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1The Airedale--undoubtedly there was an Airedale concerned in it somewhere, though its feet were startlingly
2white--changed hands and settled down into Mrs. Wilson's lap, where she fondled the weatherproof coat with rapture. "Is
3it a boy or a girl?" she asked delicately. "That dog? That dog's a boy." "It's a bitch," said Tom decisively. "Here's
4your money. Go and buy ten more dogs with it." We drove over to Fifth Avenue, warm and soft, almost pastoral, on the
5summer Sunday afternoon. I wouldn't have been surprised to see a great flock of white sheep turn the corner. "Hold on,"
6I said, "I have to leave you here." "No you don't," interposed Tom quickly. "Myrtle'll be hurt if you don't come up to
7the apartment. Won't you, Myrtle?" "Come on," she urged. "I'll telephone my sister Catherine. She's said to be very
8beautiful by people who ought to know." "Well, I'd like to, but--" We went on, cutting back again over the Park toward
9the West Hundreds. At 158th Street the cab stopped at one slice in a long white cake of apartment-houses. Throwing a
10regal homecoming glance around the neighbourhood, Mrs. Wilson gathered up her dog and her other purchases, and went
11haughtily in. "I'm going to have the McKees come up," she announced as we rose in the elevator. "And, of course, I got
12to call up my sister, too." The apartment was on the top floor--a small living-room, a small dining-room, a small
13bedroom, and a bath. The living-room was crowded to the doors with a set of tapestried furniture entirely too large for
14it, so that to move about was to stumble continually over scenes of ladies swinging in the gardens of Versailles. The
15only picture was an over-enlarged photograph, apparently a hen sitting on a blurred rock. Looked at from a distance,
16however, the hen resolved itself into a bonnet, and the countenance of a stout old lady beamed down into the room.
17Several old copies of Town Tattle lay on the table together with a copy of Simon Called Peter, and some of the small
18scandal magazines of Broadway. Mrs. Wilson was first concerned with the dog. A reluctant elevator boy went for a box
19full of straw and some milk, to which he added on his own initiative a tin of large, hard dog biscuits--one of which
20decomposed apathetically in the saucer of milk all afternoon. Meanwhile Tom brought out a bottle of whisky from a locked
21bureau door. I have been drunk just twice in my life, and the second time was that afternoon; so everything that
22happened has a dim, hazy cast over it, although until after eight o'clock the apartment was full of cheerful sun.
23Sitting on Tom's lap Mrs. Wilson called up several people on the telephone; then there were no cigarettes, and I went
24out to buy some at the drugstore on the corner. When I came back they had both disappeared, so I sat down discreetly in
25the living-room and read a chapter of Simon Called Peter--either it was terrible stuff or the whisky distorted things,
26because it didn't make any sense to me. Just as Tom and Myrtle (after the first drink Mrs. Wilson and I called each
27other by our first names) reappeared, company commenced to arrive at the apartment door. The sister, Catherine, was a
28slender, worldly girl of about thirty, with a solid, sticky bob of red hair, and a complexion powdered milky white. Her
29eyebrows had been plucked and then drawn on again at a more rakish angle, but the efforts of nature toward the
30restoration of the old alignment gave a blurred air to her face. When she moved about there was an incessant clicking as
31innumerable pottery bracelets jingled up and down upon her arms. She came in with such a proprietary haste, and looked
32around so possessively at the furniture that I wondered if she lived here. But when I asked her she laughed
33immoderately, repeated my question aloud, and told me she lived with a girl friend at a hotel. Mr. McKee was a pale,
34feminine man from the flat below. He had just shaved, for there was a white spot of lather on his cheekbone, and he was
35most respectful in his greeting to everyone in the room. He informed me that he was in the "artistic game," and I
36gathered later that he was a photographer and had made the dim enlargement of Mrs. Wilson's mother which hovered like an
37ectoplasm on the wall. His wife was shrill, languid, handsome, and horrible. She told me with pride that her husband had
38photographed her a hundred and twenty-seven times since they had been married. Mrs. Wilson had changed her costume some
39time before, and was now attired in an elaborate afternoon dress of cream-coloured chiffon, which gave out a continual
40rustle as she swept about the room. With the influence of the dress her personality had also undergone a change. The
41intense vitality that had been so remarkable in the garage was converted into impressive hauteur. Her laughter, her
42gestures, her assertions became more violently affected moment by moment, and as she expanded the room grew smaller
43around her, until she seemed to be revolving on a noisy, creaking pivot through the smoky air. "My dear," she told her
44sister in a high, mincing shout, "most of these fellas will cheat you every time. All they think of is money. I had a
45woman up here last week to look at my feet, and when she gave me the bill you'd of thought she had my appendicitis out."
46"What was the name of the woman?" asked Mrs. McKee. "Mrs. Eberhardt. She goes around looking at people's feet in their
47own homes." "I like your dress," remarked Mrs. McKee, "I think it's adorable." Mrs. Wilson rejected the compliment by
48raising her eyebrow in disdain. "It's just a crazy old thing," she said. "I just slip it on sometimes when I don't care
49what I look like." "But it looks wonderful on you, if you know what I mean," pursued Mrs. McKee. "If Chester could only
50get you in that pose I think he could make something of it." We all looked in silence at Mrs. Wilson, who removed a
51strand of hair from over her eyes and looked back at us with a brilliant smile. Mr. McKee regarded her intently with his
52head on one side, and then moved his hand back and forth slowly in front of his face. "I should change the light," he
53said after a moment. "I'd like to bring out the modelling of the features. And I'd try to get hold of all the back
54hair." "I wouldn't think of changing the light," cried Mrs. McKee. "I think it's--" Her husband said "Sh!" and we all
55looked at the subject again, whereupon Tom Buchanan yawned audibly and got to his feet. "You McKees have something to
56drink," he said. "Get some more ice and mineral water, Myrtle, before everybody goes to sleep." "I told that boy about
57the ice." Myrtle raised her eyebrows in despair at the shiftlessness of the lower orders. "These people! You have to
58keep after them all the time." She looked at me and laughed pointlessly. Then she flounced over to the dog, kissed it
59with ecstasy, and swept into the kitchen, implying that a dozen chefs awaited her orders there. "I've done some nice
60things out on Long Island," asserted Mr. McKee. Tom looked at him blankly. "Two of them we have framed downstairs." "Two
61what?" demanded Tom. "Two studies. One of them I call Montauk Point--The Gulls, and the other I call Montauk Point--The
62Sea." The sister Catherine sat down beside me on the couch. "Do you live down on Long Island, too?" she inquired. "I
63live at West Egg." "Really? I was down there at a party about a month ago. At a man named Gatsby's. Do you know him?" "I
64live next door to him." "Well, they say he's a nephew or a cousin of Kaiser Wilhelm's. That's where all his money comes
65from." "Really?" She nodded. "I'm scared of him. I'd hate to have him get anything on me." This absorbing information
66about my neighbour was interrupted by Mrs. McKee's pointing suddenly at Catherine: "Chester, I think you could do
67something with her," she broke out, but Mr. McKee only nodded in a bored way, and turned his attention to Tom. "I'd like
68to do more work on Long Island, if I could get the entry. All I ask is that they should give me a start." "Ask Myrtle,"
69said Tom, breaking into a short shout of laughter as Mrs. Wilson entered with a tray. "She'll give you a letter of
70introduction, won't you, Myrtle?" "Do what?" she asked, startled.
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