than finger-bowls. The moon had risen higher, and floating in the Sound was a triangle of silver scales, trembling a little to the stiff, tinny drip of the banjoes on the lawn. I was still with Jordan Baker. We were sitting at a table with a man of about my age and a rowdy little girl, who gave way upon the slightest provocation to uncontrollable laughter. I was enjoying myself now. I had taken two finger-bowls of champagne, and the scene had changed before my eyes into something significant, elemental, and profound. At a lull in the entertainment the man looked at me and smiled. face is he said, you in the Third Division during the “Your familiar,” politely. “Weren’t war?” yes. I was in the Ninth Machine-gun “Why, Battalion.” was in the Seventh Infantry until June nineteen-eighteen. I knew seen you somewhere “I I’d before.” We talked for a moment about some wet, gray little villages in France. Evidently he lived in this vicinity, for he told me that he had just bought a hydroplane, and was going to try it out in the morning. to go with me, old sport? Just near the shore along the “Want Sound.” “What time?” time that suits you “Any best.” It was on the tip of my tongue to ask his name when Jordan looked around and smiled. a gay time she inquired. “Having now?” I turned again to my new acquaintance. is an unusual party for me. I “Much better.” “This even seen the host. I live over there——” I waved my hand at the invisible hedge in the haven’t distance, this man Gatsby sent over his chauffeur with an For a moment he “and invitation.” looked at me as if he failed to understand. he said suddenly. “I’m Gatsby,” I exclaimed. I beg your “What!” “Oh, pardon.”
than finger-bowls. The moon had risen higher, and floating in the Sound was a triangle of silver scales, trembling a little to the stiff, tinny drip of the banjoes on the lawn. I was still with Jordan Baker. We were sitting at a table with a man of about my age and a rowdy little girl, who gave way upon the slightest provocation to uncontrollable laughter. I was enjoying myself now. I had taken two finger-bowls of champagne, and the scene had changed before my eyes into something significant, elemental, and profound. At a lull in the entertainment the man looked at me and smiled. “Your face is familiar,” he said, politely. “Weren’t you in the Third Division during the war?” “Why, yes. I was in the Ninth Machine-gun Battalion.” “I was in the Seventh Infantry until June nineteen-eighteen. I knew I’d seen you somewhere before.” We talked for a moment about some wet, gray little villages in France. Evidently he lived in this vicinity, for he told me that he had just bought a hydroplane, and was going to try it out in the morning. “Want to go with me, old sport? Just near the shore along the Sound.” “What time?” “Any time that suits you best.” It was on the tip of my tongue to ask his name when Jordan looked around and smiled. “Having a gay time now?” she inquired. “Much better.” I turned again to my new acquaintance. “This is an unusual party for me. I haven’t even seen the host. I live over there——” I waved my hand at the invisible hedge in the distance, “and this man Gatsby sent over his chauffeur with an invitation.” For a moment he looked at me as if he failed to understand. “I’m Gatsby,” he said suddenly. “What!” I exclaimed. “Oh, I beg your pardon.”
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