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1… One autumn night, five years before, they had been walking down the street when the leaves were falling, and they came
2to a place where there were no trees and the sidewalk was white with moonlight. They stopped here and turned toward each
3other. Now it was a cool night with that mysterious excitement in it which comes at the two changes of the year. The
4quiet lights in the houses were humming out into the darkness and there was a stir and bustle among the stars. Out of
5the corner of his eye Gatsby saw that the blocks of the sidewalks really formed a ladder and mounted to a secret place
6above the trees--he could climb to it, if he climbed alone, and once there he could suck on the pap of life, gulp down
7the incomparable milk of wonder. His heart beat faster as Daisy's white face came up to his own. He knew that when he
8kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like
9the mind of God. So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the tuning-fork that had been struck upon a star. Then
10he kissed her. At his lips' touch she blossomed for him like a flower and the incarnation was complete. Through all he
11said, even through his appalling sentimentality, I was reminded of something--an elusive rhythm, a fragment of lost
12words, that I had heard somewhere a long time ago. For a moment a phrase tried to take shape in my mouth and my lips
13parted like a dumb man's, as though there was more struggling upon them than a wisp of startled air. But they made no
14sound, and what I had almost remembered was uncommunicable forever. VII It was when curiosity about Gatsby was at its
15highest that the lights in his house failed to go on one Saturday night--and, as obscurely as it had begun, his career
16as Trimalchio was over. Only gradually did I become aware that the automobiles which turned expectantly into his drive
17stayed for just a minute and then drove sulkily away. Wondering if he were sick I went over to find out--an unfamiliar
18butler with a villainous face squinted at me suspiciously from the door. "Is Mr. Gatsby sick?" "Nope." After a pause he
19added "sir" in a dilatory, grudging way. "I hadn't seen him around, and I was rather worried. Tell him Mr. Carraway came
20over." "Who?" he demanded rudely. "Carraway." "Carraway. All right, I'll tell him." Abruptly he slammed the door. My
21Finn informed me that Gatsby had dismissed every servant in his house a week ago and replaced them with half a dozen
22others, who never went into West Egg village to be bribed by the tradesmen, but ordered moderate supplies over the
23telephone. The grocery boy reported that the kitchen looked like a pigsty, and the general opinion in the village was
24that the new people weren't servants at all. Next day Gatsby called me on the phone. "Going away?" I inquired. "No, old
25sport." "I hear you fired all your servants." "I wanted somebody who wouldn't gossip. Daisy comes over quite often--in
26the afternoons." So the whole caravansary had fallen in like a card house at the disapproval in her eyes. "They're some
27people Wolfshiem wanted to do something for. They're all brothers and sisters. They used to run a small hotel." "I see."
28He was calling up at Daisy's request--would I come to lunch at her house tomorrow? Miss Baker would be there. Half an
29hour later Daisy herself telephoned and seemed relieved to find that I was coming. Something was up. And yet I couldn't
30believe that they would choose this occasion for a scene--especially for the rather harrowing scene that Gatsby had
31outlined in the garden. The next day was broiling, almost the last, certainly the warmest, of the summer. As my train
32emerged from the tunnel into sunlight, only the hot whistles of the National Biscuit Company broke the simmering hush at
33noon. The straw seats of the car hovered on the edge of combustion; the woman next to me perspired delicately for a
34while into her white shirtwaist, and then, as her newspaper dampened under her fingers, lapsed despairingly into deep
35heat with a desolate cry. Her pocketbook slapped to the floor. "Oh, my!" she gasped. I picked it up with a weary bend
36and handed it back to her, holding it at arm's length and by the extreme tip of the corners to indicate that I had no
37designs upon it--but everyone near by, including the woman, suspected me just the same. "Hot!" said the conductor to
38familiar faces. "Some weather! … Hot! … Hot! … Hot! … Is it hot enough for you? Is it hot? Is it … ?" My commutation
39ticket came back to me with a dark stain from his hand. That anyone should care in this heat whose flushed lips he
40kissed, whose head made damp the pyjama pocket over his heart! … Through the hall of the Buchanans' house blew a faint
41wind, carrying the sound of the telephone bell out to Gatsby and me as we waited at the door. "The master's body?"
42roared the butler into the mouthpiece. "I'm sorry, madame, but we can't furnish it--it's far too hot to touch this
43noon!" What he really said was: "Yes … Yes … I'll see." He set down the receiver and came toward us, glistening
44slightly, to take our stiff straw hats. "Madame expects you in the salon!" he cried, needlessly indicating the
45direction. In this heat every extra gesture was an affront to the common store of life. The room, shadowed well with
46awnings, was dark and cool. Daisy and Jordan lay upon an enormous couch, like silver idols weighing down their own white
47dresses against the singing breeze of the fans. "We can't move," they said together. Jordan's fingers, powdered white
48over their tan, rested for a moment in mine. "And Mr. Thomas Buchanan, the athlete?" I inquired. Simultaneously I heard
49his voice, gruff, muffled, husky, at the hall telephone. Gatsby stood in the centre of the crimson carpet and gazed
50around with fascinated eyes. Daisy watched him and laughed, her sweet, exciting laugh; a tiny gust of powder rose from
51her bosom into the air. "The rumour is," whispered Jordan, "that that's Tom's girl on the telephone." We were silent.
52The voice in the hall rose high with annoyance: "Very well, then, I won't sell you the car at all … I'm under no
53obligations to you at all … and as for your bothering me about it at lunch time, I won't stand that at all!" "Holding
54down the receiver," said Daisy cynically. "No, he's not," I assured her. "It's a bona-fide deal. I happen to know about
55it." Tom flung open the door, blocked out its space for a moment with his thick body, and hurried into the room. "Mr.
56Gatsby!" He put out his broad, flat hand with well-concealed dislike. "I'm glad to see you, sir … Nick …" "Make us a
57cold drink," cried Daisy. As he left the room again she got up and went over to Gatsby and pulled his face down, kissing
58him on the mouth. "You know I love you," she murmured. "You forget there's a lady present," said Jordan. Daisy looked
59around doubtfully. "You kiss Nick too." "What a low, vulgar girl!" "I don't care!" cried Daisy, and began to clog on the
60brick fireplace. Then she remembered the heat and sat down guiltily on the couch just as a freshly laundered nurse
61leading a little girl came into the room. "Bles-sed pre-cious," she crooned, holding out her arms. "Come to your own
62mother that loves you." The child, relinquished by the nurse, rushed across the room and rooted shyly into her mother's
63dress. "The bles-sed pre-cious! Did mother get powder on your old yellowy hair? Stand up now, and say--How-de-do."
64Gatsby and I in turn leaned down and took the small reluctant hand. Afterward he kept looking at the child with
65surprise. I don't think he had ever really believed in its existence before. "I got dressed before luncheon," said the
66child, turning eagerly to Daisy. "That's because your mother wanted to show you off." Her face bent into the single
67wrinkle of the small white neck. "You dream, you. You absolute little dream." "Yes," admitted the child calmly. "Aunt
68Jordan's got on a white dress too." "How do you like mother's friends?" Daisy turned her around so that she faced
69Gatsby. "Do you think they're pretty?" "Where's Daddy?" "She doesn't look like her father," explained Daisy. "She looks
70like me. She's got my hair and shape of the face." Daisy sat back upon the couch. The nurse took a step forward and held
71out her hand. "Come, Pammy." "Goodbye, sweetheart!"
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