think pretty dumb, he I am, but I have a—almost a “You I’m don’t you?” suggested. “Perhaps second sight, sometimes, that tells me what to do. Maybe you believe that, but don’t ” He paused. The immediate contingency overtook him, pulled him back from the edge of the theoretical abyss. made a small investigation of this he continued. could have gone deeper if “I’ve fellow,” “I I’d known——” you mean been to a inquired Jordan humorously. “Do you’ve medium?” Confused, he stared at us as we laughed. “What?” “A medium?” “About Gatsby.” Gatsby! No, I I said been making a small investigation of his “About haven’t. I’d past.” you found he was an Oxford said Jordan helpfully. “And man,” Oxford He was incredulous. hell he is! He wears a pink “An man!” “Like suit.” an Oxford “Nevertheless he’s man.” New Tom contemptuously, something like “Oxford, Mexico,” snorted “or that.” Tom. If such a snob, why did you invite him to demanded Jordan “Listen, you’re lunch?” crossly. invited him; she knew him before we were married—God knows “Daisy where!” We were all irritable now with the fading ale, and aware of it we drove for a while in silence. Then as Doctor T. J. faded eyes came into sight down the road, I remembered Eckleburg’s caution about gasoline. Gatsby’s got enough to get us to said Tom. “We’ve town,” a garage right want to get stalled in this baking “But there’s here,” objected Jordan. “I don’t Tom threw on both brakes impatiently, and we slid to an abrupt dusty stop under heat.” Wilson’s
“You think I’m pretty dumb, don’t you?” he suggested. “Perhaps I am, but I have a—almost a second sight, sometimes, that tells me what to do. Maybe you don’t believe that, but He paused. The immediate contingency overtook him, pulled him back from the edge of the theoretical abyss. “I’ve made a small investigation of this fellow,” he continued. “I could have gone deeper if I’d known——” “Do you mean you’ve been to a medium?” inquired Jordan humorously. “What?” Confused, he stared at us as we laughed. “A medium?” “About Gatsby.” “About Gatsby! No, I haven’t. I said I’d been making a small investigation of his past.” “And you found he was an Oxford man,” said Jordan helpfully. “An Oxford man!” He was incredulous. “Like hell he is! He wears a pink suit.” “Nevertheless he’s an Oxford man.” “Oxford, New Mexico,” snorted Tom contemptuously, “or something like that.” “Listen, Tom. If you’re such a snob, why did you invite him to lunch?” demanded Jordan crossly. “Daisy invited him; she knew him before we were married—God knows where!” We were all irritable now with the fading ale, and aware of it we drove for a while in silence. Then as Doctor T. J. Eckleburg’s faded eyes came into sight down the road, I remembered Gatsby’s caution about gasoline. “We’ve got enough to get us to town,” said Tom. “But there’s a garage right here,” objected Jordan. “I don’t want to get stalled in this baking heat.” Tom threw on both brakes impatiently, and we slid to an abrupt dusty stop under Wilson’s ”
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