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1Clarence Endive was from East Egg, as I remember. He came only once, in white knickerbockers, and had a fight with a bum
2named Etty in the garden. From farther out on the Island came the Cheadles and the O. R. P. Schraeders, and the
3Stonewall Jackson Abrams of Georgia, and the Fishguards and the Ripley Snells. Snell was there three days before he went
4to the penitentiary, so drunk out on the gravel drive that Mrs. Ulysses Swett's automobile ran over his right hand. The
5Dancies came, too, and S. B. Whitebait, who was well over sixty, and Maurice A. Flink, and the Hammerheads, and Beluga
6the tobacco importer, and Beluga's girls. From West Egg came the Poles and the Mulreadys and Cecil Roebuck and Cecil
7Schoen and Gulick the State senator and Newton Orchid, who controlled Films Par Excellence, and Eckhaust and Clyde Cohen
8and Don S. Schwartz (the son) and Arthur McCarty, all connected with the movies in one way or another. And the Catlips
9and the Bembergs and G. Earl Muldoon, brother to that Muldoon who afterward strangled his wife. Da Fontano the promoter
10came there, and Ed Legros and James B. ("Rot-Gut") Ferret and the De Jongs and Ernest Lilly--they came to gamble, and
11when Ferret wandered into the garden it meant he was cleaned out and Associated Traction would have to fluctuate
12profitably next day. A man named Klipspringer was there so often that he became known as "the boarder"--I doubt if he
13had any other home. Of theatrical people there were Gus Waize and Horace O'Donavan and Lester Myer and George Duckweed
14and Francis Bull. Also from New York were the Chromes and the Backhyssons and the Dennickers and Russel Betty and the
15Corrigans and the Kellehers and the Dewars and the Scullys and S. W. Belcher and the Smirkes and the young Quinns,
16divorced now, and Henry L. Palmetto, who killed himself by jumping in front of a subway train in Times Square. Benny
17McClenahan arrived always with four girls. They were never quite the same ones in physical person, but they were so
18identical one with another that it inevitably seemed they had been there before. I have forgotten their
19names--Jaqueline, I think, or else Consuela, or Gloria or Judy or June, and their last names were either the melodious
20names of flowers and months or the sterner ones of the great American capitalists whose cousins, if pressed, they would
21confess themselves to be. In addition to all these I can remember that Faustina O'Brien came there at least once and the
22Baedeker girls and young Brewer, who had his nose shot off in the war, and Mr. Albrucksburger and Miss Haag, his
23fiancée, and Ardita Fitz-Peters and Mr. P. Jewett, once head of the American Legion, and Miss Claudia Hip, with a man
24reputed to be her chauffeur, and a prince of something, whom we called Duke, and whose name, if I ever knew it, I have
25forgotten. All these people came to Gatsby's house in the summer.
26------------------------------------------------------------------------ At nine o'clock, one morning late in July,
27Gatsby's gorgeous car lurched up the rocky drive to my door and gave out a burst of melody from its three-noted horn. It
28was the first time he had called on me, though I had gone to two of his parties, mounted in his hydroplane, and, at his
29urgent invitation, made frequent use of his beach. "Good morning, old sport. You're having lunch with me today and I
30thought we'd ride up together." He was balancing himself on the dashboard of his car with that resourcefulness of
31movement that is so peculiarly American--that comes, I suppose, with the absence of lifting work in youth and, even
32more, with the formless grace of our nervous, sporadic games. This quality was continually breaking through his
33punctilious manner in the shape of restlessness. He was never quite still; there was always a tapping foot somewhere or
34the impatient opening and closing of a hand. He saw me looking with admiration at his car. "It's pretty, isn't it, old
35sport?" He jumped off to give me a better view. "Haven't you ever seen it before?" I'd seen it. Everybody had seen it.
36It was a rich cream colour, bright with nickel, swollen here and there in its monstrous length with triumphant hatboxes
37and supper-boxes and toolboxes, and terraced with a labyrinth of windshields that mirrored a dozen suns. Sitting down
38behind many layers of glass in a sort of green leather conservatory, we started to town. I had talked with him perhaps
39half a dozen times in the past month and found, to my disappointment, that he had little to say. So my first impression,
40that he was a person of some undefined consequence, had gradually faded and he had become simply the proprietor of an
41elaborate roadhouse next door. And then came that disconcerting ride. We hadn't reached West Egg village before Gatsby
42began leaving his elegant sentences unfinished and slapping himself indecisively on the knee of his caramel-coloured
43suit. "Look here, old sport," he broke out surprisingly, "what's your opinion of me, anyhow?" A little overwhelmed, I
44began the generalized evasions which that question deserves. "Well, I'm going to tell you something about my life," he
45interrupted. "I don't want you to get a wrong idea of me from all these stories you hear." So he was aware of the
46bizarre accusations that flavoured conversation in his halls. "I'll tell you God's truth." His right hand suddenly
47ordered divine retribution to stand by. "I am the son of some wealthy people in the Middle West--all dead now. I was
48brought up in America but educated at Oxford, because all my ancestors have been educated there for many years. It is a
49family tradition." He looked at me sideways--and I knew why Jordan Baker had believed he was lying. He hurried the
50phrase "educated at Oxford," or swallowed it, or choked on it, as though it had bothered him before. And with this
51doubt, his whole statement fell to pieces, and I wondered if there wasn't something a little sinister about him, after
52all. "What part of the Middle West?" I inquired casually. "San Francisco." "I see." "My family all died and I came into
53a good deal of money." His voice was solemn, as if the memory of that sudden extinction of a clan still haunted him. For
54a moment I suspected that he was pulling my leg, but a glance at him convinced me otherwise. "After that I lived like a
55young rajah in all the capitals of Europe--Paris, Venice, Rome--collecting jewels, chiefly rubies, hunting big game,
56painting a little, things for myself only, and trying to forget something very sad that had happened to me long ago."
57With an effort I managed to restrain my incredulous laughter. The very phrases were worn so threadbare that they evoked
58no image except that of a turbaned "character" leaking sawdust at every pore as he pursued a tiger through the Bois de
59Boulogne. "Then came the war, old sport. It was a great relief, and I tried very hard to die, but I seemed to bear an
60enchanted life. I accepted a commission as first lieutenant when it began. In the Argonne Forest I took the remains of
61my machine-gun battalion so far forward that there was a half mile gap on either side of us where the infantry couldn't
62advance. We stayed there two days and two nights, a hundred and thirty men with sixteen Lewis guns, and when the
63infantry came up at last they found the insignia of three German divisions among the piles of dead. I was promoted to be
64a major, and every Allied government gave me a decoration--even Montenegro, little Montenegro down on the Adriatic Sea!"
65Little Montenegro! He lifted up the words and nodded at them--with his smile. The smile comprehended Montenegro's
66troubled history and sympathized with the brave struggles of the Montenegrin people. It appreciated fully the chain of
67national circumstances which had elicited this tribute from Montenegro's warm little heart. My incredulity was submerged
68in fascination now; it was like skimming hastily through a dozen magazines. He reached in his pocket, and a piece of
69metal, slung on a ribbon, fell into my palm. "That's the one from Montenegro." To my astonishment, the thing had an
70authentic look. "Orderi di Danilo," ran the circular legend, "Montenegro, Nicolas Rex." "Turn it." "Major Jay Gatsby," I
71read, "For Valour Extraordinary." "Here's another thing I always carry. A souvenir of Oxford days. It was taken in
72Trinity Quad--the man on my left is now the Earl of Doncaster." It was a photograph of half a dozen young men in blazers
73loafing in an archway through which were visible a host of spires. There was Gatsby, looking a little, not much,
74younger--with a cricket bat in his hand.
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