F. Scott Fitzgerald
The Great Gatsby
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 won‟t 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. He‟s quite a character around New York —a denizen of Broadway.” “Who is he, anyhow, an actor?” “No.” “A dentist?” “Meyer Wolfsheim? No, he‟s a gambler.” Gatsby hesitated,
then added coolly: “He‟s the man who fixed the World‟s Series back in 1919.” “Fixed the World‟s Series?” I repeated. The idea staggered me. I remembered, of course, that the
World‟s 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.