?” she asked innocently.

The day agreed upon was pouring rain. At eleven o’clock 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.

It was pouring rain on the day we had agreed on. At eleven o’clock, a man in a raincoat dragged a lawn mower up to my front door and knocked. He said Mr. Gatsby had sent him to cut my grass. His visit reminded me that I had forgotten to tell my Finnish housekeeper to come back. So I drove into West Egg Village to look for her in the rain-soaked, whitewashed alleys. I also went to buy some cups, lemons, and flowers.

The flowers were unnecessary, for at two o’clock a greenhouse arrived from Gatsby’s, 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.

The flowers were unnecessary, because at two o’clock an entire greenhouse’s worth arrived from Gatsby’s, with countless containers for them. An hour later, the front door opened nervously, and Gatsby hurried in. He wore a white flannel suit, a silver shirt, and a gold-colored tie. He was pale, with dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep.

“Is everything all right?” he asked immediately.

“Is everything okay?” he asked right away.

“The grass looks fine, if that’s what you mean.”

“What grass?” he inquired blankly. “Oh, the grass in the yard.” He looked out the window at it, but, judging from his expression, I don’t believe he saw a thing.

“What grass?” he asked blankly. “Oh, the grass in the yard.” He looked out the window at the grass. But judging by his expression, I don’t think he saw a thing.

“Looks very good,” he remarked vaguely. “One of the papers said they thought the rain would stop about four. I think it was The Journal. Have you got everything you need in the shape of—of tea?”

“Looks very good,” he said vaguely. “One of the newspapers said the rain would probably stop around four. I think it was The Journal. Do you have everything you need for, for tea?”

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.

I took him into the pantry, where he gave the Finn a mildly disapproving look. Together we closely examined the twelve lemon cakes from the deli.

“Will they do?” I asked.

“Will they work?” I asked.

“Of course, of course! They’re fine!” and he added hollowly, “… old sport.”

“Of course, of course! They’re fine!” Then he added in a hollow voice, “… old sport.”

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’s Economics, 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.

Around three thirty, the rain eased into a damp mist, with occasional fine drops floating through it like dew. Gatsby stared blankly at a copy of Clay’s Economics. He flinched at the Finnish footsteps that shook the kitchen floor. From time to time, he peered toward the blurry windows, as if invisible but alarming events were happening outside. Finally, he got up and told me in an uncertain voice that he was going home.

“Why’s that?”

“Why is that?”

“Nobody’s coming to tea. It’s too late!” He looked at his watch as if there was some pressing demand on his time elsewhere. “I can’t wait all day.”

“Nobody’s coming to tea. It’s too late!” He looked at his watch as if he had something urgent to do elsewhere. “I can’t wait all day.”

“Don’t be silly; it’s just two minutes to four.”

“Don’t be silly. It’s only two minutes before four.”

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.

He sat down miserably, as if I had pushed him. At the same moment, we heard a car turning into my lane. We both jumped up, and I went out into the yard, feeling a little shaken myself.

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

A large open-top car came up the driveway beneath the dripping, bare lilac trees. It stopped. Daisy tilted her head sideways beneath a three-cornered lavender hat and looked out at me with a bright, overjoyed smile.

“Is this absolutely where you live, my dearest one?”

“Is this really where you live, my darling?”

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.

The thrilling rise and fall of her voice felt like a wild burst of energy in the rain. For a moment, I had to follow her voice up and down by sound alone before I could make out any words. A damp strand of hair lay across her cheek like a streak of blue paint. Her hand was wet with sparkling drops as I took it to help her out of the car.

“Are you in love with me,” she said low in my ear, “or why did I have to come alone?”

“Are you in love with me?” she whispered in my ear. “Or why did I have to come alone?”

“That’s the secret of Castle Rackrent. Tell your chauffeur to go far away and spend an hour.”

“That’s the secret of Castle Rackrent. Tell your driver to go far away and stay there for an hour.”

“Come back in an hour, Ferdie.” Then in a grave murmur: “His name is Ferdie.”

“Come back in an hour, Ferdie.” Then in a low, serious voice: “His name is Ferdie.”

“Does the gasoline affect his nose?”

“I don’t think so,” she said innocently. “Why?”

We went in. To my overwhelming surprise the living-room was deserted.

We went in. To my great surprise, the living room was empty.

“Well, that’s funny,” I exclaimed.

“Well, that’s strange,” I said in surprise.

“What’s funny?”

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.

She turned her head at a soft, dignified knock at the front door. I went out and opened the door. Gatsby stood there, pale as death, his hands thrust deep into his coat pockets like weights. He was standing in a puddle of water, glaring into my eyes with a look of tragedy.

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’t a bit funny. Aware of the loud beating of my own heart I pulled the door to against the increasing rain.

With his hands still in his coat pockets, he strode past me into the hall. He turned sharply, as if he were on a wire, and disappeared into the living room. It wasn’t funny at all. Aware of my own heart pounding loudly, I pulled the door shut against the growing rain.

For half a minute there wasn’t a sound. Then from the living-room I heard a sort of choking murmur and part of a laugh, followed by Daisy’s voice on a clear artificial note:

For half a minute, there wasn’t a sound. Then I heard a kind of choked murmur and half a laugh from the living room. Daisy’s voice followed, clear but forced:

“I certainly am awfully glad to see you again.”

“I’m certainly very glad to see you again.”

A pause; it endured horribly. I had nothing to do in the hall, so I went into the room.

There was a pause that dragged on horribly. I had nothing to do in the hall, so I went into the room.

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.

Gatsby leaned back against the mantelpiece, his hands still in his pockets. He was trying hard to look completely relaxed, even bored. His head tilted so far back that it rested against the face of a broken clock on the mantelpiece. From that position, his troubled eyes stared down at Daisy. She sat, frightened but graceful, on the edge of a stiff chair.

“We’ve met before,” 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.

“We’ve met before,” Gatsby muttered. He glanced briefly at me, and his lips parted as he tried and failed to laugh. Luckily, just then, the pressure of his head made the clock tilt dangerously. He turned and caught it with trembling fingers, then set it back in place. Then he sat down stiffly, his elbow on the sofa’s arm and his chin in his hand.

“I’m sorry about the clock,” he said.

My own face had now assumed a deep tropical burn. I couldn’t muster up a single commonplace out of the thousand in my head.

My own face was now as deeply burned as if I’d been in the tropics. Of the thousand ordinary things to say in my head, I couldn’t get a single one out.

“It’s an old clock,” I told them idiotically.

“It’s an old clock,” I told them stupidly.

I think we all believed for a moment that it had smashed in pieces on the floor.

I think we all believed for a moment that it had shattered on the floor.

“We haven’t met for many years,” said Daisy, her voice as matter-of-fact as it could ever be.

“We haven’t seen each other in many years,” said Daisy. Her voice was as matter-of-fact as it could ever be.

“Five years next November.”

“It’ll be five years next November.”

The automatic quality of Gatsby’s 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.

Gatsby’s automatic answer set us all back at least another minute. Desperate, I got them both on their feet by suggesting they help me make tea in the kitchen. Just then, the devilish Finn brought the tea in on a tray.

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’t an end in itself, I made an excuse at the first possible moment, and got to my feet.

Amid the welcome bustle of cups and cakes, we settled into a certain outward calm. Gatsby moved into the shadows. While Daisy and I talked, he carefully looked from one of us to the other with tense, unhappy eyes. But since calm wasn’t a goal in itself, I made an excuse at the first opportunity and stood up.

“Where are you going?” demanded Gatsby in immediate alarm.

“Where are you going?” Gatsby demanded, suddenly alarmed.

“I’ll be back.”

“I’ve got to speak to you about something before you go.”

“I need to talk to you about something before you go.”

He followed me wildly into the kitchen, closed the door, and whispered: “Oh, God!” in a miserable way.

He followed me frantically into the kitchen and closed the door. “Oh, God!” he whispered miserably.

“What’s the matter?”

“What’s wrong?”

“This is a terrible mistake,” he said, shaking his head from side to side, “a terrible, terrible mistake.”

“This is a terrible mistake,” he said, shaking his head from side to side. “A terrible, terrible mistake.”

“You’re just embarrassed, that’s all,” and luckily I added: “Daisy’s embarrassed too.”

“You’re just embarrassed, that’s all.” Luckily, I added: “Daisy’s embarrassed too.”

“She’s embarrassed?” he repeated incredulously.

“She’s embarrassed?” he repeated in disbelief.

“Just as much as you are.”

“Don’t talk so loud.”

“Don’t talk so loudly.”

“You’re acting like a little boy,” I broke out impatiently. “Not only that, but you’re rude. Daisy’s sitting in there all alone.”

“You’re acting like a little boy,” I snapped impatiently. “And you’re being rude, too. Daisy’s sitting in there all alone.”

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.

He raised his hand to stop me from speaking and gave me a reproachful look I would never forget. Then he cautiously opened the door and went back into the other room.

I walked out the back way—just as Gatsby had when he had made his nervous circuit of the house half an hour before—and 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’s gardener, abounded in small muddy swamps and prehistoric marshes. There was nothing to look at from under the tree except Gatsby’s 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 “period” craze, a decade before, and there was a story that he’d agreed to pay five years’ 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—he 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.

I went out the back way, just as Gatsby had during his nervous circuit of the house half an hour earlier. I ran toward a huge, dark, gnarled tree whose thick leaves formed a canopy against the rain. It was pouring again. My uneven lawn, neatly trimmed by Gatsby’s gardener, was full of little muddy swamps and prehistoric marshes. From under the tree, there was nothing to look at except Gatsby’s enormous house. So I stared at the house for half an hour, like Kant staring at his church steeple. A brewer had built the house ten years earlier, near the start of the craze for “period” architecture. According to a story, he had agreed to pay five years’ taxes on all the neighboring cottages. In return, the owners would have to cover their roofs with straw thatch. Perhaps their refusal discouraged him from his plan to Found a Family. He went into decline immediately. His children sold the house while the black mourning wreath still hung on the door. Americans have always been willing, even eager, to be serfs, but stubbornly refuse to be peasants.

After half an hour, the sun shone again, and the grocer’s automobile rounded Gatsby’s drive with the raw material for his servants’ dinner—I felt sure he wouldn’t 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.

After half an hour, the sun came out again. The grocer’s car came around Gatsby’s driveway with ingredients for his servants’ dinner. I felt sure Gatsby wouldn’t eat a spoonful. A maid began opening the upstairs windows of his house, appearing briefly at each one. Then she leaned out of the large central bay window and spat thoughtfully into the garden. It was time for me to go back. While the rain lasted, it had sounded like the murmur of their voices, rising and swelling with occasional bursts of emotion. But in the new silence, I felt that the house had fallen silent too.

I went in—after making every possible noise in the kitchen, short of pushing over the stove—but I don’t 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’s 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.

I went in after making every possible noise in the kitchen, short of knocking over the stove. But I don’t believe they heard a sound. They were sitting at opposite ends of the couch, looking at each other as if a question had been asked. Or as if a question hung in the air. Every trace of embarrassment was gone. Daisy’s face was streaked with tears. When I came in, she jumped up and began wiping her face with her handkerchief in front of a mirror. But the change in Gatsby was simply astonishing. He literally glowed. Without a word or gesture of joy, a new sense of well-being radiated from him and filled the little room.

“Oh, hello, old sport,” he said, as if he hadn’t seen me for years. I thought for a moment he was going to shake hands.

“Oh, hello, old sport,” he said, as if he hadn’t seen me in years. For a moment, I thought he was about to shake my hand.

“It’s stopped raining.”

“Has it?” 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. “What do you think of that? It’s stopped raining.”

“Has it?” When he realized I meant the twinkle-bells of sunshine in the room, he smiled like a weather forecaster. He smiled like an overjoyed lover of the light that kept returning, and repeated the news to Daisy. “What do you think of that? It’s stopped raining.”

“I’m glad, Jay.” Her throat, full of aching, grieving beauty, told only of her unexpected joy.

“I’m glad, Jay.” Her voice, full of aching, sorrowful beauty, expressed only her unexpected joy.

“I want you and Daisy to come over to my house,” he said, “I’d like to show her around.”

“I want you and Daisy to come over to my house,” he said. “I’d like to show her around.”

“You’re sure you want me to come?”

“Are you sure you want me to come?”

“Absolutely, old sport.”

“Absolutely, my friend.”

Daisy went upstairs to wash her face—too late I thought with humiliation of my towels—while Gatsby and I waited on the lawn.

Daisy went upstairs to wash her face. Too late, I thought of my towels and felt embarrassed. Meanwhile, Gatsby and I waited on the lawn.

“My house looks well, doesn’t it?” he demanded. “See how the whole front of it catches the light.”

“My house looks good, doesn’t it?” he demanded. “Look at how the whole front of the house catches the light.”

I agreed that it was splendid.

I agreed that it was wonderful.

“Yes.” His eyes went over it, every arched door and square tower. “It took me just three years to earn the money that bought it.”

“Yes.” He looked over every arched door and square tower. “It took me just three years to earn the money to buy it.”

“I thought you inherited your money.”

“I did, old sport,” he said automatically, “but I lost most of it in the big panic—the panic of the war.”

“I did, old sport,” he said automatically. “But I lost most of it in the big financial panic during the war.”

I think he hardly knew what he was saying, for when I asked him what business he was in he answered: “That’s my affair,” before he realized that it wasn’t an appropriate reply.

I think he hardly knew what he was saying. After all, when I asked what business he was in, he answered, “That’s my business.” He said this before realizing his reply was inappropriate.

“Oh, I’ve been in several things,” he corrected himself. “I was in the drug business and then I was in the oil business. But I’m not in either one now.” He looked at me with more attention. “Do you mean you’ve been thinking over what I proposed the other night?”

“Oh, I’ve been in several businesses,” he corrected himself. “I was in the drug business, then the oil business. But I’m not in either business now.” He looked at me more closely. “Do you mean you’ve been thinking about what I suggested the other night?”

Before I could answer, Daisy came out of the house and two rows of brass buttons on her dress gleamed in the sunlight.

Before I could answer, Daisy came out of the house. Two rows of brass buttons on her dress gleamed in the sunlight.

“That huge place there?” she cried pointing.

“That huge place there?” she exclaimed, pointing.

“Do you like it?”

“I love it, but I don’t see how you live there all alone.”

“I love it, but I don’t understand how you live there all alone.”

“I keep it always full of interesting people, night and day. People who do interesting things. Celebrated people.”

“I always keep it full of interesting people, day and night. People who do interesting things. Famous people.”

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.

Instead of taking the shortcut along the Sound, we went down to the road and entered through the large back gate. With charming murmurs, Daisy admired one feature after another of the castle-like outline against the sky. She admired the gardens, the sparkling scent of jonquils, and the frothy scent of hawthorn and plum blossoms. She admired the pale gold scent of kiss-me-at-the-gate. We reached the marble steps, and strangely, no bright dresses fluttered in and out of the doorway. The only sound was birds calling in the trees.

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 “the Merton College Library” I could have sworn I heard the owl-eyed man break into ghostly laughter.

Inside, we wandered through Marie Antoinette music rooms and Restoration salons. I felt as though guests were hiding behind every couch and table. They seemed to have orders to stay breathlessly silent until we had passed through. As Gatsby closed the door of “the Merton College Library,” I could have sworn I heard the owl-eyed man burst into ghostly laughter.

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—intruding into one chamber where a dishevelled man in pyjamas was doing liver exercises on the floor. It was Mr. Klipspringer, the “boarder.” I had seen him wandering hungrily about the beach that morning. Finally we came to Gatsby’s own apartment, a bedroom and a bath, and an Adam’s study, where we sat down and drank a glass of some Chartreuse he took from a cupboard in the wall.

We went upstairs, through bedrooms decorated in historical styles, draped in rose and lavender silk and bright with fresh flowers. We passed through dressing rooms, billiard rooms, and bathrooms with sunken tubs. We intruded into one room where a rumpled man in pajamas was doing liver exercises on the floor. The man was Mr. Klipspringer, the “boarder.” I had seen him wandering hungrily around the beach that morning. Finally, we reached Gatsby’s own apartment, with a bedroom, a bathroom, and a study in the Adam style. We sat down in the study and drank a glass of some Chartreuse Gatsby took from a cupboard in the wall.

He hadn’t 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.

He hadn’t stopped looking at Daisy once. I think he judged everything in his house anew by the response he saw in her much-loved eyes. Sometimes, too, he looked around at his possessions in a daze. It was as though none of his possessions were real anymore, now that she was actually, astonishingly there. Once he nearly fell down a flight of stairs.

His bedroom was the simplest room of all—except 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.

His bedroom was the simplest room of all, except for the grooming set of pure, matte gold decorating the dresser. Daisy picked up the brush with delight and smoothed her hair. At that, Gatsby sat down, shaded his eyes, and began to laugh.

“It’s the funniest thing, old sport,” he said hilariously. “I can’t—When I try to—”

“It’s the funniest thing, old sport,” he said, laughing. “I can’t... When I try to...”

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.

He had visibly passed through two emotional states and was entering a third. After his embarrassment and his irrational joy, he was filled with wonder at her presence. He had held on to the idea for so long and dreamed it through to the very end. He had waited with his teeth clenched, so to speak, with an unimaginable intensity. Now, as he reacted to her presence, he was winding down like a clock wound too tightly.

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.

After a minute, he regained his composure and opened two huge patented wardrobes for us. They were packed with his suits, dressing gowns, ties, and shirts. His shirts were piled like bricks in stacks a dozen high.

“I’ve 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.”

“I have a man in England who buys clothes for me. He sends me a selection at the start of each season, spring and fall.”

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—shirts 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.

He took out a pile of shirts and began tossing them in front of us, one by one. They were made of sheer linen, thick silk, and fine flannel. The shirts unfolded as they fell, covering the table in a colorful jumble. As we admired them, he brought more, and the soft, rich pile grew higher. The shirts had stripes, swirling patterns, and plaids in coral, apple-green, lavender, and pale orange, with monograms in Indian blue. Suddenly, with a strained sound, Daisy buried her face in the shirts and began to sob wildly.

“They’re such beautiful shirts,” she sobbed, her voice muffled in the thick folds. “It makes me sad because I’ve never seen such—such beautiful shirts before.”

“They’re such beautiful shirts,” she sobbed, her voice muffled by the thick folds. “Seeing them makes me sad because I’ve never seen such, such beautiful shirts before.”

After the house, we were to see the grounds and the swimming pool, and the hydroplane, and the midsummer flowers—but outside Gatsby’s window it began to rain again, so we stood in a row looking at the corrugated surface of the Sound.

After the house, we were going to see the grounds, the swimming pool, the seaplane, and the midsummer flowers. But outside Gatsby’s window, rain began falling again. So we stood in a row, looking at the rippled surface of the Sound.

“If it wasn’t for the mist we could see your home across the bay,” said Gatsby. “You always have a green light that burns all night at the end of your dock.”

“If there were no mist, we could see your home across the bay,” said Gatsby. “You always have a green light shining all night at the end of your dock.”

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.

Daisy suddenly slipped her arm through his, but he seemed lost in thought about what he had just said. Perhaps he had realized that the light’s enormous significance was now gone forever. Compared with the great distance between him and Daisy, the light had seemed very close to her, almost touching her. The light had seemed as close as a star to the moon. Now it was just a green light on a dock again. He had one fewer enchanted object in his world.

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.

I began walking around the room, examining various objects I could barely make out in the dim light. A large photograph of an elderly man in sailing clothes caught my attention. The photograph hung on the wall above his desk.

“Who’s this?”

“That? That’s Mr. Dan Cody, old sport.”

“That? That’s Mr. Dan Cody, my friend.”

The name sounded faintly familiar.

The name sounded slightly familiar.

“He’s dead now. He used to be my best friend years ago.”

“He’s dead now. Years ago, he was my best friend.”

There was a small picture of Gatsby, also in yachting costume, on the bureau—Gatsby with his head thrown back defiantly—taken apparently when he was about eighteen.

There was a small photo of Gatsby on the dresser, also dressed for yachting. His head was thrown back defiantly. The photo was apparently taken when he was about eighteen.

“I adore it,” exclaimed Daisy. “The pompadour! You never told me you had a pompadour—or a yacht.”

“I love it,” Daisy exclaimed. “The pompadour hairstyle! You never told me you had a pompadour, or a yacht.”

“Look at this,” said Gatsby quickly. “Here’s a lot of clippings—about you.”

“Look at this,” Gatsby said quickly. “Here are a lot of newspaper clippings about you.”

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.

They stood side by side, looking it over. I was about to ask to see the rubies when the phone rang. Gatsby picked up the receiver.

“Yes… Well, I can’t talk now… I can’t talk now, old sport… I said a small town… He must know what a small town is… Well, he’s no use to us if Detroit is his idea of a small town…”

He rang off.

He hung up.

“Come here quick!” cried Daisy at the window.

“Come here quick!” Daisy called from the window.

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.

The rain was still falling, but the darkness had cleared in the west. A wave of foamy pink and gold clouds rose above the sea.

“Look at that,” she whispered, and then after a moment: “I’d like to just get one of those pink clouds and put you in it and push you around.”

“Look at that,” she whispered. After a moment, she added: “I’d like to take one of those pink clouds. I’d put you in it and push you around.”

I tried to go then, but they wouldn’t hear of it; perhaps my presence made them feel more satisfactorily alone.

I tried to leave then, but they insisted I stay. Perhaps having me there made them feel more comfortably alone.

“I know what we’ll do,” said Gatsby, “we’ll have Klipspringer play the piano.”

“I know what we’ll do,” said Gatsby. “We’ll have Klipspringer play the piano.”

He went out of the room calling “Ewing!” 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 “sport shirt,” open at the neck, sneakers, and duck trousers of a nebulous hue.

He left the room calling “Ewing!” and returned a few minutes later with an embarrassed, slightly worn-looking young man. The young man had tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses and thinning blond hair. He was now decently dressed in a “sport shirt,” open at the neck, sneakers, and canvas trousers of an indistinct color.

“Did we interrupt your exercise?” inquired Daisy politely.

“Did we interrupt your exercise?” Daisy asked politely.

“I was asleep,” cried Mr. Klipspringer, in a spasm of embarrassment. “That is, I’d been asleep. Then I got up…”

“I was asleep,” Mr. Klipspringer cried out, suddenly embarrassed. “I mean, I’d been asleep. Then I got up…”

“Klipspringer plays the piano,” said Gatsby, cutting him off. “Don’t you, Ewing, old sport?”

“Klipspringer plays the piano,” Gatsby said, interrupting him. “Don’t you, Ewing, old sport?”

“I don’t play well. I don’t—hardly play at all. I’m all out of prac—”

“I don’t play well. I don’t... I hardly play at all. I’m all out of prac...”

“We’ll go downstairs,” interrupted Gatsby. He flipped a switch. The grey windows disappeared as the house glowed full of light.

“We’ll go downstairs,” Gatsby interrupted. He flipped a switch. The gray windows disappeared as the house filled with light.

In the music-room Gatsby turned on a solitary lamp beside the piano. He lit Daisy’s 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.

In the music room, Gatsby turned on a single lamp beside the piano. He lit Daisy’s cigarette with a trembling match. Then he sat down with her on a couch across the room. The only light there came from the hall, reflected off the gleaming floor.

When Klipspringer had played “The Love Nest” he turned around on the bench and searched unhappily for Gatsby in the gloom.

After Klipspringer finished playing “The Love Nest,” he turned around on the bench. He looked unhappily for Gatsby in the dim light.

“I’m all out of practice, you see. I told you I couldn’t play. I’m all out of prac—”

“I’m all out of practice, you see. I told you I couldn’t play. I’m all out of prac...”

“Don’t talk so much, old sport,” commanded Gatsby. “Play!”

“Don’t talk so much, buddy,” Gatsby ordered. “Play!”

“In the morning, In the evening, Ain’t we got fun—”

“In the morning, In the evening, Aren’t we having fun?”

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.

Outside, the wind was loud, and faint thunder rolled along the Sound. All the lights in West Egg were coming on now. The electric trains were rushing home from New York through the rain, carrying men. It was a moment of deep human change, and excitement was building in the air.

“One thing’s sure and nothing’s surer The rich get richer and the poor get—children. In the meantime, In between time—”

“One thing is certain, and nothing is more certain. The rich get richer, and the poor get... children. In the meantime, In between times...”

As I went over to say goodbye I saw that the expression of bewilderment had come back into Gatsby’s 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—not 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.

As I went over to say goodbye, I saw that the puzzled look had returned to Gatsby’s face. It was as though he had begun to doubt, just a little, how happy he really was. Almost five years! There must have been moments even that afternoon when Daisy fell short of his dreams. This was not her fault, but came from the enormous life and energy of his illusion. His illusion had grown beyond her, beyond everything. He had poured himself into it with a creative passion, adding to it all the time. He had decorated his illusion with every bright feather that drifted his way. No amount of fire or freshness can rival what a man can build up in his haunted heart.

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’t be over-dreamed—that voice was a deathless song.

As I watched him, he visibly shifted a little. He took her hand. As she whispered something in his ear, he turned toward her with a rush of emotion. I think her voice captivated him most, with its shifting, feverish warmth, because no dream could surpass it. Her voice was a song that would never die.

They had forgotten me, but Daisy glanced up and held out her hand; Gatsby didn’t 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.

Daisy and Gatsby had forgotten me, but Daisy looked up and held out her hand. Gatsby no longer seemed to know me at all. I looked at them once more, and they looked back, distant and intensely alive. Then I left the room and went down the marble steps into the rain, leaving them there together.