The Great Gatsby

had a pompadour—or a yacht.”

“Look at this,” said Gatsby quickly. “Here’s 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 can’t talk now … I can’t talk now, old sport … I said a
small town … He must know what a small town is … Well, he’s 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: “I’d 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 wouldn’t hear of it; perhaps my presence
made them feel more satisfactorily alone.

“I know what we’ll do,” said Gatsby, “we’ll 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