Why, no, I answered, rather surprised by his tone.
Well, its a fine book, and everybody ought to read it. The idea is if we dont look out the white race will be will be utterly submerged. Its all scientific stuff; its been proved.
Toms getting very profound, said Daisy, with an expression of unthoughtful sadness. He reads deep books with long words in them. What was that word we
Well, these books are all scientific, unthoughtful sadness Tom, glancing at her impatiently. This fellow has worked out the whole thing. Its up to us, who are the dominant race, to watch out or these other races will have control of things.
Weve got to beat them down, whispered Daisy, winking ferociously toward the fervent sun.
You ought to live in California began Miss Baker, but Tom interrupted her by shifting heavily in his chair.
This idea is that were Nordics[21]. I am, and you are, and you are, and After an infinitesimal hesitation he included Daisy with a slight nod, and she winked at me again. And weve produced all the things that go to make civilization oh, science and art, and all that. Do you see?
There was something pathetic in his concentration, as if his complacency, more acute than of old, was not enough to him anymore. When, almost immediately, the telephone rang inside and the butler left the porch Daisy seized upon the momentary interruption and leaned toward me.
Ill tell you a family secret, she whispered enthusiastically. Its about the butlers nose. Do you want to hear about the butlers nose?
Thats why I came over to-night.
Well, he wasnt always a butler; he used to be the silver polisher for some people in New York that had a silver service for two hundred people. He had to polish it from morning till night, until finally it began to affect his nose
Things went from bad to worse, suggested Miss Baker.
Yes. Things went from bad to worse, until finally he had to give up his position.
For a moment the last sunshine fell with romantic affection upon her glowing face; her voice compelled me forward breathlessly as I listened then the glow faded, each light deserting her with lingering regret, like children leaving a pleasant street at dusk.
The butler came back and murmured something close to Toms ear, whereupon Tom frowned, pushed back his chair, and without a word went inside. As if his absence quickened something within her, Daisy leaned forward again, her voice glowing and singing.
The butler came back and murmured something close to Toms ear, whereupon Tom frowned, pushed back his chair, and without a word went inside. As if his absence quickened something within her, Daisy leaned forward again, her voice glowing and singing.
I love to see you at my table, Nick. You remind me of a of a rose, an absolute rose. Doesnt he? She turned to Miss Baker for confirmation: An absolute rose?
This was untrue. I am not even faintly like a rose. She was only extemporizing, but a stirring warmth flowed from her, as if her heart was trying to come out to you concealed in one of those breathless, thrilling words. Then suddenly she threw her napkin on the table and excused herself and went into the house.
Miss Baker and I exchanged a short glance consciously devoid of meaning. I was about to speak when she sat up alertly and said Sh! in a warning voice. A subdued impassioned murmur was audible in the room beyond, and Miss Baker leaned forward unashamed, trying to hear. The murmur trembled on the verge of coherence, sank down, mounted excitedly, and then ceased altogether.
This Mr. Gatsby you spoke of is my neighbour I began.
Dont talk. I want to hear what happens.
Is something happening? I inquired innocently.
You mean to say you dont know? said Miss Baker, honestly surprised. I thought everybody knew.
I dont.
Why she said hesitantly, Toms got some woman in New York.
Got some woman? I repeated blankly.
Miss Baker nodded.
She might have the decency not to telephone him at dinner time. Dont you think?
Almost before I had grasped her meaning there was the flutter of a dress and the crunch of leather boots, and Tom and Daisy were back at the table.
It couldnt be helped! cried Daisy with tense gaiety.
She sat down, glanced searchingly at Miss Baker and then at me, and continued: I looked outdoors for a minute, and its very romantic outdoors. Theres a bird on the lawn that I think must be a nightingale come over on the Cunard or White Star Line[22]. Hes singing away Her voice sang: Its romantic, isnt it, Tom?
Very romantic, he said, and then miserably to me: If its light enough after dinner, I want to take you down to the stables.
The telephone rang inside, startlingly, and as Daisy shook her head decisively at Tom the subject of the stables, in fact all subjects, vanished into air. Among the broken fragments of the last five minutes at table I remember the candles being lit again, pointlessly, and I was conscious of wanting to look squarely at every one, and yet to avoid all eyes. I couldnt guess what Daisy and Tom were thinking, but I doubt if even Miss Baker, who seemed to have mastered a certain hardy scepticism, was able utterly to put this fifth guests shrill metallic urgency out of mind. To a certain temperament the situation might have seemed intriguing my own instinct was to telephone immediately for the police.