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1"He come out to see me two years ago and bought me the house I live in now. Of course we was broke up when he run off
2from home, but I see now there was a reason for it. He knew he had a big future in front of him. And ever since he made
3a success he was very generous with me." He seemed reluctant to put away the picture, held it for another minute,
4lingeringly, before my eyes. Then he returned the wallet and pulled from his pocket a ragged old copy of a book called
5Hopalong Cassidy. "Look here, this is a book he had when he was a boy. It just shows you." He opened it at the back
6cover and turned it around for me to see. On the last flyleaf was printed the word schedule, and the date September 12,
71906. And underneath: Rise from bed 6:00 a.m. Dumbell exercise and wall-scaling 6:15-6:30 " Study electricity, etc.
87:15-8:15 " Work 8:30-4:30 p.m. Baseball and sports 4:30-5:00 " Practise elocution, poise and how to attain it 5:00-6:00
9" Study needed inventions 7:00-9:00 " General Resolves No wasting time at Shafters or [a name, indecipherable] No more
10smokeing or chewing. Bath every other day Read one improving book or magazine per week Save $5.00 [crossed out] $3.00
11per week Be better to parents "I came across this book by accident," said the old man. "It just shows you, don't it?"
12"It just shows you." "Jimmy was bound to get ahead. He always had some resolves like this or something. Do you notice
13what he's got about improving his mind? He was always great for that. He told me I et like a hog once, and I beat him
14for it." He was reluctant to close the book, reading each item aloud and then looking eagerly at me. I think he rather
15expected me to copy down the list for my own use. A little before three the Lutheran minister arrived from Flushing, and
16I began to look involuntarily out the windows for other cars. So did Gatsby's father. And as the time passed and the
17servants came in and stood waiting in the hall, his eyes began to blink anxiously, and he spoke of the rain in a
18worried, uncertain way. The minister glanced several times at his watch, so I took him aside and asked him to wait for
19half an hour. But it wasn't any use. Nobody came.
20------------------------------------------------------------------------ About five o'clock our procession of three cars
21reached the cemetery and stopped in a thick drizzle beside the gate--first a motor hearse, horribly black and wet, then
22Mr. Gatz and the minister and me in the limousine, and a little later four or five servants and the postman from West
23Egg, in Gatsby's station wagon, all wet to the skin. As we started through the gate into the cemetery I heard a car stop
24and then the sound of someone splashing after us over the soggy ground. I looked around. It was the man with owl-eyed
25glasses whom I had found marvelling over Gatsby's books in the library one night three months before. I'd never seen him
26since then. I don't know how he knew about the funeral, or even his name. The rain poured down his thick glasses, and he
27took them off and wiped them to see the protecting canvas unrolled from Gatsby's grave. I tried to think about Gatsby
28then for a moment, but he was already too far away, and I could only remember, without resentment, that Daisy hadn't
29sent a message or a flower. Dimly I heard someone murmur "Blessed are the dead that the rain falls on," and then the
30owl-eyed man said "Amen to that," in a brave voice. We straggled down quickly through the rain to the cars. Owl-eyes
31spoke to me by the gate. "I couldn't get to the house," he remarked. "Neither could anybody else." "Go on!" He started.
32"Why, my God! they used to go there by the hundreds." He took off his glasses and wiped them again, outside and in. "The
33poor son-of-a-bitch," he said. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ One of my most
34vivid memories is of coming back West from prep school and later from college at Christmas time. Those who went farther
35than Chicago would gather in the old dim Union Station at six o'clock of a December evening, with a few Chicago friends,
36already caught up into their own holiday gaieties, to bid them a hasty goodbye. I remember the fur coats of the girls
37returning from Miss This-or-That's and the chatter of frozen breath and the hands waving overhead as we caught sight of
38old acquaintances, and the matchings of invitations: "Are you going to the Ordways'? the Herseys'? the Schultzes'?" and
39the long green tickets clasped tight in our gloved hands. And last the murky yellow cars of the Chicago, Milwaukee and
40St. Paul railroad looking cheerful as Christmas itself on the tracks beside the gate. When we pulled out into the winter
41night and the real snow, our snow, began to stretch out beside us and twinkle against the windows, and the dim lights of
42small Wisconsin stations moved by, a sharp wild brace came suddenly into the air. We drew in deep breaths of it as we
43walked back from dinner through the cold vestibules, unutterably aware of our identity with this country for one strange
44hour, before we melted indistinguishably into it again. That's my Middle West--not the wheat or the prairies or the lost
45Swede towns, but the thrilling returning trains of my youth, and the street lamps and sleigh bells in the frosty dark
46and the shadows of holly wreaths thrown by lighted windows on the snow. I am part of that, a little solemn with the feel
47of those long winters, a little complacent from growing up in the Carraway house in a city where dwellings are still
48called through decades by a family's name. I see now that this has been a story of the West, after all--Tom and Gatsby,
49Daisy and Jordan and I, were all Westerners, and perhaps we possessed some deficiency in common which made us subtly
50unadaptable to Eastern life. Even when the East excited me most, even when I was most keenly aware of its superiority to
51the bored, sprawling, swollen towns beyond the Ohio, with their interminable inquisitions which spared only the children
52and the very old--even then it had always for me a quality of distortion. West Egg, especially, still figures in my more
53fantastic dreams. I see it as a night scene by El Greco: a hundred houses, at once conventional and grotesque, crouching
54under a sullen, overhanging sky and a lustreless moon. In the foreground four solemn men in dress suits are walking
55along the sidewalk with a stretcher on which lies a drunken woman in a white evening dress. Her hand, which dangles over
56the side, sparkles cold with jewels. Gravely the men turn in at a house--the wrong house. But no one knows the woman's
57name, and no one cares. After Gatsby's death the East was haunted for me like that, distorted beyond my eyes' power of
58correction. So when the blue smoke of brittle leaves was in the air and the wind blew the wet laundry stiff on the line
59I decided to come back home. There was one thing to be done before I left, an awkward, unpleasant thing that perhaps had
60better have been let alone. But I wanted to leave things in order and not just trust that obliging and indifferent sea
61to sweep my refuse away. I saw Jordan Baker and talked over and around what had happened to us together, and what had
62happened afterward to me, and she lay perfectly still, listening, in a big chair. She was dressed to play golf, and I
63remember thinking she looked like a good illustration, her chin raised a little jauntily, her hair the colour of an
64autumn leaf, her face the same brown tint as the fingerless glove on her knee. When I had finished she told me without
65comment that she was engaged to another man. I doubted that, though there were several she could have married at a nod
66of her head, but I pretended to be surprised. For just a minute I wondered if I wasn't making a mistake, then I thought
67it all over again quickly and got up to say goodbye. "Nevertheless you did throw me over," said Jordan suddenly. "You
68threw me over on the telephone. I don't give a damn about you now, but it was a new experience for me, and I felt a
69little dizzy for a while." We shook hands. "Oh, and do you remember"--she added--"a conversation we had once about
70driving a car?" "Why--not exactly."
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