F. Scott Fitzgerald
The Great Gatsby “That‟s 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 don‟t think so,” she said innocently. “Why?” We went in. To my overwhelming surprise the living-room
was deserted. “Well, that‟s funny,” I exclaimed. “What‟s funny?” 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 wasn‟t 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 wasn‟t a sound. Then from the living-room I heard a sort of choking murmur and part of a