“And that's the end of the issue”
Why do we have the same futile argument every time there is a mass killing? Advocates of gun control try to open a discussion about whether more reasonable weapons statutes might reduce the number of violent ... via Truthdig
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#102474 Mar 7, 2013
I handed the money to Katspaugh and I said:all right, Katspaugh, dont pay him a penny till he shuts his mouth. He shut it then and there.
Gatsby took an arm of each of us and moved forward into the restaurant, whereupon Mr. Wolfsheim swallowed a new sentence he was starting and lapsed into a somnambulatory abstraction.
Highballs? asked the head waiter.
This is a nice restaurant here, said Mr. Wolfsheim, looking at the Presbyterian nymphs on the ceiling.But I like across the street better!
Yes, highballs, agreed Gatsby, and then to Mr. Wolfsheim:Its too hot over there.
Hot and small yes, said Mr. Wolfsheim,but full of memories.
What place is that? I asked.
The old Metropole.
The old Metropole, brooded Mr. Wolfsheim gloomily.Filled with faces dead and gone. Filled with friends gone now forever. I cant forget so long as I live the night they shot Rosy Rosenthal there. It was six of us at the table, and Rosy had eat and drunk a lot all evening. When it was almost morning the waiter came up to him with a funny look and says somebody wants to speak to him outside.All right, says Rosy, and begins to get up, and I pulled him down in his chair.
Let the bastards come in here if they want you, Rosy, but dont you, so help me, move outside this room.
It was four oclock in the morning then, and if wed of raised the blinds wed of seen daylight.
Did he go? I asked innocently.
Sure he went. Mr. Wolfsheims nose flashed at me indignantly.He turned around in the door and says:Dont let that waiter take away my coffee! Then he went out on the sidewalk, and they shot him three times in his full belly and drove away.
Four of them were electrocuted, I said, remembering.
Five, with Becker. His nostrils turned to me in an interested way.I understand youre looking for a business gonnegtion.
The juxtaposition of these two remarks was startling. Gatsby answered for me:
Oh, no, he exclaimed,this isnt the man.
#102475 Mar 7, 2013
No? Mr. Wolfsheim seemed disappointed.
This is just a friend. I told you wed talk about that some other time.
I beg your pardon, said Mr. Wolfsheim,I had a wrong man.
A succulent hash arrived, and Mr. Wolfsheim, forgetting the more sentimental atmosphere of the old Metropole, began to eat with ferocious delicacy. His eyes, meanwhile, roved very slowly all around the room he completed the arc by turning to inspect the people directly behind. I think that, except for my presence, he would have taken one short glance beneath our own table.
Look here, old sport, said Gatsby, leaning toward me,Im afraid I made you a little angry this morning in the car.
There was the smile again, but this time I held out against it.
I dont like mysteries, I answered.And I dont understand why you wont come out frankly and tell me what you want. Why has it all got to come through Miss Baker?
Oh, its nothing underhand, he assured me.Miss Bakers a great sportswoman, you know, and shed never do anything that wasnt all right.
Suddenly he looked at his watch, jumped up, and hurried from the room, leaving me with Mr. Wolfsheim at the table.
He has to telephone, said Mr. Wolfsheim, following him with his eyes.Fine fellow, isnt he? Handsome to look at and a perfect gentleman.
Hes an Oggsford man.
He went to Oggsford College in England. You know Oggsford College?
Ive heard of it.
Its one of the most famous colleges in the world.
Have you known Gatsby for a long time? I inquired.
Several years, he answered in a gratified way.I made the pleasure of his acquaintance just after the war. But I knew I had discovered a man of fine breeding after I talked with him an hour. I said to myself:Theres the kind of man youd like to take home and introduce to your mother and sister.. He paused.I see youre looking at my cuff buttons. I hadnt been looking at them, but I did now.
They were composed of oddly familiar pieces of ivory.
Finest specimens of human molars, he informed me.
Well! I inspected them.Thats a very interesting idea.
Yeah. He flipped his sleeves up under his coat.Yeah, Gatsbys very careful about women. He would never so much as look at a friends wife.
When the subject of this instinctive trust returned to the table and sat down Mr. Wolfsheim drank his coffee with a jerk and got to his feet.
#102476 Mar 7, 2013
I have enjoyed my lunch, he said,and Im going to run off from you two young men before I outstay my welcome.
Dont hurry, Meyer, said Gatsby, without enthusiasm. Mr. Wolfsheim raised his hand in a sort of benediction.
Youre very polite, but I belong to another generation, he announced solemnly.You sit here and discuss your sports and your young ladies and your He supplied an imaginary noun with another wave of his hand.As for me, I am fifty years old, and I wont impose myself on you any longer.
As he shook hands and turned away his tragic nose was trembling. I wondered if I had said anything to offend him.
He becomes very sentimental sometimes, explained Gatsby.This is one of his sentimental days. Hes quite a character around New York a denizen of Broadway.
Who is he, anyhow, an actor?
Meyer Wolfsheim? No, hes a gambler. Gatsby hesitated, then added coolly:Hes the man who fixed the Worlds Series back in 1919.
Fixed the Worlds Series? I repeated.
The idea staggered me. I remembered, of course, that the Worlds Series had been fixed in 1919, but if I had thought of it at all I would have thought of it as a thing that merely happened, the end of some inevitable chain. It never occurred to me that one man could start to play with the faith of fifty million people with the single-mindedness of a burglar blowing a safe.
How did he happen to do that? I asked after a minute.
He just saw the opportunity.
Why isnt he in jail?
They cant get him, old sport. Hes a smart man.
I insisted on paying the check. As the waiter brought my change I caught sight of Tom Buchanan across the crowded room.
Come along with me for a minute, I said; Ive got to say hello to some one. When he saw us Tom jumped up and took half a dozen steps in our direction.
Whereve you been? he demamded eagerly.Daisys furious because you havent called up.
This is Mr. Gatsby, Mr. Buchanan.
They shook hands briefly, and a strained, unfamiliar look of embarrassment came over Gatsbys face.
Howve you been, anyhow? demanded Tom of me.Howd you happen to come up this far to eat?
Ive been having lunch with Mr. Gatsby.
I turned toward Mr. Gatsby, but he was no longer there
#102477 Mar 7, 2013
One October day in nineteen-seventeen
(said Jordan Baker that afternoon, sitting up very straight on a straight chair in the tea-garden at the Plaza Hotel)
I was walking along from one place to another, half on the sidewalks and half on the lawns. I was happier on the lawns because I had on shoes from England with rubber nobs on the soles that bit into the soft ground. I had on a new plaid skirt also that blew a little in the wind, and whenever this happened the red, white, and blue banners in front of all the houses stretched out stiff and said tut-TUT-TUT-TUT, in a disapproving way.
The largest of the banners and the largest of the lawns belonged to Daisy Fays house. She was just eighteen, two years older than me, and by far the most popular of all the young girls in Louisville. She dressed in white, and had a little white roadster, and all day long the telephone rang in her house and excited young officers from Camp Taylor demanded the privilege of monopolizing her that night.Anyways, for an hour!
When I came opposite her house that morning her white roadster was beside the curb, and she was sitting in it with a lieutenant I had never seen before. They were so engrossed in each other that she didnt see me until I was five feet away.
Hello, Jordan, she called unexpectedly.Please come here.
I was flattered that she wanted to speak to me, because of all the older girls I admired her most. She asked me if I was going to the Red Cross and make bandages. I was. Well, then, would I tell them that she couldnt come that day? The officer looked at Daisy while she was speaking, in a way that every young girl wants to be looked at sometime, and because it seemed romantic to me I have remembered the incident ever since. His name was Jay Gatsby, and I didnt lay eyes on him again for over four years even after Id met him on Long Island I didnt realize it was the same man.
That was nineteen-seventeen. By the next year I had a few beaux myself, and I began to play in tournaments, so I didnt see Daisy very often. She went with a slightly older crowd when she went with anyone at all. Wild rumors were circulating about her how her mother had found her packing her bag one winter night to go to New York and say good-by to a soldier who was going overseas. She was effectually prevented, but she wasnt on speaking terms with her family for several weeks. After that she didnt play around with the soldiers any more, but only with a few flat-footed, short-sighted young men in town, who couldnt get into the army at all.
#102478 Mar 7, 2013
By the next autumn she was gay again, gay as ever. She had a debut after the Armistice, and in February she was presumably engaged to a man from New Orleans. In June she married Tom Buchanan of Chicago, with more pomp and circumstance than Louisville ever knew before. He came down with a hundred people in four private cars, and hired a whole floor of the Seelbach Hotel, and the day before the wedding he gave her a string of pearls valued at three hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
I was bridesmaid. I came into her room half an hour before the bridal dinner, and found her lying on her bed as lovely as the June night in her flowered dress and as drunk as a monkey. She had a bottle of Sauterne in one hand and a letter in the other.
Gratulate me, she muttered.Never had a drink before, but oh how I do enjoy it.
Whats the matter, Daisy?
#102479 Mar 7, 2013
I was scared, I can tell you; Id never seen a girl like that before.
Here, deares. She groped around in a waste-basket she had with her on the bed and pulled out the string of pearls.Take em down-stairs and give em back to whoever they belong to. Tell em all Daisys change her mine. Say:Daisys change her mine!.
She began to cry she cried and cried. I rushed out and found her mothers maid, and we locked the door and got her into a cold bath. She wouldnt let go of the letter. She took it into the tub with her and squeezed it up into a wet ball, and only let me leave it in the soap-dish when she saw that it was coming to pieces like snow.
But she didnt say another word. We gave her spirits of ammonia and put ice on her forehead and hooked her back into her dress, and half an hour later, when we walked out of the room, the pearls were around her neck and the incident was over. Next day at five oclock she married Tom Buchanan without so much as a shiver, and started off on a three months trip to the South Seas.
I saw them in Santa Barbara when they came back, and I thought Id never seen a girl so mad about her husband. If he left the room for a minute shed look around uneasily, and say:Wheres Tom gone? and wear the most abstracted expression until she saw him coming in the door. She used to sit on the sand with his head in her lap by the hour, rubbing her fingers over his eyes and looking at him with unfathomable delight. It was touching to see them together it made you laugh in a hushed, fascinated way. That was in August. A week after I left Santa Barbara Tom ran into a wagon on the Ventura road one night, and ripped a front wheel off his car. The girl who was with him got into the papers, too, because her arm was broken she was one of the chambermaids in the Santa Barbara Hotel.
The next April Daisy had her little girl, and they went to France for a year. I saw them one spring in Cannes, and later in Deauville, and then they came back to Chicago to settle down. Daisy was popular in Chicago, as you know. They moved with a fast crowd, all of them young and rich and wild, but she came out with an absolutely perfect reputation. Perhaps because she doesnt drink. Its a great advantage not to drink among hard-drinking people. You can hold your tongue, and, moreover, you can time any little irregularity of your own so that everybody else is so blind that they dont see or care. Perhaps Daisy never went in for amour at all and yet theres something in that voice of hers....
#102480 Mar 7, 2013
Well, about six weeks ago, she heard the name Gatsby for the first time in years. It was when I asked you do you remember? if you knew Gatsby in West Egg. After you had gone home she came into my room and woke me up, and said:What Gatsby? and when I described him I was half asleep she said in the strangest voice that it must be the man she used to know. It wasnt until then that I connected this Gatsby with the officer in her white car.
When Jordan Baker had finished telling all this we had left the Plaza for half an hour and were driving in a victoria through Central Park. The sun had gone down behind the tall apartments of the movie stars in the West Fifties, and the clear voices of girls, already gathered like crickets on the grass, rose through the hot twilight:
Im the Sheik of Araby.
Your love belongs to me.
At night when youre are asleep
Into your tent Ill creep
It was a strange coincidence, I said.
But it wasnt a coincidence at all.
Gatsby bought that house so that Daisy would be just across the bay.
Then it had not been merely the stars to which he had aspired on that June night. He came alive to me, delivered suddenly from the womb of his purposeless splendor.
He wants to know, continued Jordan,if youll invite Daisy to your house some afternoon and then let him come over.
The modesty of the demand shook me. He had waited five years and bought a mansion where he dispensed starlight to casual moths so that he could come over some afternoon to a strangers garden.
Did I have to know all this before he could ask such a little thing?
Hes afraid, hes waited so long. He thought you might be offended. You see, hes a regular tough underneath it all.
Something worried me.
Why didnt he ask you to arrange a meeting?
He wants her to see his house, she explained.And your house is right next door.
I think he half expected her to wander into one of his parties, some night, went on Jordan,but she never did. Then he began asking people casually if they knew her, and I was the first one he found. It was that night he sent for me at his dance, and you should have heard the elaborate way he worked up to it. Of course, I immediately suggested a luncheon in New York and I thought hed go mad:
I dont want to do anything out of the way! he kept saying.I want to see her right next door.
When I said you were a particular friend of Toms, he started to abandon the whole idea. He doesnt know very much about Tom, though he says hes read a Chicago paper for years just on the chance of catching a glimpse of Daisys name.
It was dark now, and as we dipped under a little bridge I put my arm around Jordans golden shoulder and drew her toward me and asked her to dinner. Suddenly I wasnt thinking of Daisy and Gatsby any more, but of this clean, hard, limited person, who dealt in universal scepticism, and who leaned back jauntily just within the circle of my arm. A phrase began to beat in my ears with a sort of heady excitement:There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy and the tired.
And Daisy ought to have something in her life, murmured Jordan to me.
Does she want to see Gatsby?
Shes not to know about it. Gatsby doesnt want her to know. Youre just supposed to invite her to tea.
We passed a barrier of dark trees, and then the facade of Fifty-ninth Street, a block of delicate pale light, beamed down into the park. Unlike Gatsby and Tom Buchanan, I had no girl whose disembodied face floated along the dark cornices and blinding signs, and so I drew up the girl beside me, tightening my arms. Her wan, scornful mouth smiled, and so I drew her up again closer, this time to my face.
#102481 Mar 7, 2013
When I came home to West Egg that night I was afraid for a moment that my house was on fire. Two oclock 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 Gatsbys 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 wasnt 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.
Since: Dec 10
#102483 Mar 7, 2013
Those prone to such priorities might think that way.
A Most likely.
And here's another angle. With the way government fees are creeping up every year recreational shooters are under the hammer financially anyway lately.
What we are now discussing is Club-centered storage of guns and ammo, a practice very much against the experience and better judgment of serious and sensible sporting shooters.
It would expose their hard-earned and legally owned property to greatly increased risk. Should their compliance with this anti-gunner demanded foolishness backfire through burglary then they may encounter a second wave of attack
A: the fact that the majority of gun and sports clubs do not keep guns on site and so are never robbed as oposed to the extremely higher risk of keeping them at home where most guns are stolen from...where your families are exposed...I would go for storing them at the club...win, win......
... lack of insurance through prohibitive discrimination by Insurance Companies. All of this is too dopey for reasonable persons to even consider.
A: Insurance premiums go up on residential properties when guns are stolen from private residences.....Insurace companies will always make money....they get more from individual theft from private homes than a few gun clubs, so you are supporting them more by keeping your guns at home and if you have declared those guns you are paying more up front for your insurance eh.
Do you know any person of normal intelligence who would practice abysmal stupidity in order to appease abysmally stupid adversaries, when the only person who stands to lose is the appeaser?
A: Yes gun owners, more guns are stolen from private residences and yet they still keep storing them there, is that not the definition of abysmal stupidity Lammy?
Ahomana, at which point would you concede that some whom you debate might be privileged with a level of judgment at least equivalent to your own?:)
A: When every gun is prised from their cold dead hands,:)
#102484 Mar 7, 2013
He is in an American jail on a trumped up probation charge. He had been banned from using the internet for five years as part of his condition of probation. He was on probation for fraud.
#102486 Mar 7, 2013
Your place looks like the Worlds Fair, I said.
Does it? He turned his eyes toward it absently.I have been glancing into some of the rooms. Lets go to Coney Island, old sport. In my car.
Its too late.
Well, suppose we take a plunge in the swimming-pool? I havent made use of it all summer.
Ive got to go to bed.
He waited, looking at me with suppressed eagerness.
I talked with Miss Baker, I said after a moment.Im going to call up Daisy to-morrow and invite her over here to tea.
Oh, thats all right, he said carelessly.I dont want to put you to any trouble.
What day would suit you?
What day would suit you? he corrected me quickly.I dont want to put you to any trouble, you see.
How about the day after to-morrow? He considered for a moment. Then, with reluctance:
I want to get the grass cut, he said.
We both looked 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.
Theres another little thing, he said uncertainly, and hesitated.
Would you rather put it off for a few days? I asked.
Oh, it isnt about that. At least He fumbled with a series of beginnings.Why, I thought why, look here, old sport, you dont make much money, do you?
Not very much.
This seemed to reassure him and he continued more confidently.
I thought you didnt, if youll 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 dont make very much Youre selling bonds, arent you, old sport?
Well, this would interest you. It wouldnt 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.
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.
Ive got my hands full, I said.Im much obliged but I couldnt take on any more work.
You wouldnt have to do any business with Wolfsheim. 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 Id begin a conversation, but I was too absorbed to be responsive, so he went unwillingly home.
The evening had made me light-headed and happy; I think I walked into a deep sleep as I entered my front door. So I didnt 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.
Dont bring Tom, I warned her.
Dont bring Tom.
Who is Tom? she asked innocently.
#102487 Mar 7, 2013
The day agreed upon was pouring rain. At eleven oclock 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.
The flowers were unnecessary, for at two oclock a greenhouse arrived from Gatsbys, 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-colored tie, hurried in. He was pale, and there were dark signs of sleeplessness beneath his eyes.
Is everything all right? he asked immediately.
The grass looks fine, if thats 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 dont believe 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?
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.
Will they do? I asked.
Of course, of course! Theyre fine! and he added hollowly,... 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 Clays Economics, starting at the Finnish tread that shook the kitchen floor, and peering toward 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.
Nobodys coming to tea. Its too late! He looked at his watch as if there was some pressing demand on his time elsewhere.I cant wait all day.
Dont be silly; its just two minutes to 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.
Under the dripping bare lilac-trees a large open car was coming up the drive. It stopped. Daisys face, tipped sideways beneath a three-cornered lavender hat, looked out at me with a bright ecstatic smile.
Is this absolutely where you live, my dearest one?
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.
Are you in love with me, she said low in my ear,or why did I have to come alone?
Thats the secret of Castle Rackrent. Tell your chauffeur to go far away and spend an hour.
Come back in an hour, Ferdie. Then in a grave murmur:His name is Ferdie.
Does the gasoline affect his nose?
I dont think so, she said innocently.Why?
We went in. To my overwhelming surprise the living-room was deserted.
#102488 Mar 7, 2013
Well, thats funny, I exclaimed.
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.
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 wasnt a bit funny. Aware of the loud beating of my own heart I pulled the door to against the increasing rain.
For half a minute there wasnt a sound. Then from the living-room I heard a sort of choking murmur and part of a laugh, followed by Daisys voice on a clear artificial note:I certainly am awfully glad to see you again.
A pause; it endured 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.
Weve 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.
Im sorry about the clock, he said.
My own face had now assumed a deep tropical burn. I couldnt muster up a single commonplace out of the thousand in my head.
Its an old clock, I told them idiotically.
I think we all believed for a moment that it had smashed in pieces on the floor.
We havent met for many years, said Daisy, her voice as matter-of-fact as it could ever be.
#102489 Mar 7, 2013
Five years next November.
The automatic quality of Gatsbys 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.
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 wasnt an end in itself, I made an excuse at the first possible moment, and got to my feet.
Where are you going? demanded Gatsby in immediate alarm.
Ill be back.
Ive got to speak 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.
Whats the matter?
This is a terrible mistake, he said, shaking his head from side to side,a terrible, terrible mistake.
Youre just embarrassed, thats all, and luckily I added:Daisys embarrassed too.
Shes embarrassed? he repeated incredulously.
Just as much as you are.
Dont talk so loud.
Youre acting like a little boy, I broke out impatiently.Not only that, but youre rude. Daisys 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.
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 Gatsbys gardener, abounded in small, muddy swamps and prehistoric marshes. There was nothing to look at from under the tree except Gatsbys 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 hed agreed to pay five years taxes on all the neighboring 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 occasionally willing to be serfs, have always been obstinate about being peasantry.
Since: Dec 10
#102490 Mar 7, 2013
Have you seen the movie West of Memphis yet?
#102491 Mar 7, 2013
After half an hour, the sun shone again, and the grocers automobile rounded Gatsbys drive with the raw material for his servants dinner I felt sure he wouldnt eat a spoonful. A maid began opening the upper windows of his house, appeared momentarily in each, and, leaning from a 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.
I went in after making every possible noise in the kitchen, short of pushing over the stove but I dont 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. Daisys 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.
Oh, hello, old sport, he said, as if he hadnt seen me for years. I thought for a moment he was going to shake hands.
Its 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? Its stopped raining.
Im glad, Jay. Her throat, full of aching, grieving beauty, told only of her unexpected joy.
I want you and Daisy to come over to my house, he said,Id like to show her around.
Youre sure you want me to come?
Absolutely, old sport.
Daisy went up-stairs to wash her face too late I thought with humiliation of my towels while Gatsby and I waited on the lawn.
My house looks well, doesnt it? he demanded.See how the whole front of it catches the light.
I agreed that it was splendid.
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.
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 think he hardly knew what he was saying, for when I asked him what business he was in he answered,Thats my affair, before he realized that it wasnt the appropriate reply.
Oh, Ive been in several things, he corrected himself.I was in the drug business and then I was in the oil business. But Im not in either one now. He looked at me with more attention.Do you mean youve been thinking over what I proposed the other night?
#102492 Mar 7, 2013
Before I could answer, Daisy came out of the house and two rows of brass buttons on her dress gleamed in the sunlight.
That huge place there? she cried pointing.
Do you like it?
I love it, but I dont see how you live there all alone.
I keep it always full of interesting people, night and day. People who do interesting things. Celebrated people.
Instead of taking the short cut along the Sound we went down 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 odor of jonquils and the frothy odor of hawthorn and plum blossoms and the pale gold odor 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.
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.
We went up-stairs, 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 pajamas 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 Gatsbys own apartment, a bedroom and a bath, and an Adam study, where we sat down and drank a glass of some Chartreuse he took from a cupboard in the wall.
#102493 Mar 7, 2013
He hadnt 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.
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.
Its the funniest thing, old sport, he said hilariously.I cant 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 overwound clock.
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.
Ive 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.
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-colored 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, and monograms of Indian blue. Suddenly, with a strained sound, Daisy bent her head into the shirts and began to cry stormily.
Theyre such beautiful shirts, she sobbed, her voice muffled in the thick folds.It makes me sad because Ive 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 mid-summer flowers but outside Gatsbys window it began to rain again, so we stood in a row looking at the corrugated surface of the Sound.
If it wasnt 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.
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.
#102494 Mar 7, 2013
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.
That? Thats Mr. Dan Cody, old sport.
The name sounded faintly familiar.
Hes dead now. He used to be my best friend years ago.
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.
I adore it, exclaimed Daisy.The pompadour! You never told me you had a pompadour or a yacht.
Look at this, said Gatsby quickly.Heres a lot of 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.
Yes.... well, I cant talk now.... I cant talk now, old sport.... I said a small town.... he must know what a small town is.... well, hes no use to us if Detroit is his idea of a small town....
He rang off.
Come here quick! cried Daisy at 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.
Look at that, she whispered, and then after a moment:Id like to just get one of those pink clouds and put you in it and push you around.
I tried to go then, but they wouldnt hear of it; perhaps my presence made them feel more satisfactorily alone.
I know what well do, said Gatsby,well 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.
Did we interrupt your exercises? inquired Daisy politely.
I was asleep, cried Mr. Klipspringer, in a spasm of embarrassment.That is, Id been asleep. Then I got up....
Klipspringer plays the piano, said Gatsby, cutting him off.Dont you, Ewing, old sport?
I dont play well. I dont I hardly play at all. Im all out of prac
Well go down-stairs, interrupted Gatsby. He flipped a switch. The gray windows disappeared as the house glowed full of light.
In the music-room Gatsby turned on a solitary lamp beside the piano. He lit Daisys 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.
When Klipspringer had played The Love Nest, he turned around on the bench and searched unhappily for Gatsby in the gloom.
Im all out of practice, you see. I told you I couldnt play. Im all out of prac
Dont talk so much, old sport, commanded Gatsby.Play!
In the morning,
In the evening,
Aint we got 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.
One things sure and nothings surer
The rich get richer and the poor get children.
In the meantime,
In between time
#102495 Mar 7, 2013
As I went over to say good-by I saw that the expression of bewilderment had come back into Gatsbys 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 will store up in his ghostly 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 couldnt be over-dreamed that voice was a deathless song.
They had forgotten me, but Daisy glanced up and held out her hand; Gatsby didnt 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.
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