like to “I’d come.” come “Well, then.” The hair in his nostrils quivered slightly, and as he shook his head his eyes filled with tears. do it—I get mixed up in he said. “I can’t can’t it,” nothing to get mixed up in. all over “There’s It’s now.” a man gets killed I never like to get mixed up in it in any way. I keep out. When I was a “When young man it was different—if a friend of mine died, no matter how, I stuck with them to the end. You may think sentimental, but I mean it—to the that’s bitter end.” I saw that for some reason of his own he was determined not to come, so I stood up. you a college he inquired suddenly. “Are man?” For a moment I thought he was going to suggest a but he only nodded and shook “gonnegtion,” my hand. us learn to show our friendship for a man when he is alive and not after he is he “Let dead,” suggested. that my own rule is to let everything “After alone.” When I left his office the sky had turned dark and I got back to West Egg in a drizzle. After changing my clothes I went next door and found Mr. Gatz walking up and down excitedly in the hall. His pride in his son and in his possessions was continually increasing and now he had son’s something to show me. sent me this He took out his wallet with trembling fingers. “Jimmy picture.” “Look there.” It was a photograph of the house, cracked in the corners and dirty with many hands. He pointed out every detail to me eagerly. and then sought admiration from my eyes. He had “Look there!” shown it so often that I think it was more real to him now than the house itself. sent it to me. I think a very pretty picture. It shows up “Jimmy it’s well.” well. Had you seen him “Very lately?”
“I’d like to come.” “Well, come then.” The hair in his nostrils quivered slightly, and as he shook his head his eyes filled with tears. “I can’t do it—I can’t get mixed up in it,” he said. “There’s nothing to get mixed up in. It’s all over now.” “When a man gets killed I never like to get mixed up in it in any way. I keep out. When I was a young man it was different—if a friend of mine died, no matter how, I stuck with them to the end. You may think that’s sentimental, but I mean it—to the bitter end.” I saw that for some reason of his own he was determined not to come, so I stood up. “Are you a college man?” he inquired suddenly. For a moment I thought he was going to suggest a “gonnegtion,” but he only nodded and shook my hand. “Let us learn to show our friendship for a man when he is alive and not after he is dead,” he suggested. “After that my own rule is to let everything alone.” When I left his office the sky had turned dark and I got back to West Egg in a drizzle. After changing my clothes I went next door and found Mr. Gatz walking up and down excitedly in the hall. His pride in his son and in his son’s possessions was continually increasing and now he had something to show me. “Jimmy sent me this picture.” He took out his wallet with trembling fingers. “Look there.” It was a photograph of the house, cracked in the corners and dirty with many hands. He pointed out every detail to me eagerly. “Look there!” and then sought admiration from my eyes. He had shown it so often that I think it was more real to him now than the house itself. “Jimmy sent it to me. I think it’s a very pretty picture. It shows up well.” “Very well. Had you seen him lately?”