diff --git a/compose.yaml b/compose.yaml new file mode 100644 index 00000000..08742a37 --- /dev/null +++ b/compose.yaml @@ -0,0 +1,17 @@ +# Docker Compose file for running a RabbitMQ broker +# More info about RabbitMQ at https://www.rabbitmq.com + +# Commands for using Docker Compose +# Create and start containers ............... docker compose up +# Create and start in detached mode ......... docker compuse up -d +# Stop active services in terminal .......... press Ctrl+C +# Stop and remove containers and networks ... docker compose down + +services: + + rabbitmq: + image: "rabbitmq:3.13-management" + container_name: "rabbitmq" + ports: + - "5672:5672" + - "15672:15672" diff --git a/examples/ordered_wordcount/gatsby_book.txt b/examples/ordered_wordcount/gatsby_book.txt new file mode 100644 index 00000000..2951221b --- /dev/null +++ b/examples/ordered_wordcount/gatsby_book.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6823 @@ + + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Great Gatsby + +This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online +at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, +you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located +before using this eBook. + + + + + Title: The Great Gatsby + + Author: F. Scott Fitzgerald + + + Release date: January 17, 2021 [eBook #64317] + Language: English + + + + + *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT GATSBY *** + + + The Great Gatsby + by + F. Scott Fitzgerald + + + Table of Contents + +I +II +III +IV +V +VI +VII +VIII +IX + + + Once again + to + Zelda + + Then wear the gold hat, if that will move her; + If you can bounce high, bounce for her too, + Till she cry “Lover, gold-hatted, high-bouncing lover, + I must have you!” + + Thomas Parke d’Invilliers + + + I + +In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice +that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since. + +“Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone,” he told me, “just +remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages +that you’ve had.” + +He didn’t say any more, but we’ve always been unusually communicative +in a reserved way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more +than that. In consequence, I’m inclined to reserve all judgements, a +habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me +the victim of not a few veteran bores. The abnormal mind is quick to +detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal +person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of +being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, +unknown men. Most of the confidences were unsought—frequently I have +feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when I realized by +some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quivering on +the horizon; for the intimate revelations of young men, or at least +the terms in which they express them, are usually plagiaristic and +marred by obvious suppressions. Reserving judgements is a matter of +infinite hope. I am still a little afraid of missing something if I +forget that, as my father snobbishly suggested, and I snobbishly +repeat, a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out +unequally at birth. + +And, after boasting this way of my tolerance, I come to the admission +that it has a limit. Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the +wet marshes, but after a certain point I don’t care what it’s founded +on. When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted +the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I +wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the +human heart. Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was +exempt from my reaction—Gatsby, who represented everything for which I +have an unaffected scorn. If personality is an unbroken series of +successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some +heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related +to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten +thousand miles away. This responsiveness had nothing to do with that +flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the +“creative temperament”—it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a +romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and +which it is not likely I shall ever find again. No—Gatsby turned out +all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust +floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed out my +interest in the abortive sorrows and short-winded elations of men. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +My family have been prominent, well-to-do people in this Middle +Western city for three generations. The Carraways are something of a +clan, and we have a tradition that we’re descended from the Dukes of +Buccleuch, but the actual founder of my line was my grandfather’s +brother, who came here in fifty-one, sent a substitute to the Civil +War, and started the wholesale hardware business that my father +carries on today. + +I never saw this great-uncle, but I’m supposed to look like him—with +special reference to the rather hard-boiled painting that hangs in +father’s office. I graduated from New Haven in 1915, just a quarter of +a century after my father, and a little later I participated in that +delayed Teutonic migration known as the Great War. I enjoyed the +counter-raid so thoroughly that I came back restless. Instead of being +the warm centre of the world, the Middle West now seemed like the +ragged edge of the universe—so I decided to go East and learn the bond +business. Everybody I knew was in the bond business, so I supposed it +could support one more single man. All my aunts and uncles talked it +over as if they were choosing a prep school for me, and finally said, +“Why—ye-es,” with very grave, hesitant faces. Father agreed to finance +me for a year, and after various delays I came East, permanently, I +thought, in the spring of twenty-two. + +The practical thing was to find rooms in the city, but it was a warm +season, and I had just left a country of wide lawns and friendly +trees, so when a young man at the office suggested that we take a +house together in a commuting town, it sounded like a great idea. He +found the house, a weather-beaten cardboard bungalow at eighty a +month, but at the last minute the firm ordered him to Washington, and +I went out to the country alone. I had a dog—at least I had him for a +few days until he ran away—and an old Dodge and a Finnish woman, who +made my bed and cooked breakfast and muttered Finnish wisdom to +herself over the electric stove. + +It was lonely for a day or so until one morning some man, more +recently arrived than I, stopped me on the road. + +“How do you get to West Egg village?” he asked helplessly. + +I told him. And as I walked on I was lonely no longer. I was a guide, +a pathfinder, an original settler. He had casually conferred on me the +freedom of the neighbourhood. + +And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the +trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar +conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer. + +There was so much to read, for one thing, and so much fine health to +be pulled down out of the young breath-giving air. I bought a dozen +volumes on banking and credit and investment securities, and they +stood on my shelf in red and gold like new money from the mint, +promising to unfold the shining secrets that only Midas and Morgan and +Maecenas knew. And I had the high intention of reading many other +books besides. I was rather literary in college—one year I wrote a +series of very solemn and obvious editorials for the Yale News—and now +I was going to bring back all such things into my life and become +again that most limited of all specialists, the “well-rounded man.” +This isn’t just an epigram—life is much more successfully looked at +from a single window, after all. + +It was a matter of chance that I should have rented a house in one of +the strangest communities in North America. It was on that slender +riotous island which extends itself due east of New York—and where +there are, among other natural curiosities, two unusual formations of +land. Twenty miles from the city a pair of enormous eggs, identical in +contour and separated only by a courtesy bay, jut out into the most +domesticated body of salt water in the Western hemisphere, the great +wet barnyard of Long Island Sound. They are not perfect ovals—like the +egg in the Columbus story, they are both crushed flat at the contact +end—but their physical resemblance must be a source of perpetual +wonder to the gulls that fly overhead. To the wingless a more +interesting phenomenon is their dissimilarity in every particular +except shape and size. + +I lived at West Egg, the—well, the less fashionable of the two, though +this is a most superficial tag to express the bizarre and not a little +sinister contrast between them. My house was at the very tip of the +egg, only fifty yards from the Sound, and squeezed between two huge +places that rented for twelve or fifteen thousand a season. The one on +my right was a colossal affair by any standard—it was a factual +imitation of some Hôtel de Ville in Normandy, with a tower on one +side, spanking new under a thin beard of raw ivy, and a marble +swimming pool, and more than forty acres of lawn and garden. It was +Gatsby’s mansion. Or, rather, as I didn’t know Mr. Gatsby, it was a +mansion inhabited by a gentleman of that name. My own house was an +eyesore, but it was a small eyesore, and it had been overlooked, so I +had a view of the water, a partial view of my neighbour’s lawn, and +the consoling proximity of millionaires—all for eighty dollars a +month. + +Across the courtesy bay the white palaces of fashionable East Egg +glittered along the water, and the history of the summer really begins +on the evening I drove over there to have dinner with the Tom +Buchanans. Daisy was my second cousin once removed, and I’d known Tom +in college. And just after the war I spent two days with them in +Chicago. + +Her husband, among various physical accomplishments, had been one of +the most powerful ends that ever played football at New Haven—a +national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute +limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savours of +anticlimax. His family were enormously wealthy—even in college his +freedom with money was a matter for reproach—but now he’d left Chicago +and come East in a fashion that rather took your breath away: for +instance, he’d brought down a string of polo ponies from Lake +Forest. It was hard to realize that a man in my own generation was +wealthy enough to do that. + +Why they came East I don’t know. They had spent a year in France for +no particular reason, and then drifted here and there unrestfully +wherever people played polo and were rich together. This was a +permanent move, said Daisy over the telephone, but I didn’t believe +it—I had no sight into Daisy’s heart, but I felt that Tom would drift +on forever seeking, a little wistfully, for the dramatic turbulence of +some irrecoverable football game. + +And so it happened that on a warm windy evening I drove over to East +Egg to see two old friends whom I scarcely knew at all. Their house +was even more elaborate than I expected, a cheerful red-and-white +Georgian Colonial mansion, overlooking the bay. The lawn started at +the beach and ran towards the front door for a quarter of a mile, +jumping over sundials and brick walks and burning gardens—finally when +it reached the house drifting up the side in bright vines as though +from the momentum of its run. The front was broken by a line of French +windows, glowing now with reflected gold and wide open to the warm +windy afternoon, and Tom Buchanan in riding clothes was standing with +his legs apart on the front porch. + +He had changed since his New Haven years. Now he was a sturdy +straw-haired man of thirty, with a rather hard mouth and a +supercilious manner. Two shining arrogant eyes had established +dominance over his face and gave him the appearance of always leaning +aggressively forward. Not even the effeminate swank of his riding +clothes could hide the enormous power of that body—he seemed to fill +those glistening boots until he strained the top lacing, and you could +see a great pack of muscle shifting when his shoulder moved under his +thin coat. It was a body capable of enormous leverage—a cruel body. + +His speaking voice, a gruff husky tenor, added to the impression of +fractiousness he conveyed. There was a touch of paternal contempt in +it, even toward people he liked—and there were men at New Haven who +had hated his guts. + +“Now, don’t think my opinion on these matters is final,” he seemed to +say, “just because I’m stronger and more of a man than you are.” We +were in the same senior society, and while we were never intimate I +always had the impression that he approved of me and wanted me to like +him with some harsh, defiant wistfulness of his own. + +We talked for a few minutes on the sunny porch. + +“I’ve got a nice place here,” he said, his eyes flashing about +restlessly. + +Turning me around by one arm, he moved a broad flat hand along the +front vista, including in its sweep a sunken Italian garden, a half +acre of deep, pungent roses, and a snub-nosed motorboat that bumped +the tide offshore. + +“It belonged to Demaine, the oil man.” He turned me around again, +politely and abruptly. “We’ll go inside.” + +We walked through a high hallway into a bright rosy-coloured space, +fragilely bound into the house by French windows at either end. The +windows were ajar and gleaming white against the fresh grass outside +that seemed to grow a little way into the house. A breeze blew through +the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale +flags, twisting them up toward the frosted wedding-cake of the +ceiling, and then rippled over the wine-coloured rug, making a shadow +on it as wind does on the sea. + +The only completely stationary object in the room was an enormous +couch on which two young women were buoyed up as though upon an +anchored balloon. They were both in white, and their dresses were +rippling and fluttering as if they had just been blown back in after a +short flight around the house. I must have stood for a few moments +listening to the whip and snap of the curtains and the groan of a +picture on the wall. Then there was a boom as Tom Buchanan shut the +rear windows and the caught wind died out about the room, and the +curtains and the rugs and the two young women ballooned slowly to the +floor. + +The younger of the two was a stranger to me. She was extended full +length at her end of the divan, completely motionless, and with her +chin raised a little, as if she were balancing something on it which +was quite likely to fall. If she saw me out of the corner of her eyes +she gave no hint of it—indeed, I was almost surprised into murmuring +an apology for having disturbed her by coming in. + +The other girl, Daisy, made an attempt to rise—she leaned slightly +forward with a conscientious expression—then she laughed, an absurd, +charming little laugh, and I laughed too and came forward into the +room. + +“I’m p-paralysed with happiness.” + +She laughed again, as if she said something very witty, and held my +hand for a moment, looking up into my face, promising that there was +no one in the world she so much wanted to see. That was a way she +had. She hinted in a murmur that the surname of the balancing girl was +Baker. (I’ve heard it said that Daisy’s murmur was only to make people +lean toward her; an irrelevant criticism that made it no less +charming.) + +At any rate, Miss Baker’s lips fluttered, she nodded at me almost +imperceptibly, and then quickly tipped her head back again—the object +she was balancing had obviously tottered a little and given her +something of a fright. Again a sort of apology arose to my lips. +Almost any exhibition of complete self-sufficiency draws a stunned +tribute from me. + +I looked back at my cousin, who began to ask me questions in her low, +thrilling voice. It was the kind of voice that the ear follows up and +down, as if each speech is an arrangement of notes that will never be +played again. Her face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, +bright eyes and a bright passionate mouth, but there was an excitement +in her voice that men who had cared for her found difficult to forget: +a singing compulsion, a whispered “Listen,” a promise that she had +done gay, exciting things just a while since and that there were gay, +exciting things hovering in the next hour. + +I told her how I had stopped off in Chicago for a day on my way East, +and how a dozen people had sent their love through me. + +“Do they miss me?” she cried ecstatically. + +“The whole town is desolate. All the cars have the left rear wheel +painted black as a mourning wreath, and there’s a persistent wail all +night along the north shore.” + +“How gorgeous! Let’s go back, Tom. Tomorrow!” Then she added +irrelevantly: “You ought to see the baby.” + +“I’d like to.” + +“She’s asleep. She’s three years old. Haven’t you ever seen her?” + +“Never.” + +“Well, you ought to see her. She’s—” + +Tom Buchanan, who had been hovering restlessly about the room, stopped +and rested his hand on my shoulder. + +“What you doing, Nick?” + +“I’m a bond man.” + +“Who with?” + +I told him. + +“Never heard of them,” he remarked decisively. + +This annoyed me. + +“You will,” I answered shortly. “You will if you stay in the East.” + +“Oh, I’ll stay in the East, don’t you worry,” he said, glancing at +Daisy and then back at me, as if he were alert for something +more. “I’d be a God damned fool to live anywhere else.” + +At this point Miss Baker said: “Absolutely!” with such suddenness that +I started—it was the first word she had uttered since I came into the +room. Evidently it surprised her as much as it did me, for she yawned +and with a series of rapid, deft movements stood up into the room. + +“I’m stiff,” she complained, “I’ve been lying on that sofa for as long +as I can remember.” + +“Don’t look at me,” Daisy retorted, “I’ve been trying to get you to +New York all afternoon.” + +“No, thanks,” said Miss Baker to the four cocktails just in from the +pantry. “I’m absolutely in training.” + +Her host looked at her incredulously. + +“You are!” He took down his drink as if it were a drop in the bottom +of a glass. “How you ever get anything done is beyond me.” + +I looked at Miss Baker, wondering what it was she “got done.” I +enjoyed looking at her. She was a slender, small-breasted girl, with +an erect carriage, which she accentuated by throwing her body backward +at the shoulders like a young cadet. Her grey sun-strained eyes looked +back at me with polite reciprocal curiosity out of a wan, charming, +discontented face. It occurred to me now that I had seen her, or a +picture of her, somewhere before. + +“You live in West Egg,” she remarked contemptuously. “I know somebody +there.” + +“I don’t know a single—” + +“You must know Gatsby.” + +“Gatsby?” demanded Daisy. “What Gatsby?” + +Before I could reply that he was my neighbour dinner was announced; +wedging his tense arm imperatively under mine, Tom Buchanan compelled +me from the room as though he were moving a checker to another square. + +Slenderly, languidly, their hands set lightly on their hips, the two +young women preceded us out on to a rosy-coloured porch, open toward +the sunset, where four candles flickered on the table in the +diminished wind. + +“Why candles?” objected Daisy, frowning. She snapped them out with her +fingers. “In two weeks it’ll be the longest day in the year.” She +looked at us all radiantly. “Do you always watch for the longest day +of the year and then miss it? I always watch for the longest day in +the year and then miss it.” + +“We ought to plan something,” yawned Miss Baker, sitting down at the +table as if she were getting into bed. + +“All right,” said Daisy. “What’ll we plan?” She turned to me +helplessly: “What do people plan?” + +Before I could answer her eyes fastened with an awed expression on her +little finger. + +“Look!” she complained; “I hurt it.” + +We all looked—the knuckle was black and blue. + +“You did it, Tom,” she said accusingly. “I know you didn’t mean to, +but you did do it. That’s what I get for marrying a brute of a man, a +great, big, hulking physical specimen of a—” + +“I hate that word ‘hulking,’ ” objected Tom crossly, “even in +kidding.” + +“Hulking,” insisted Daisy. + +Sometimes she and Miss Baker talked at once, unobtrusively and with a +bantering inconsequence that was never quite chatter, that was as cool +as their white dresses and their impersonal eyes in the absence of all +desire. They were here, and they accepted Tom and me, making only a +polite pleasant effort to entertain or to be entertained. They knew +that presently dinner would be over and a little later the evening too +would be over and casually put away. It was sharply different from the +West, where an evening was hurried from phase to phase towards its +close, in a continually disappointed anticipation or else in sheer +nervous dread of the moment itself. + +“You make me feel uncivilized, Daisy,” I confessed on my second glass +of corky but rather impressive claret. “Can’t you talk about crops or +something?” + +I meant nothing in particular by this remark, but it was taken up in +an unexpected way. + +“Civilization’s going to pieces,” broke out Tom violently. “I’ve +gotten to be a terrible pessimist about things. Have you read The Rise +of the Coloured Empires by this man Goddard?” + +“Why, no,” I answered, rather surprised by his tone. + +“Well, it’s a fine book, and everybody ought to read it. The idea is +if we don’t look out the white race will be—will be utterly +submerged. It’s all scientific stuff; it’s been proved.” + +“Tom’s 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,” insisted Tom, glancing at her +impatiently. “This fellow has worked out the whole thing. It’s up to +us, who are the dominant race, to watch out or these other races will +have control of things.” + +“We’ve 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 we’re Nordics. 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 we’ve 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 any more. +When, almost immediately, the telephone rang inside and the butler +left the porch Daisy seized upon the momentary interruption and leaned +towards me. + +“I’ll tell you a family secret,” she whispered enthusiastically. +“It’s about the butler’s nose. Do you want to hear about the butler’s +nose?” + +“That’s why I came over tonight.” + +“Well, he wasn’t 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 Tom’s 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. Doesn’t 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. + +“Don’t talk. I want to hear what happens.” + +“Is something happening?” I inquired innocently. + +“You mean to say you don’t know?” said Miss Baker, honestly surprised. +“I thought everybody knew.” + +“I don’t.” + +“Why—” she said hesitantly. “Tom’s 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. +Don’t 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 couldn’t 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 it’s very romantic +outdoors. There’s a bird on the lawn that I think must be a +nightingale come over on the Cunard or White Star Line. He’s singing +away—” Her voice sang: “It’s romantic, isn’t it, Tom?” + +“Very romantic,” he said, and then miserably to me: “If it’s 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 everyone, and yet to +avoid all eyes. I couldn’t 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 guest’s 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. + +The horses, needless to say, were not mentioned again. Tom and Miss +Baker, with several feet of twilight between them, strolled back into +the library, as if to a vigil beside a perfectly tangible body, while, +trying to look pleasantly interested and a little deaf, I followed +Daisy around a chain of connecting verandas to the porch in front. In +its deep gloom we sat down side by side on a wicker settee. + +Daisy took her face in her hands as if feeling its lovely shape, and +her eyes moved gradually out into the velvet dusk. I saw that +turbulent emotions possessed her, so I asked what I thought would be +some sedative questions about her little girl. + +“We don’t know each other very well, Nick,” she said suddenly. “Even +if we are cousins. You didn’t come to my wedding.” + +“I wasn’t back from the war.” + +“That’s true.” She hesitated. “Well, I’ve had a very bad time, Nick, +and I’m pretty cynical about everything.” + +Evidently she had reason to be. I waited but she didn’t say any more, +and after a moment I returned rather feebly to the subject of her +daughter. + +“I suppose she talks, and—eats, and everything.” + +“Oh, yes.” She looked at me absently. “Listen, Nick; let me tell you +what I said when she was born. Would you like to hear?” + +“Very much.” + +“It’ll show you how I’ve gotten to feel about—things. Well, she was +less than an hour old and Tom was God knows where. I woke up out of +the ether with an utterly abandoned feeling, and asked the nurse right +away if it was a boy or a girl. She told me it was a girl, and so I +turned my head away and wept. ‘All right,’ I said, ‘I’m glad it’s a +girl. And I hope she’ll be a fool—that’s the best thing a girl can be +in this world, a beautiful little fool.’ + +“You see I think everything’s terrible anyhow,” she went on in a +convinced way. “Everybody thinks so—the most advanced people. And I +know. I’ve been everywhere and seen everything and done everything.” +Her eyes flashed around her in a defiant way, rather like Tom’s, and +she laughed with thrilling scorn. “Sophisticated—God, I’m +sophisticated!” + +The instant her voice broke off, ceasing to compel my attention, my +belief, I felt the basic insincerity of what she had said. It made me +uneasy, as though the whole evening had been a trick of some sort to +exact a contributory emotion from me. I waited, and sure enough, in a +moment she looked at me with an absolute smirk on her lovely face, as +if she had asserted her membership in a rather distinguished secret +society to which she and Tom belonged. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Inside, the crimson room bloomed with light. Tom and Miss Baker sat at +either end of the long couch and she read aloud to him from the +Saturday Evening Post—the words, murmurous and uninflected, running +together in a soothing tune. The lamplight, bright on his boots and +dull on the autumn-leaf yellow of her hair, glinted along the paper as +she turned a page with a flutter of slender muscles in her arms. + +When we came in she held us silent for a moment with a lifted hand. + +“To be continued,” she said, tossing the magazine on the table, “in +our very next issue.” + +Her body asserted itself with a restless movement of her knee, and she +stood up. + +“Ten o’clock,” she remarked, apparently finding the time on the +ceiling. “Time for this good girl to go to bed.” + +“Jordan’s going to play in the tournament tomorrow,” explained Daisy, +“over at Westchester.” + +“Oh—you’re Jordan Baker.” + +I knew now why her face was familiar—its pleasing contemptuous +expression had looked out at me from many rotogravure pictures of the +sporting life at Asheville and Hot Springs and Palm Beach. I had heard +some story of her too, a critical, unpleasant story, but what it was I +had forgotten long ago. + +“Good night,” she said softly. “Wake me at eight, won’t you.” + +“If you’ll get up.” + +“I will. Good night, Mr. Carraway. See you anon.” + +“Of course you will,” confirmed Daisy. “In fact I think I’ll arrange a +marriage. Come over often, Nick, and I’ll sort of—oh—fling you +together. You know—lock you up accidentally in linen closets and push +you out to sea in a boat, and all that sort of thing—” + +“Good night,” called Miss Baker from the stairs. “I haven’t heard a +word.” + +“She’s a nice girl,” said Tom after a moment. “They oughtn’t to let +her run around the country this way.” + +“Who oughtn’t to?” inquired Daisy coldly. + +“Her family.” + +“Her family is one aunt about a thousand years old. Besides, Nick’s +going to look after her, aren’t you, Nick? She’s going to spend lots +of weekends out here this summer. I think the home influence will be +very good for her.” + +Daisy and Tom looked at each other for a moment in silence. + +“Is she from New York?” I asked quickly. + +“From Louisville. Our white girlhood was passed together there. Our +beautiful white—” + +“Did you give Nick a little heart to heart talk on the veranda?” +demanded Tom suddenly. + +“Did I?” She looked at me. “I can’t seem to remember, but I think we +talked about the Nordic race. Yes, I’m sure we did. It sort of crept +up on us and first thing you know—” + +“Don’t believe everything you hear, Nick,” he advised me. + +I said lightly that I had heard nothing at all, and a few minutes +later I got up to go home. They came to the door with me and stood +side by side in a cheerful square of light. As I started my motor +Daisy peremptorily called: “Wait!” + +“I forgot to ask you something, and it’s important. We heard you were +engaged to a girl out West.” + +“That’s right,” corroborated Tom kindly. “We heard that you were +engaged.” + +“It’s a libel. I’m too poor.” + +“But we heard it,” insisted Daisy, surprising me by opening up again +in a flower-like way. “We heard it from three people, so it must be +true.” + +Of course I knew what they were referring to, but I wasn’t even +vaguely engaged. The fact that gossip had published the banns was one +of the reasons I had come East. You can’t stop going with an old +friend on account of rumours, and on the other hand I had no intention +of being rumoured into marriage. + +Their interest rather touched me and made them less remotely +rich—nevertheless, I was confused and a little disgusted as I drove +away. It seemed to me that the thing for Daisy to do was to rush out +of the house, child in arms—but apparently there were no such +intentions in her head. As for Tom, the fact that he “had some woman +in New York” was really less surprising than that he had been +depressed by a book. Something was making him nibble at the edge of +stale ideas as if his sturdy physical egotism no longer nourished his +peremptory heart. + +Already it was deep summer on roadhouse roofs and in front of wayside +garages, where new red petrol-pumps sat out in pools of light, and +when I reached my estate at West Egg I ran the car under its shed and +sat for a while on an abandoned grass roller in the yard. The wind had +blown off, leaving a loud, bright night, with wings beating in the +trees and a persistent organ sound as the full bellows of the earth +blew the frogs full of life. The silhouette of a moving cat wavered +across the moonlight, and, turning my head to watch it, I saw that I +was not alone—fifty feet away a figure had emerged from the shadow of +my neighbour’s mansion and was standing with his hands in his pockets +regarding the silver pepper of the stars. Something in his leisurely +movements and the secure position of his feet upon the lawn suggested +that it was Mr. Gatsby himself, come out to determine what share was +his of our local heavens. + +I decided to call to him. Miss Baker had mentioned him at dinner, and +that would do for an introduction. But I didn’t call to him, for he +gave a sudden intimation that he was content to be alone—he stretched +out his arms toward the dark water in a curious way, and, far as I was +from him, I could have sworn he was trembling. Involuntarily I glanced +seaward—and distinguished nothing except a single green light, minute +and far away, that might have been the end of a dock. When I looked +once more for Gatsby he had vanished, and I was alone again in the +unquiet darkness. + + + II + +About halfway between West Egg and New York the motor road hastily +joins the railroad and runs beside it for a quarter of a mile, so as +to shrink away from a certain desolate area of land. This is a valley +of ashes—a fantastic farm where ashes grow like wheat into ridges and +hills and grotesque gardens; where ashes take the forms of houses and +chimneys and rising smoke and, finally, with a transcendent effort, of +ash-grey men, who move dimly and already crumbling through the powdery +air. Occasionally a line of grey cars crawls along an invisible track, +gives out a ghastly creak, and comes to rest, and immediately the +ash-grey men swarm up with leaden spades and stir up an impenetrable +cloud, which screens their obscure operations from your sight. + +But above the grey land and the spasms of bleak dust which drift +endlessly over it, you perceive, after a moment, the eyes of Doctor T. +J. Eckleburg. The eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg are blue and +gigantic—their retinas are one yard high. They look out of no face, +but, instead, from a pair of enormous yellow spectacles which pass +over a nonexistent nose. Evidently some wild wag of an oculist set +them there to fatten his practice in the borough of Queens, and then +sank down himself into eternal blindness, or forgot them and moved +away. But his eyes, dimmed a little by many paintless days, under sun +and rain, brood on over the solemn dumping ground. + +The valley of ashes is bounded on one side by a small foul river, and, +when the drawbridge is up to let barges through, the passengers on +waiting trains can stare at the dismal scene for as long as half an +hour. There is always a halt there of at least a minute, and it was +because of this that I first met Tom Buchanan’s mistress. + +The fact that he had one was insisted upon wherever he was known. His +acquaintances resented the fact that he turned up in popular cafés +with her and, leaving her at a table, sauntered about, chatting with +whomsoever he knew. Though I was curious to see her, I had no desire +to meet her—but I did. I went up to New York with Tom on the train one +afternoon, and when we stopped by the ash-heaps he jumped to his feet +and, taking hold of my elbow, literally forced me from the car. + +“We’re getting off,” he insisted. “I want you to meet my girl.” + +I think he’d tanked up a good deal at luncheon, and his determination +to have my company bordered on violence. The supercilious assumption +was that on Sunday afternoon I had nothing better to do. + +I followed him over a low whitewashed railroad fence, and we walked +back a hundred yards along the road under Doctor Eckleburg’s +persistent stare. The only building in sight was a small block of +yellow brick sitting on the edge of the waste land, a sort of compact +Main Street ministering to it, and contiguous to absolutely nothing. +One of the three shops it contained was for rent and another was an +all-night restaurant, approached by a trail of ashes; the third was a +garage—Repairs. George B. Wilson. Cars bought and sold.—and I followed +Tom inside. + +The interior was unprosperous and bare; the only car visible was the +dust-covered wreck of a Ford which crouched in a dim corner. It had +occurred to me that this shadow of a garage must be a blind, and that +sumptuous and romantic apartments were concealed overhead, when the +proprietor himself appeared in the door of an office, wiping his hands +on a piece of waste. He was a blond, spiritless man, anaemic, and +faintly handsome. When he saw us a damp gleam of hope sprang into his +light blue eyes. + +“Hello, Wilson, old man,” said Tom, slapping him jovially on the +shoulder. “How’s business?” + +“I can’t complain,” answered Wilson unconvincingly. “When are you +going to sell me that car?” + +“Next week; I’ve got my man working on it now.” + +“Works pretty slow, don’t he?” + +“No, he doesn’t,” said Tom coldly. “And if you feel that way about it, +maybe I’d better sell it somewhere else after all.” + +“I don’t mean that,” explained Wilson quickly. “I just meant—” + +His voice faded off and Tom glanced impatiently around the garage. +Then I heard footsteps on a stairs, and in a moment the thickish +figure of a woman blocked out the light from the office door. She was +in the middle thirties, and faintly stout, but she carried her flesh +sensuously as some women can. Her face, above a spotted dress of dark +blue crêpe-de-chine, contained no facet or gleam of beauty, but there +was an immediately perceptible vitality about her as if the nerves of +her body were continually smouldering. She smiled slowly and, walking +through her husband as if he were a ghost, shook hands with Tom, +looking him flush in the eye. Then she wet her lips, and without +turning around spoke to her husband in a soft, coarse voice: + +“Get some chairs, why don’t you, so somebody can sit down.” + +“Oh, sure,” agreed Wilson hurriedly, and went toward the little +office, mingling immediately with the cement colour of the walls. A +white ashen dust veiled his dark suit and his pale hair as it veiled +everything in the vicinity—except his wife, who moved close to Tom. + +“I want to see you,” said Tom intently. “Get on the next train.” + +“All right.” + +“I’ll meet you by the newsstand on the lower level.” + +She nodded and moved away from him just as George Wilson emerged with +two chairs from his office door. + +We waited for her down the road and out of sight. It was a few days +before the Fourth of July, and a grey, scrawny Italian child was +setting torpedoes in a row along the railroad track. + +“Terrible place, isn’t it,” said Tom, exchanging a frown with Doctor +Eckleburg. + +“Awful.” + +“It does her good to get away.” + +“Doesn’t her husband object?” + +“Wilson? He thinks she goes to see her sister in New York. He’s so +dumb he doesn’t know he’s alive.” + +So Tom Buchanan and his girl and I went up together to New York—or not +quite together, for Mrs. Wilson sat discreetly in another car. Tom +deferred that much to the sensibilities of those East Eggers who might +be on the train. + +She had changed her dress to a brown figured muslin, which stretched +tight over her rather wide hips as Tom helped her to the platform in +New York. At the newsstand she bought a copy of Town Tattle and a +moving-picture magazine, and in the station drugstore some cold cream +and a small flask of perfume. Upstairs, in the solemn echoing drive +she let four taxicabs drive away before she selected a new one, +lavender-coloured with grey upholstery, and in this we slid out from +the mass of the station into the glowing sunshine. But immediately she +turned sharply from the window and, leaning forward, tapped on the +front glass. + +“I want to get one of those dogs,” she said earnestly. “I want to get +one for the apartment. They’re nice to have—a dog.” + +We backed up to a grey old man who bore an absurd resemblance to John +D. Rockefeller. In a basket swung from his neck cowered a dozen very +recent puppies of an indeterminate breed. + +“What kind are they?” asked Mrs. Wilson eagerly, as he came to the +taxi-window. + +“All kinds. What kind do you want, lady?” + +“I’d like to get one of those police dogs; I don’t suppose you got +that kind?” + +The man peered doubtfully into the basket, plunged in his hand and +drew one up, wriggling, by the back of the neck. + +“That’s no police dog,” said Tom. + +“No, it’s not exactly a police dog,” said the man with disappointment +in his voice. “It’s more of an Airedale.” He passed his hand over the +brown washrag of a back. “Look at that coat. Some coat. That’s a dog +that’ll never bother you with catching cold.” + +“I think it’s cute,” said Mrs. Wilson enthusiastically. “How much is +it?” + +“That dog?” He looked at it admiringly. “That dog will cost you ten +dollars.” + +The Airedale—undoubtedly there was an Airedale concerned in it +somewhere, though its feet were startlingly white—changed hands and +settled down into Mrs. Wilson’s lap, where she fondled the +weatherproof coat with rapture. + +“Is it a boy or a girl?” she asked delicately. + +“That dog? That dog’s a boy.” + +“It’s a bitch,” said Tom decisively. “Here’s your money. Go and buy +ten more dogs with it.” + +We drove over to Fifth Avenue, warm and soft, almost pastoral, on the +summer Sunday afternoon. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see a great +flock of white sheep turn the corner. + +“Hold on,” I said, “I have to leave you here.” + +“No you don’t,” interposed Tom quickly. “Myrtle’ll be hurt if you +don’t come up to the apartment. Won’t you, Myrtle?” + +“Come on,” she urged. “I’ll telephone my sister Catherine. She’s said +to be very beautiful by people who ought to know.” + +“Well, I’d like to, but—” + +We went on, cutting back again over the Park toward the West Hundreds. +At 158th Street the cab stopped at one slice in a long white cake of +apartment-houses. Throwing a regal homecoming glance around the +neighbourhood, Mrs. Wilson gathered up her dog and her other +purchases, and went haughtily in. + +“I’m going to have the McKees come up,” she announced as we rose in +the elevator. “And, of course, I got to call up my sister, too.” + +The apartment was on the top floor—a small living-room, a small +dining-room, a small bedroom, and a bath. The living-room was crowded +to the doors with a set of tapestried furniture entirely too large for +it, so that to move about was to stumble continually over scenes of +ladies swinging in the gardens of Versailles. The only picture was an +over-enlarged photograph, apparently a hen sitting on a blurred rock. +Looked at from a distance, however, the hen resolved itself into a +bonnet, and the countenance of a stout old lady beamed down into the +room. Several old copies of Town Tattle lay on the table together with +a copy of Simon Called Peter, and some of the small scandal magazines +of Broadway. Mrs. Wilson was first concerned with the dog. A reluctant +elevator boy went for a box full of straw and some milk, to which he +added on his own initiative a tin of large, hard dog biscuits—one of +which decomposed apathetically in the saucer of milk all +afternoon. Meanwhile Tom brought out a bottle of whisky from a locked +bureau door. + +I have been drunk just twice in my life, and the second time was that +afternoon; so everything that happened has a dim, hazy cast over it, +although until after eight o’clock the apartment was full of cheerful +sun. Sitting on Tom’s lap Mrs. Wilson called up several people on the +telephone; then there were no cigarettes, and I went out to buy some +at the drugstore on the corner. When I came back they had both +disappeared, so I sat down discreetly in the living-room and read a +chapter of Simon Called Peter—either it was terrible stuff or the +whisky distorted things, because it didn’t make any sense to me. + +Just as Tom and Myrtle (after the first drink Mrs. Wilson and I called +each other by our first names) reappeared, company commenced to arrive +at the apartment door. + +The sister, Catherine, was a slender, worldly girl of about thirty, +with a solid, sticky bob of red hair, and a complexion powdered milky +white. Her eyebrows had been plucked and then drawn on again at a more +rakish angle, but the efforts of nature toward the restoration of the +old alignment gave a blurred air to her face. When she moved about +there was an incessant clicking as innumerable pottery bracelets +jingled up and down upon her arms. She came in with such a proprietary +haste, and looked around so possessively at the furniture that I +wondered if she lived here. But when I asked her she laughed +immoderately, repeated my question aloud, and told me she lived with a +girl friend at a hotel. + +Mr. McKee was a pale, feminine man from the flat below. He had just +shaved, for there was a white spot of lather on his cheekbone, and he +was most respectful in his greeting to everyone in the room. He +informed me that he was in the “artistic game,” and I gathered later +that he was a photographer and had made the dim enlargement of +Mrs. Wilson’s mother which hovered like an ectoplasm on the wall. His +wife was shrill, languid, handsome, and horrible. She told me with +pride that her husband had photographed her a hundred and twenty-seven +times since they had been married. + +Mrs. Wilson had changed her costume some time before, and was now +attired in an elaborate afternoon dress of cream-coloured chiffon, +which gave out a continual rustle as she swept about the room. With +the influence of the dress her personality had also undergone a +change. The intense vitality that had been so remarkable in the garage +was converted into impressive hauteur. Her laughter, her gestures, her +assertions became more violently affected moment by moment, and as she +expanded the room grew smaller around her, until she seemed to be +revolving on a noisy, creaking pivot through the smoky air. + +“My dear,” she told her sister in a high, mincing shout, “most of +these fellas will cheat you every time. All they think of is money. I +had a woman up here last week to look at my feet, and when she gave me +the bill you’d of thought she had my appendicitis out.” + +“What was the name of the woman?” asked Mrs. McKee. + +“Mrs. Eberhardt. She goes around looking at people’s feet in their own +homes.” + +“I like your dress,” remarked Mrs. McKee, “I think it’s adorable.” + +Mrs. Wilson rejected the compliment by raising her eyebrow in disdain. + +“It’s just a crazy old thing,” she said. “I just slip it on sometimes +when I don’t care what I look like.” + +“But it looks wonderful on you, if you know what I mean,” pursued Mrs. +McKee. “If Chester could only get you in that pose I think he could +make something of it.” + +We all looked in silence at Mrs. Wilson, who removed a strand of hair +from over her eyes and looked back at us with a brilliant smile. Mr. +McKee regarded her intently with his head on one side, and then moved +his hand back and forth slowly in front of his face. + +“I should change the light,” he said after a moment. “I’d like to +bring out the modelling of the features. And I’d try to get hold of +all the back hair.” + +“I wouldn’t think of changing the light,” cried Mrs. McKee. “I think +it’s—” + +Her husband said “Sh!” and we all looked at the subject again, +whereupon Tom Buchanan yawned audibly and got to his feet. + +“You McKees have something to drink,” he said. “Get some more ice and +mineral water, Myrtle, before everybody goes to sleep.” + +“I told that boy about the ice.” Myrtle raised her eyebrows in despair +at the shiftlessness of the lower orders. “These people! You have to +keep after them all the time.” + +She looked at me and laughed pointlessly. Then she flounced over to +the dog, kissed it with ecstasy, and swept into the kitchen, implying +that a dozen chefs awaited her orders there. + +“I’ve done some nice things out on Long Island,” asserted Mr. McKee. + +Tom looked at him blankly. + +“Two of them we have framed downstairs.” + +“Two what?” demanded Tom. + +“Two studies. One of them I call Montauk Point—The Gulls, and the +other I call Montauk Point—The Sea.” + +The sister Catherine sat down beside me on the couch. + +“Do you live down on Long Island, too?” she inquired. + +“I live at West Egg.” + +“Really? I was down there at a party about a month ago. At a man named +Gatsby’s. Do you know him?” + +“I live next door to him.” + +“Well, they say he’s a nephew or a cousin of Kaiser Wilhelm’s. That’s +where all his money comes from.” + +“Really?” + +She nodded. + +“I’m scared of him. I’d hate to have him get anything on me.” + +This absorbing information about my neighbour was interrupted by Mrs. +McKee’s pointing suddenly at Catherine: + +“Chester, I think you could do something with her,” she broke out, but +Mr. McKee only nodded in a bored way, and turned his attention to Tom. + +“I’d like to do more work on Long Island, if I could get the entry. +All I ask is that they should give me a start.” + +“Ask Myrtle,” said Tom, breaking into a short shout of laughter as +Mrs. Wilson entered with a tray. “She’ll give you a letter of +introduction, won’t you, Myrtle?” + +“Do what?” she asked, startled. + +“You’ll give McKee a letter of introduction to your husband, so he can +do some studies of him.” His lips moved silently for a moment as he +invented, “ ‘George B. Wilson at the Gasoline Pump,’ or something like +that.” + +Catherine leaned close to me and whispered in my ear: + +“Neither of them can stand the person they’re married to.” + +“Can’t they?” + +“Can’t stand them.” She looked at Myrtle and then at Tom. “What I say +is, why go on living with them if they can’t stand them? If I was them +I’d get a divorce and get married to each other right away.” + +“Doesn’t she like Wilson either?” + +The answer to this was unexpected. It came from Myrtle, who had +overheard the question, and it was violent and obscene. + +“You see,” cried Catherine triumphantly. She lowered her voice again. +“It’s really his wife that’s keeping them apart. She’s a Catholic, and +they don’t believe in divorce.” + +Daisy was not a Catholic, and I was a little shocked at the +elaborateness of the lie. + +“When they do get married,” continued Catherine, “they’re going West +to live for a while until it blows over.” + +“It’d be more discreet to go to Europe.” + +“Oh, do you like Europe?” she exclaimed surprisingly. “I just got back +from Monte Carlo.” + +“Really.” + +“Just last year. I went over there with another girl.” + +“Stay long?” + +“No, we just went to Monte Carlo and back. We went by way of +Marseilles. We had over twelve hundred dollars when we started, but we +got gyped out of it all in two days in the private rooms. We had an +awful time getting back, I can tell you. God, how I hated that town!” + +The late afternoon sky bloomed in the window for a moment like the +blue honey of the Mediterranean—then the shrill voice of Mrs. McKee +called me back into the room. + +“I almost made a mistake, too,” she declared vigorously. “I almost +married a little kike who’d been after me for years. I knew he was +below me. Everybody kept saying to me: ‘Lucille, that man’s way below +you!’ But if I hadn’t met Chester, he’d of got me sure.” + +“Yes, but listen,” said Myrtle Wilson, nodding her head up and down, +“at least you didn’t marry him.” + +“I know I didn’t.” + +“Well, I married him,” said Myrtle, ambiguously. “And that’s the +difference between your case and mine.” + +“Why did you, Myrtle?” demanded Catherine. “Nobody forced you to.” + +Myrtle considered. + +“I married him because I thought he was a gentleman,” she said +finally. “I thought he knew something about breeding, but he wasn’t +fit to lick my shoe.” + +“You were crazy about him for a while,” said Catherine. + +“Crazy about him!” cried Myrtle incredulously. “Who said I was crazy +about him? I never was any more crazy about him than I was about that +man there.” + +She pointed suddenly at me, and everyone looked at me accusingly. I +tried to show by my expression that I expected no affection. + +“The only crazy I was was when I married him. I knew right away I made +a mistake. He borrowed somebody’s best suit to get married in, and +never even told me about it, and the man came after it one day when he +was out: ‘Oh, is that your suit?’ I said. ‘This is the first I ever +heard about it.’ But I gave it to him and then I lay down and cried to +beat the band all afternoon.” + +“She really ought to get away from him,” resumed Catherine to me. +“They’ve been living over that garage for eleven years. And Tom’s the +first sweetie she ever had.” + +The bottle of whisky—a second one—was now in constant demand by all +present, excepting Catherine, who “felt just as good on nothing at +all.” Tom rang for the janitor and sent him for some celebrated +sandwiches, which were a complete supper in themselves. I wanted to +get out and walk eastward toward the park through the soft twilight, +but each time I tried to go I became entangled in some wild, strident +argument which pulled me back, as if with ropes, into my chair. Yet +high over the city our line of yellow windows must have contributed +their share of human secrecy to the casual watcher in the darkening +streets, and I saw him too, looking up and wondering. I was within and +without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible +variety of life. + +Myrtle pulled her chair close to mine, and suddenly her warm breath +poured over me the story of her first meeting with Tom. + +“It was on the two little seats facing each other that are always the +last ones left on the train. I was going up to New York to see my +sister and spend the night. He had on a dress suit and patent leather +shoes, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off him, but every time he looked +at me I had to pretend to be looking at the advertisement over his +head. When we came into the station he was next to me, and his white +shirtfront pressed against my arm, and so I told him I’d have to call +a policeman, but he knew I lied. I was so excited that when I got into +a taxi with him I didn’t hardly know I wasn’t getting into a subway +train. All I kept thinking about, over and over, was ‘You can’t live +forever; you can’t live forever.’ ” + +She turned to Mrs. McKee and the room rang full of her artificial +laughter. + +“My dear,” she cried, “I’m going to give you this dress as soon as I’m +through with it. I’ve got to get another one tomorrow. I’m going to +make a list of all the things I’ve got to get. A massage and a wave, +and a collar for the dog, and one of those cute little ashtrays where +you touch a spring, and a wreath with a black silk bow for mother’s +grave that’ll last all summer. I got to write down a list so I won’t +forget all the things I got to do.” + +It was nine o’clock—almost immediately afterward I looked at my watch +and found it was ten. Mr. McKee was asleep on a chair with his fists +clenched in his lap, like a photograph of a man of action. Taking out +my handkerchief I wiped from his cheek the spot of dried lather that +had worried me all the afternoon. + +The little dog was sitting on the table looking with blind eyes +through the smoke, and from time to time groaning faintly. People +disappeared, reappeared, made plans to go somewhere, and then lost +each other, searched for each other, found each other a few feet +away. Some time toward midnight Tom Buchanan and Mrs. Wilson stood +face to face discussing, in impassioned voices, whether Mrs. Wilson +had any right to mention Daisy’s name. + +“Daisy! Daisy! Daisy!” shouted Mrs. Wilson. “I’ll say it whenever I +want to! Daisy! Dai—” + +Making a short deft movement, Tom Buchanan broke her nose with his +open hand. + +Then there were bloody towels upon the bathroom floor, and women’s +voices scolding, and high over the confusion a long broken wail of +pain. Mr. McKee awoke from his doze and started in a daze toward the +door. When he had gone halfway he turned around and stared at the +scene—his wife and Catherine scolding and consoling as they stumbled +here and there among the crowded furniture with articles of aid, and +the despairing figure on the couch, bleeding fluently, and trying to +spread a copy of Town Tattle over the tapestry scenes of +Versailles. Then Mr. McKee turned and continued on out the door. +Taking my hat from the chandelier, I followed. + +“Come to lunch some day,” he suggested, as we groaned down in the +elevator. + +“Where?” + +“Anywhere.” + +“Keep your hands off the lever,” snapped the elevator boy. + +“I beg your pardon,” said Mr. McKee with dignity, “I didn’t know I was +touching it.” + +“All right,” I agreed, “I’ll be glad to.” + +… I was standing beside his bed and he was sitting up between the +sheets, clad in his underwear, with a great portfolio in his hands. + +“Beauty and the Beast … Loneliness … Old Grocery Horse … Brook’n +Bridge …” + +Then I was lying half asleep in the cold lower level of the +Pennsylvania Station, staring at the morning Tribune, and waiting for +the four o’clock train. + + + III + +There was music from my neighbour’s house through the summer nights. +In his blue gardens men and girls came and went like moths among the +whisperings and the champagne and the stars. At high tide in the +afternoon I watched his guests diving from the tower of his raft, or +taking the sun on the hot sand of his beach while his two motorboats +slit the waters of the Sound, drawing aquaplanes over cataracts of +foam. On weekends his Rolls-Royce became an omnibus, bearing parties +to and from the city between nine in the morning and long past +midnight, while his station wagon scampered like a brisk yellow bug to +meet all trains. And on Mondays eight servants, including an extra +gardener, toiled all day with mops and scrubbing-brushes and hammers +and garden-shears, repairing the ravages of the night before. + +Every Friday five crates of oranges and lemons arrived from a +fruiterer in New York—every Monday these same oranges and lemons left +his back door in a pyramid of pulpless halves. There was a machine in +the kitchen which could extract the juice of two hundred oranges in +half an hour if a little button was pressed two hundred times by a +butler’s thumb. + +At least once a fortnight a corps of caterers came down with several +hundred feet of canvas and enough coloured lights to make a Christmas +tree of Gatsby’s enormous garden. On buffet tables, garnished with +glistening hors-d’oeuvre, spiced baked hams crowded against salads of +harlequin designs and pastry pigs and turkeys bewitched to a dark +gold. In the main hall a bar with a real brass rail was set up, and +stocked with gins and liquors and with cordials so long forgotten that +most of his female guests were too young to know one from another. + +By seven o’clock the orchestra has arrived, no thin five-piece affair, +but a whole pitful of oboes and trombones and saxophones and viols and +cornets and piccolos, and low and high drums. The last swimmers have +come in from the beach now and are dressing upstairs; the cars from +New York are parked five deep in the drive, and already the halls and +salons and verandas are gaudy with primary colours, and hair bobbed in +strange new ways, and shawls beyond the dreams of Castile. The bar is +in full swing, and floating rounds of cocktails permeate the garden +outside, until the air is alive with chatter and laughter, and casual +innuendo and introductions forgotten on the spot, and enthusiastic +meetings between women who never knew each other’s names. + +The lights grow brighter as the earth lurches away from the sun, and +now the orchestra is playing yellow cocktail music, and the opera of +voices pitches a key higher. Laughter is easier minute by minute, +spilled with prodigality, tipped out at a cheerful word. The groups +change more swiftly, swell with new arrivals, dissolve and form in the +same breath; already there are wanderers, confident girls who weave +here and there among the stouter and more stable, become for a sharp, +joyous moment the centre of a group, and then, excited with triumph, +glide on through the sea-change of faces and voices and colour under +the constantly changing light. + +Suddenly one of these gypsies, in trembling opal, seizes a cocktail +out of the air, dumps it down for courage and, moving her hands like +Frisco, dances out alone on the canvas platform. A momentary hush; the +orchestra leader varies his rhythm obligingly for her, and there is a +burst of chatter as the erroneous news goes around that she is Gilda +Gray’s understudy from the Follies. The party has begun. + +I believe that on the first night I went to Gatsby’s house I was one +of the few guests who had actually been invited. People were not +invited—they went there. They got into automobiles which bore them out +to Long Island, and somehow they ended up at Gatsby’s door. Once there +they were introduced by somebody who knew Gatsby, and after that they +conducted themselves according to the rules of behaviour associated +with an amusement park. Sometimes they came and went without having +met Gatsby at all, came for the party with a simplicity of heart that +was its own ticket of admission. + +I had been actually invited. A chauffeur in a uniform of robin’s-egg +blue crossed my lawn early that Saturday morning with a surprisingly +formal note from his employer: the honour would be entirely Gatsby’s, +it said, if I would attend his “little party” that night. He had seen +me several times, and had intended to call on me long before, but a +peculiar combination of circumstances had prevented it—signed Jay +Gatsby, in a majestic hand. + +Dressed up in white flannels I went over to his lawn a little after +seven, and wandered around rather ill at ease among swirls and eddies +of people I didn’t know—though here and there was a face I had noticed +on the commuting train. I was immediately struck by the number of +young Englishmen dotted about; all well dressed, all looking a little +hungry, and all talking in low, earnest voices to solid and prosperous +Americans. I was sure that they were selling something: bonds or +insurance or automobiles. They were at least agonizingly aware of the +easy money in the vicinity and convinced that it was theirs for a few +words in the right key. + +As soon as I arrived I made an attempt to find my host, but the two or +three people of whom I asked his whereabouts stared at me in such an +amazed way, and denied so vehemently any knowledge of his movements, +that I slunk off in the direction of the cocktail table—the only place +in the garden where a single man could linger without looking +purposeless and alone. + +I was on my way to get roaring drunk from sheer embarrassment when +Jordan Baker came out of the house and stood at the head of the marble +steps, leaning a little backward and looking with contemptuous +interest down into the garden. + +Welcome or not, I found it necessary to attach myself to someone +before I should begin to address cordial remarks to the passersby. + +“Hello!” I roared, advancing toward her. My voice seemed unnaturally +loud across the garden. + +“I thought you might be here,” she responded absently as I came up. +“I remembered you lived next door to—” + +She held my hand impersonally, as a promise that she’d take care of me +in a minute, and gave ear to two girls in twin yellow dresses, who +stopped at the foot of the steps. + +“Hello!” they cried together. “Sorry you didn’t win.” + +That was for the golf tournament. She had lost in the finals the week +before. + +“You don’t know who we are,” said one of the girls in yellow, “but we +met you here about a month ago.” + +“You’ve dyed your hair since then,” remarked Jordan, and I started, +but the girls had moved casually on and her remark was addressed to +the premature moon, produced like the supper, no doubt, out of a +caterer’s basket. With Jordan’s slender golden arm resting in mine, we +descended the steps and sauntered about the garden. A tray of +cocktails floated at us through the twilight, and we sat down at a +table with the two girls in yellow and three men, each one introduced +to us as Mr. Mumble. + +“Do you come to these parties often?” inquired Jordan of the girl +beside her. + +“The last one was the one I met you at,” answered the girl, in an +alert confident voice. She turned to her companion: “Wasn’t it for +you, Lucille?” + +It was for Lucille, too. + +“I like to come,” Lucille said. “I never care what I do, so I always +have a good time. When I was here last I tore my gown on a chair, and +he asked me my name and address—inside of a week I got a package from +Croirier’s with a new evening gown in it.” + +“Did you keep it?” asked Jordan. + +“Sure I did. I was going to wear it tonight, but it was too big in the +bust and had to be altered. It was gas blue with lavender beads. Two +hundred and sixty-five dollars.” + +“There’s something funny about a fellow that’ll do a thing like that,” +said the other girl eagerly. “He doesn’t want any trouble with +anybody.” + +“Who doesn’t?” I inquired. + +“Gatsby. Somebody told me—” + +The two girls and Jordan leaned together confidentially. + +“Somebody told me they thought he killed a man once.” + +A thrill passed over all of us. The three Mr. Mumbles bent forward and +listened eagerly. + +“I don’t think it’s so much that,” argued Lucille sceptically; “It’s +more that he was a German spy during the war.” + +One of the men nodded in confirmation. + +“I heard that from a man who knew all about him, grew up with him in +Germany,” he assured us positively. + +“Oh, no,” said the first girl, “it couldn’t be that, because he was in +the American army during the war.” As our credulity switched back to +her she leaned forward with enthusiasm. “You look at him sometimes +when he thinks nobody’s looking at him. I’ll bet he killed a man.” + +She narrowed her eyes and shivered. Lucille shivered. We all turned +and looked around for Gatsby. It was testimony to the romantic +speculation he inspired that there were whispers about him from those +who had found little that it was necessary to whisper about in this +world. + +The first supper—there would be another one after midnight—was now +being served, and Jordan invited me to join her own party, who were +spread around a table on the other side of the garden. There were +three married couples and Jordan’s escort, a persistent undergraduate +given to violent innuendo, and obviously under the impression that +sooner or later Jordan was going to yield him up her person to a +greater or lesser degree. Instead of rambling, this party had +preserved a dignified homogeneity, and assumed to itself the function +of representing the staid nobility of the countryside—East Egg +condescending to West Egg and carefully on guard against its +spectroscopic gaiety. + +“Let’s get out,” whispered Jordan, after a somehow wasteful and +inappropriate half-hour; “this is much too polite for me.” + +We got up, and she explained that we were going to find the host: I +had never met him, she said, and it was making me uneasy. The +undergraduate nodded in a cynical, melancholy way. + +The bar, where we glanced first, was crowded, but Gatsby was not +there. She couldn’t find him from the top of the steps, and he wasn’t +on the veranda. On a chance we tried an important-looking door, and +walked into a high Gothic library, panelled with carved English oak, +and probably transported complete from some ruin overseas. + +A stout, middle-aged man, with enormous owl-eyed spectacles, was +sitting somewhat drunk on the edge of a great table, staring with +unsteady concentration at the shelves of books. As we entered he +wheeled excitedly around and examined Jordan from head to foot. + +“What do you think?” he demanded impetuously. + +“About what?” + +He waved his hand toward the bookshelves. + +“About that. As a matter of fact you needn’t bother to ascertain. I +ascertained. They’re real.” + +“The books?” + +He nodded. + +“Absolutely real—have pages and everything. I thought they’d be a nice +durable cardboard. Matter of fact, they’re absolutely real. Pages +and—Here! Lemme show you.” + +Taking our scepticism for granted, he rushed to the bookcases and +returned with Volume One of the Stoddard Lectures. + +“See!” he cried triumphantly. “It’s a bona-fide piece of printed +matter. It fooled me. This fella’s a regular Belasco. It’s a +triumph. What thoroughness! What realism! Knew when to stop, +too—didn’t cut the pages. But what do you want? What do you expect?” + +He snatched the book from me and replaced it hastily on its shelf, +muttering that if one brick was removed the whole library was liable +to collapse. + +“Who brought you?” he demanded. “Or did you just come? I was brought. +Most people were brought.” + +Jordan looked at him alertly, cheerfully, without answering. + +“I was brought by a woman named Roosevelt,” he continued. “Mrs. Claud +Roosevelt. Do you know her? I met her somewhere last night. I’ve been +drunk for about a week now, and I thought it might sober me up to sit +in a library.” + +“Has it?” + +“A little bit, I think. I can’t tell yet. I’ve only been here an hour. +Did I tell you about the books? They’re real. They’re—” + +“You told us.” + +We shook hands with him gravely and went back outdoors. + +There was dancing now on the canvas in the garden; old men pushing +young girls backward in eternal graceless circles, superior couples +holding each other tortuously, fashionably, and keeping in the +corners—and a great number of single girls dancing individually or +relieving the orchestra for a moment of the burden of the banjo or the +traps. By midnight the hilarity had increased. A celebrated tenor had +sung in Italian, and a notorious contralto had sung in jazz, and +between the numbers people were doing “stunts” all over the garden, +while happy, vacuous bursts of laughter rose toward the summer sky. A +pair of stage twins, who turned out to be the girls in yellow, did a +baby act in costume, and champagne was served in glasses bigger 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 First +Division during the war?” + +“Why yes. I was in the Twenty-eighth Infantry.” + +“I was in the Sixteenth until June nineteen-eighteen. I knew I’d seen +you somewhere before.” + +We talked for a moment about some wet, grey 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.” + +“I thought you knew, old sport. I’m afraid I’m not a very good host.” + +He smiled understandingly—much more than understandingly. It was one +of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that +you may come across four or five times in life. It faced—or seemed to +face—the whole eternal world for an instant, and then concentrated on +you with an irresistible prejudice in your favour. It understood you +just so far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you +would like to believe in yourself, and assured you that it had +precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to +convey. Precisely at that point it vanished—and I was looking at an +elegant young roughneck, a year or two over thirty, whose elaborate +formality of speech just missed being absurd. Some time before he +introduced himself I’d got a strong impression that he was picking his +words with care. + +Almost at the moment when Mr. Gatsby identified himself a butler +hurried toward him with the information that Chicago was calling him +on the wire. He excused himself with a small bow that included each of +us in turn. + +“If you want anything just ask for it, old sport,” he urged me. +“Excuse me. I will rejoin you later.” + +When he was gone I turned immediately to Jordan—constrained to assure +her of my surprise. I had expected that Mr. Gatsby would be a florid +and corpulent person in his middle years. + +“Who is he?” I demanded. “Do you know?” + +“He’s just a man named Gatsby.” + +“Where is he from, I mean? And what does he do?” + +“Now you’re started on the subject,” she answered with a wan smile. +“Well, he told me once he was an Oxford man.” + +A dim background started to take shape behind him, but at her next +remark it faded away. + +“However, I don’t believe it.” + +“Why not?” + +“I don’t know,” she insisted, “I just don’t think he went there.” + +Something in her tone reminded me of the other girl’s “I think he +killed a man,” and had the effect of stimulating my curiosity. I would +have accepted without question the information that Gatsby sprang from +the swamps of Louisiana or from the lower East Side of New York. That +was comprehensible. But young men didn’t—at least in my provincial +inexperience I believed they didn’t—drift coolly out of nowhere and +buy a palace on Long Island Sound. + +“Anyhow, he gives large parties,” said Jordan, changing the subject +with an urban distaste for the concrete. “And I like large parties. +They’re so intimate. At small parties there isn’t any privacy.” + +There was the boom of a bass drum, and the voice of the orchestra +leader rang out suddenly above the echolalia of the garden. + +“Ladies and gentlemen,” he cried. “At the request of Mr. Gatsby we are +going to play for you Mr. Vladmir Tostoff’s latest work, which +attracted so much attention at Carnegie Hall last May. If you read the +papers you know there was a big sensation.” He smiled with jovial +condescension, and added: “Some sensation!” Whereupon everybody +laughed. + +“The piece is known,” he concluded lustily, “as ‘Vladmir Tostoff’s +Jazz History of the World!’ ” + +The nature of Mr. Tostoff’s composition eluded me, because just as it +began my eyes fell on Gatsby, standing alone on the marble steps and +looking from one group to another with approving eyes. His tanned skin +was drawn attractively tight on his face and his short hair looked as +though it were trimmed every day. I could see nothing sinister about +him. I wondered if the fact that he was not drinking helped to set him +off from his guests, for it seemed to me that he grew more correct as +the fraternal hilarity increased. When the “Jazz History of the World” +was over, girls were putting their heads on men’s shoulders in a +puppyish, convivial way, girls were swooning backward playfully into +men’s arms, even into groups, knowing that someone would arrest their +falls—but no one swooned backward on Gatsby, and no French bob touched +Gatsby’s shoulder, and no singing quartets were formed with Gatsby’s +head for one link. + +“I beg your pardon.” + +Gatsby’s butler was suddenly standing beside us. + +“Miss Baker?” he inquired. “I beg your pardon, but Mr. Gatsby would +like to speak to you alone.” + +“With me?” she exclaimed in surprise. + +“Yes, madame.” + +She got up slowly, raising her eyebrows at me in astonishment, and +followed the butler toward the house. I noticed that she wore her +evening-dress, all her dresses, like sports clothes—there was a +jauntiness about her movements as if she had first learned to walk +upon golf courses on clean, crisp mornings. + +I was alone and it was almost two. For some time confused and +intriguing sounds had issued from a long, many-windowed room which +overhung the terrace. Eluding Jordan’s undergraduate, who was now +engaged in an obstetrical conversation with two chorus girls, and who +implored me to join him, I went inside. + +The large room was full of people. One of the girls in yellow was +playing the piano, and beside her stood a tall, red-haired young lady +from a famous chorus, engaged in song. She had drunk a quantity of +champagne, and during the course of her song she had decided, ineptly, +that everything was very, very sad—she was not only singing, she was +weeping too. Whenever there was a pause in the song she filled it with +gasping, broken sobs, and then took up the lyric again in a quavering +soprano. The tears coursed down her cheeks—not freely, however, for +when they came into contact with her heavily beaded eyelashes they +assumed an inky colour, and pursued the rest of their way in slow +black rivulets. A humorous suggestion was made that she sing the notes +on her face, whereupon she threw up her hands, sank into a chair, and +went off into a deep vinous sleep. + +“She had a fight with a man who says he’s her husband,” explained a +girl at my elbow. + +I looked around. Most of the remaining women were now having fights +with men said to be their husbands. Even Jordan’s party, the quartet +from East Egg, were rent asunder by dissension. One of the men was +talking with curious intensity to a young actress, and his wife, after +attempting to laugh at the situation in a dignified and indifferent +way, broke down entirely and resorted to flank attacks—at intervals +she appeared suddenly at his side like an angry diamond, and hissed: +“You promised!” into his ear. + +The reluctance to go home was not confined to wayward men. The hall +was at present occupied by two deplorably sober men and their highly +indignant wives. The wives were sympathizing with each other in +slightly raised voices. + +“Whenever he sees I’m having a good time he wants to go home.” + +“Never heard anything so selfish in my life.” + +“We’re always the first ones to leave.” + +“So are we.” + +“Well, we’re almost the last tonight,” said one of the men sheepishly. +“The orchestra left half an hour ago.” + +In spite of the wives’ agreement that such malevolence was beyond +credibility, the dispute ended in a short struggle, and both wives +were lifted, kicking, into the night. + +As I waited for my hat in the hall the door of the library opened and +Jordan Baker and Gatsby came out together. He was saying some last +word to her, but the eagerness in his manner tightened abruptly into +formality as several people approached him to say goodbye. + +Jordan’s party were calling impatiently to her from the porch, but she +lingered for a moment to shake hands. + +“I’ve just heard the most amazing thing,” she whispered. “How long +were we in there?” + +“Why, about an hour.” + +“It was … simply amazing,” she repeated abstractedly. “But I swore I +wouldn’t tell it and here I am tantalizing you.” She yawned gracefully +in my face. “Please come and see me … Phone book … Under the name of +Mrs. Sigourney Howard … My aunt …” She was hurrying off as she +talked—her brown hand waved a jaunty salute as she melted into her +party at the door. + +Rather ashamed that on my first appearance I had stayed so late, I +joined the last of Gatsby’s guests, who were clustered around him. I +wanted to explain that I’d hunted for him early in the evening and to +apologize for not having known him in the garden. + +“Don’t mention it,” he enjoined me eagerly. “Don’t give it another +thought, old sport.” The familiar expression held no more familiarity +than the hand which reassuringly brushed my shoulder. “And don’t +forget we’re going up in the hydroplane tomorrow morning, at nine +o’clock.” + +Then the butler, behind his shoulder: + +“Philadelphia wants you on the phone, sir.” + +“All right, in a minute. Tell them I’ll be right there … Good night.” + +“Good night.” + +“Good night.” He smiled—and suddenly there seemed to be a pleasant +significance in having been among the last to go, as if he had desired +it all the time. “Good night, old sport … Good night.” + +But as I walked down the steps I saw that the evening was not quite +over. Fifty feet from the door a dozen headlights illuminated a +bizarre and tumultuous scene. In the ditch beside the road, right side +up, but violently shorn of one wheel, rested a new coupé which had +left Gatsby’s drive not two minutes before. The sharp jut of a wall +accounted for the detachment of the wheel, which was now getting +considerable attention from half a dozen curious chauffeurs. However, +as they had left their cars blocking the road, a harsh, discordant din +from those in the rear had been audible for some time, and added to +the already violent confusion of the scene. + +A man in a long duster had dismounted from the wreck and now stood in +the middle of the road, looking from the car to the tyre and from the +tyre to the observers in a pleasant, puzzled way. + +“See!” he explained. “It went in the ditch.” + +The fact was infinitely astonishing to him, and I recognized first the +unusual quality of wonder, and then the man—it was the late patron of +Gatsby’s library. + +“How’d it happen?” + +He shrugged his shoulders. + +“I know nothing whatever about mechanics,” he said decisively. + +“But how did it happen? Did you run into the wall?” + +“Don’t ask me,” said Owl Eyes, washing his hands of the whole +matter. “I know very little about driving—next to nothing. It +happened, and that’s all I know.” + +“Well, if you’re a poor driver you oughtn’t to try driving at night.” + +“But I wasn’t even trying,” he explained indignantly, “I wasn’t even +trying.” + +An awed hush fell upon the bystanders. + +“Do you want to commit suicide?” + +“You’re lucky it was just a wheel! A bad driver and not even trying!” + +“You don’t understand,” explained the criminal. “I wasn’t driving. +There’s another man in the car.” + +The shock that followed this declaration found voice in a sustained +“Ah-h-h!” as the door of the coupé swung slowly open. The crowd—it was +now a crowd—stepped back involuntarily, and when the door had opened +wide there was a ghostly pause. Then, very gradually, part by part, a +pale, dangling individual stepped out of the wreck, pawing tentatively +at the ground with a large uncertain dancing shoe. + +Blinded by the glare of the headlights and confused by the incessant +groaning of the horns, the apparition stood swaying for a moment +before he perceived the man in the duster. + +“Wha’s matter?” he inquired calmly. “Did we run outa gas?” + +“Look!” + +Half a dozen fingers pointed at the amputated wheel—he stared at it +for a moment, and then looked upward as though he suspected that it +had dropped from the sky. + +“It came off,” someone explained. + +He nodded. + +“At first I din’ notice we’d stopped.” + +A pause. Then, taking a long breath and straightening his shoulders, +he remarked in a determined voice: + +“Wonder’ff tell me where there’s a gas’line station?” + +At least a dozen men, some of them a little better off than he was, +explained to him that wheel and car were no longer joined by any +physical bond. + +“Back out,” he suggested after a moment. “Put her in reverse.” + +“But the wheel’s off!” + +He hesitated. + +“No harm in trying,” he said. + +The caterwauling horns had reached a crescendo and I turned away and +cut across the lawn toward home. I glanced back once. A wafer of a +moon was shining over Gatsby’s house, making the night fine as before, +and surviving the laughter and the sound of his still glowing garden. +A sudden emptiness seemed to flow now from the windows and the great +doors, endowing with complete isolation the figure of the host, who +stood on the porch, his hand up in a formal gesture of farewell. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Reading over what I have written so far, I see I have given the +impression that the events of three nights several weeks apart were +all that absorbed me. On the contrary, they were merely casual events +in a crowded summer, and, until much later, they absorbed me +infinitely less than my personal affairs. + +Most of the time I worked. In the early morning the sun threw my +shadow westward as I hurried down the white chasms of lower New York +to the Probity Trust. I knew the other clerks and young bond-salesmen +by their first names, and lunched with them in dark, crowded +restaurants on little pig sausages and mashed potatoes and coffee. I +even had a short affair with a girl who lived in Jersey City and +worked in the accounting department, but her brother began throwing +mean looks in my direction, so when she went on her vacation in July I +let it blow quietly away. + +I took dinner usually at the Yale Club—for some reason it was the +gloomiest event of my day—and then I went upstairs to the library and +studied investments and securities for a conscientious hour. There +were generally a few rioters around, but they never came into the +library, so it was a good place to work. After that, if the night was +mellow, I strolled down Madison Avenue past the old Murray Hill Hotel, +and over 33rd Street to the Pennsylvania Station. + +I began to like New York, the racy, adventurous feel of it at night, +and the satisfaction that the constant flicker of men and women and +machines gives to the restless eye. I liked to walk up Fifth Avenue +and pick out romantic women from the crowd and imagine that in a few +minutes I was going to enter into their lives, and no one would ever +know or disapprove. Sometimes, in my mind, I followed them to their +apartments on the corners of hidden streets, and they turned and +smiled back at me before they faded through a door into warm +darkness. At the enchanted metropolitan twilight I felt a haunting +loneliness sometimes, and felt it in others—poor young clerks who +loitered in front of windows waiting until it was time for a solitary +restaurant dinner—young clerks in the dusk, wasting the most poignant +moments of night and life. + +Again at eight o’clock, when the dark lanes of the Forties were lined +five deep with throbbing taxicabs, bound for the theatre district, I +felt a sinking in my heart. Forms leaned together in the taxis as they +waited, and voices sang, and there was laughter from unheard jokes, +and lighted cigarettes made unintelligible circles inside. Imagining +that I, too, was hurrying towards gaiety and sharing their intimate +excitement, I wished them well. + +For a while I lost sight of Jordan Baker, and then in midsummer I +found her again. At first I was flattered to go places with her, +because she was a golf champion, and everyone knew her name. Then it +was something more. I wasn’t actually in love, but I felt a sort of +tender curiosity. The bored haughty face that she turned to the world +concealed something—most affectations conceal something eventually, +even though they don’t in the beginning—and one day I found what it +was. When we were on a house-party together up in Warwick, she left a +borrowed car out in the rain with the top down, and then lied about +it—and suddenly I remembered the story about her that had eluded me +that night at Daisy’s. At her first big golf tournament there was a +row that nearly reached the newspapers—a suggestion that she had moved +her ball from a bad lie in the semifinal round. The thing approached +the proportions of a scandal—then died away. A caddy retracted his +statement, and the only other witness admitted that he might have been +mistaken. The incident and the name had remained together in my mind. + +Jordan Baker instinctively avoided clever, shrewd men, and now I saw +that this was because she felt safer on a plane where any divergence +from a code would be thought impossible. She was incurably dishonest. +She wasn’t able to endure being at a disadvantage and, given this +unwillingness, I suppose she had begun dealing in subterfuges when she +was very young in order to keep that cool, insolent smile turned to +the world and yet satisfy the demands of her hard, jaunty body. + +It made no difference to me. Dishonesty in a woman is a thing you +never blame deeply—I was casually sorry, and then I forgot. It was on +that same house-party that we had a curious conversation about driving +a car. It started because she passed so close to some workmen that our +fender flicked a button on one man’s coat. + +“You’re a rotten driver,” I protested. “Either you ought to be more +careful, or you oughtn’t to drive at all.” + +“I am careful.” + +“No, you’re not.” + +“Well, other people are,” she said lightly. + +“What’s that got to do with it?” + +“They’ll keep out of my way,” she insisted. “It takes two to make an +accident.” + +“Suppose you met somebody just as careless as yourself.” + +“I hope I never will,” she answered. “I hate careless people. That’s +why I like you.” + +Her grey, sun-strained eyes stared straight ahead, but she had +deliberately shifted our relations, and for a moment I thought I loved +her. But I am slow-thinking and full of interior rules that act as +brakes on my desires, and I knew that first I had to get myself +definitely out of that tangle back home. I’d been writing letters once +a week and signing them: “Love, Nick,” and all I could think of was +how, when that certain girl played tennis, a faint moustache of +perspiration appeared on her upper lip. Nevertheless there was a vague +understanding that had to be tactfully broken off before I was free. + +Everyone suspects himself of at least one of the cardinal virtues, and +this is mine: I am one of the few honest people that I have ever +known. + + + IV + +On Sunday morning while church bells rang in the villages alongshore, +the world and its mistress returned to Gatsby’s house and twinkled +hilariously on his lawn. + +“He’s a bootlegger,” said the young ladies, moving somewhere between +his cocktails and his flowers. “One time he killed a man who had found +out that he was nephew to Von Hindenburg and second cousin to the +devil. Reach me a rose, honey, and pour me a last drop into that there +crystal glass.” + +Once I wrote down on the empty spaces of a timetable the names of +those who came to Gatsby’s house that summer. It is an old timetable +now, disintegrating at its folds, and headed “This schedule in effect +July 5th, 1922.” But I can still read the grey names, and they will +give you a better impression than my generalities of those who +accepted Gatsby’s hospitality and paid him the subtle tribute of +knowing nothing whatever about him. + +From East Egg, then, came the Chester Beckers and the Leeches, and a +man named Bunsen, whom I knew at Yale, and Doctor Webster Civet, who +was drowned last summer up in Maine. And the Hornbeams and the Willie +Voltaires, and a whole clan named Blackbuck, who always gathered in a +corner and flipped up their noses like goats at whosoever came +near. And the Ismays and the Chrysties (or rather Hubert Auerbach and +Mr. Chrystie’s wife), and Edgar Beaver, whose hair, they say, turned +cotton-white one winter afternoon for no good reason at all. + +Clarence Endive was from East Egg, as I remember. He came only once, +in white knickerbockers, and had a fight with a bum named Etty in the +garden. From farther out on the Island came the Cheadles and the O. +R. P. Schraeders, and the Stonewall Jackson Abrams of Georgia, and the +Fishguards and the Ripley Snells. Snell was there three days before he +went to the penitentiary, so drunk out on the gravel drive that +Mrs. Ulysses Swett’s automobile ran over his right hand. The Dancies +came, too, and S. B. Whitebait, who was well over sixty, and Maurice +A. Flink, and the Hammerheads, and Beluga the tobacco importer, and +Beluga’s girls. + +From West Egg came the Poles and the Mulreadys and Cecil Roebuck and +Cecil Schoen and Gulick the State senator and Newton Orchid, who +controlled Films Par Excellence, and Eckhaust and Clyde Cohen and Don +S. Schwartz (the son) and Arthur McCarty, all connected with the +movies in one way or another. And the Catlips and the Bembergs and G. +Earl Muldoon, brother to that Muldoon who afterward strangled his +wife. Da Fontano the promoter came there, and Ed Legros and James B. +(“Rot-Gut”) Ferret and the De Jongs and Ernest Lilly—they came to +gamble, and when Ferret wandered into the garden it meant he was +cleaned out and Associated Traction would have to fluctuate profitably +next day. + +A man named Klipspringer was there so often that he became known as +“the boarder”—I doubt if he had any other home. Of theatrical people +there were Gus Waize and Horace O’Donavan and Lester Myer and George +Duckweed and Francis Bull. Also from New York were the Chromes and the +Backhyssons and the Dennickers and Russel Betty and the Corrigans and +the Kellehers and the Dewars and the Scullys and S. W. Belcher and the +Smirkes and the young Quinns, divorced now, and Henry L. Palmetto, who +killed himself by jumping in front of a subway train in Times Square. + +Benny McClenahan arrived always with four girls. They were never quite +the same ones in physical person, but they were so identical one with +another that it inevitably seemed they had been there before. I have +forgotten their names—Jaqueline, I think, or else Consuela, or Gloria +or Judy or June, and their last names were either the melodious names +of flowers and months or the sterner ones of the great American +capitalists whose cousins, if pressed, they would confess themselves +to be. + +In addition to all these I can remember that Faustina O’Brien came +there at least once and the Baedeker girls and young Brewer, who had +his nose shot off in the war, and Mr. Albrucksburger and Miss Haag, +his fiancée, and Ardita Fitz-Peters and Mr. P. Jewett, once head of +the American Legion, and Miss Claudia Hip, with a man reputed to be +her chauffeur, and a prince of something, whom we called Duke, and +whose name, if I ever knew it, I have forgotten. + +All these people came to Gatsby’s house in the summer. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +At nine o’clock, one morning late in July, Gatsby’s gorgeous car +lurched up the rocky drive to my door and gave out a burst of melody +from its three-noted horn. + +It was the first time he had called on me, though I had gone to two of +his parties, mounted in his hydroplane, and, at his urgent invitation, +made frequent use of his beach. + +“Good morning, old sport. You’re having lunch with me today and I +thought we’d ride up together.” + +He was balancing himself on the dashboard of his car with that +resourcefulness of movement that is so peculiarly American—that comes, +I suppose, with the absence of lifting work in youth and, even more, +with the formless grace of our nervous, sporadic games. This quality +was continually breaking through his punctilious manner in the shape +of restlessness. He was never quite still; there was always a tapping +foot somewhere or the impatient opening and closing of a hand. + +He saw me looking with admiration at his car. + +“It’s pretty, isn’t it, old sport?” He jumped off to give me a better +view. “Haven’t you ever seen it before?” + +I’d seen it. Everybody had seen it. It was a rich cream colour, bright +with nickel, swollen here and there in its monstrous length with +triumphant hatboxes and supper-boxes and toolboxes, and terraced with +a labyrinth of windshields that mirrored a dozen suns. Sitting down +behind many layers of glass in a sort of green leather conservatory, +we started to town. + +I had talked with him perhaps half a dozen times in the past month and +found, to my disappointment, that he had little to say. So my first +impression, that he was a person of some undefined consequence, had +gradually faded and he had become simply the proprietor of an +elaborate roadhouse next door. + +And then came that disconcerting ride. We hadn’t reached West Egg +village before Gatsby began leaving his elegant sentences unfinished +and slapping himself indecisively on the knee of his caramel-coloured +suit. + +“Look here, old sport,” he broke out surprisingly, “what’s your +opinion of me, anyhow?” + +A little overwhelmed, I began the generalized evasions which that +question deserves. + +“Well, I’m going to tell you something about my life,” he interrupted. +“I don’t want you to get a wrong idea of me from all these stories you +hear.” + +So he was aware of the bizarre accusations that flavoured conversation +in his halls. + +“I’ll tell you God’s truth.” His right hand suddenly ordered divine +retribution to stand by. “I am the son of some wealthy people in the +Middle West—all dead now. I was brought up in America but educated at +Oxford, because all my ancestors have been educated there for many +years. It is a family tradition.” + +He looked at me sideways—and I knew why Jordan Baker had believed he +was lying. He hurried the phrase “educated at Oxford,” or swallowed +it, or choked on it, as though it had bothered him before. And with +this doubt, his whole statement fell to pieces, and I wondered if +there wasn’t something a little sinister about him, after all. + +“What part of the Middle West?” I inquired casually. + +“San Francisco.” + +“I see.” + +“My family all died and I came into a good deal of money.” + +His voice was solemn, as if the memory of that sudden extinction of a +clan still haunted him. For a moment I suspected that he was pulling +my leg, but a glance at him convinced me otherwise. + +“After that I lived like a young rajah in all the capitals of +Europe—Paris, Venice, Rome—collecting jewels, chiefly rubies, hunting +big game, painting a little, things for myself only, and trying to +forget something very sad that had happened to me long ago.” + +With an effort I managed to restrain my incredulous laughter. The very +phrases were worn so threadbare that they evoked no image except that +of a turbaned “character” leaking sawdust at every pore as he pursued +a tiger through the Bois de Boulogne. + +“Then came the war, old sport. It was a great relief, and I tried very +hard to die, but I seemed to bear an enchanted life. I accepted a +commission as first lieutenant when it began. In the Argonne Forest I +took the remains of my machine-gun battalion so far forward that there +was a half mile gap on either side of us where the infantry couldn’t +advance. We stayed there two days and two nights, a hundred and thirty +men with sixteen Lewis guns, and when the infantry came up at last +they found the insignia of three German divisions among the piles of +dead. I was promoted to be a major, and every Allied government gave +me a decoration—even Montenegro, little Montenegro down on the +Adriatic Sea!” + +Little Montenegro! He lifted up the words and nodded at them—with his +smile. The smile comprehended Montenegro’s troubled history and +sympathized with the brave struggles of the Montenegrin people. It +appreciated fully the chain of national circumstances which had +elicited this tribute from Montenegro’s warm little heart. My +incredulity was submerged in fascination now; it was like skimming +hastily through a dozen magazines. + +He reached in his pocket, and a piece of metal, slung on a ribbon, +fell into my palm. + +“That’s the one from Montenegro.” + +To my astonishment, the thing had an authentic look. “Orderi di +Danilo,” ran the circular legend, “Montenegro, Nicolas Rex.” + +“Turn it.” + +“Major Jay Gatsby,” I read, “For Valour Extraordinary.” + +“Here’s another thing I always carry. A souvenir of Oxford days. It +was taken in Trinity Quad—the man on my left is now the Earl of +Doncaster.” + +It was a photograph of half a dozen young men in blazers loafing in an +archway through which were visible a host of spires. There was Gatsby, +looking a little, not much, younger—with a cricket bat in his hand. + +Then it was all true. I saw the skins of tigers flaming in his palace +on the Grand Canal; I saw him opening a chest of rubies to ease, with +their crimson-lighted depths, the gnawings of his broken heart. + +“I’m going to make a big request of you today,” he said, pocketing his +souvenirs with satisfaction, “so I thought you ought to know something +about me. I didn’t want you to think I was just some nobody. You see, +I usually find myself among strangers because I drift here and there +trying to forget the sad things that happened to me.” He hesitated. +“You’ll hear about it this afternoon.” + +“At lunch?” + +“No, this afternoon. I happened to find out that you’re taking Miss +Baker to tea.” + +“Do you mean you’re in love with Miss Baker?” + +“No, old sport, I’m not. But Miss Baker has kindly consented to speak +to you about this matter.” + +I hadn’t the faintest idea what “this matter” was, but I was more +annoyed than interested. I hadn’t asked Jordan to tea in order to +discuss Mr. Jay Gatsby. I was sure the request would be something +utterly fantastic, and for a moment I was sorry I’d ever set foot upon +his overpopulated lawn. + +He wouldn’t say another word. His correctness grew on him as we neared +the city. We passed Port Roosevelt, where there was a glimpse of +red-belted oceangoing ships, and sped along a cobbled slum lined with +the dark, undeserted saloons of the faded-gilt nineteen-hundreds. +Then the valley of ashes opened out on both sides of us, and I had a +glimpse of Mrs. Wilson straining at the garage pump with panting +vitality as we went by. + +With fenders spread like wings we scattered light through half +Astoria—only half, for as we twisted among the pillars of the elevated +I heard the familiar “jug-jug-spat!” of a motorcycle, and a frantic +policeman rode alongside. + +“All right, old sport,” called Gatsby. We slowed down. Taking a white +card from his wallet, he waved it before the man’s eyes. + +“Right you are,” agreed the policeman, tipping his cap. “Know you next +time, Mr. Gatsby. Excuse me!” + +“What was that?” I inquired. “The picture of Oxford?” + +“I was able to do the commissioner a favour once, and he sends me a +Christmas card every year.” + +Over the great bridge, with the sunlight through the girders making a +constant flicker upon the moving cars, with the city rising up across +the river in white heaps and sugar lumps all built with a wish out of +nonolfactory money. The city seen from the Queensboro Bridge is always +the city seen for the first time, in its first wild promise of all the +mystery and the beauty in the world. + +A dead man passed us in a hearse heaped with blooms, followed by two +carriages with drawn blinds, and by more cheerful carriages for +friends. The friends looked out at us with the tragic eyes and short +upper lips of southeastern Europe, and I was glad that the sight of +Gatsby’s splendid car was included in their sombre holiday. As we +crossed Blackwell’s Island a limousine passed us, driven by a white +chauffeur, in which sat three modish negroes, two bucks and a girl. I +laughed aloud as the yolks of their eyeballs rolled toward us in +haughty rivalry. + +“Anything can happen now that we’ve slid over this bridge,” I thought; +“anything at all …” + +Even Gatsby could happen, without any particular wonder. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Roaring noon. In a well-fanned Forty-second Street cellar I met Gatsby +for lunch. Blinking away the brightness of the street outside, my eyes +picked him out obscurely in the anteroom, talking to another man. + +“Mr. Carraway, this is my friend Mr. Wolfshiem.” + +A small, flat-nosed Jew raised his large head and regarded me with two +fine growths of hair which luxuriated in either nostril. After a +moment I discovered his tiny eyes in the half-darkness. + +“—So I took one look at him,” said Mr. Wolfshiem, shaking my hand +earnestly, “and what do you think I did?” + +“What?” I inquired politely. + +But evidently he was not addressing me, for he dropped my hand and +covered Gatsby with his expressive nose. + +“I handed the money to Katspaugh and I said: ‘All right, Katspaugh, +don’t pay him a penny till he shuts his mouth.’ He shut it then and +there.” + +Gatsby took an arm of each of us and moved forward into the +restaurant, whereupon Mr. Wolfshiem swallowed a new sentence he was +starting and lapsed into a somnambulatory abstraction. + +“Highballs?” asked the head waiter. + +“This is a nice restaurant here,” said Mr. Wolfshiem, looking at the +presbyterian nymphs on the ceiling. “But I like across the street +better!” + +“Yes, highballs,” agreed Gatsby, and then to Mr. Wolfshiem: “It’s too +hot over there.” + +“Hot and small—yes,” said Mr. Wolfshiem, “but full of memories.” + +“What place is that?” I asked. + +“The old Metropole.” + +“The old Metropole,” brooded Mr. Wolfshiem gloomily. “Filled with +faces dead and gone. Filled with friends gone now forever. I can’t +forget so long as I live the night they shot Rosy Rosenthal there. It +was six of us at the table, and Rosy had eat and drunk a lot all +evening. When it was almost morning the waiter came up to him with a +funny look and says somebody wants to speak to him outside. ‘All +right,’ says Rosy, and begins to get up, and I pulled him down in his +chair. + +“ ‘Let the bastards come in here if they want you, Rosy, but don’t +you, so help me, move outside this room.’ + +“It was four o’clock in the morning then, and if we’d of raised the +blinds we’d of seen daylight.” + +“Did he go?” I asked innocently. + +“Sure he went.” Mr. Wolfshiem’s nose flashed at me indignantly. “He +turned around in the door and says: ‘Don’t let that waiter take away +my coffee!’ Then he went out on the sidewalk, and they shot him three +times in his full belly and drove away.” + +“Four of them were electrocuted,” I said, remembering. + +“Five, with Becker.” His nostrils turned to me in an interested way. +“I understand you’re looking for a business gonnegtion.” + +The juxtaposition of these two remarks was startling. Gatsby answered +for me: + +“Oh, no,” he exclaimed, “this isn’t the man.” + +“No?” Mr. Wolfshiem seemed disappointed. + +“This is just a friend. I told you we’d talk about that some other +time.” + +“I beg your pardon,” said Mr. Wolfshiem, “I had a wrong man.” + +A succulent hash arrived, and Mr. Wolfshiem, forgetting the more +sentimental atmosphere of the old Metropole, began to eat with +ferocious delicacy. His eyes, meanwhile, roved very slowly all around +the room—he completed the arc by turning to inspect the people +directly behind. I think that, except for my presence, he would have +taken one short glance beneath our own table. + +“Look here, old sport,” said Gatsby, leaning toward me, “I’m afraid I +made you a little angry this morning in the car.” + +There was the smile again, but this time I held out against it. + +“I don’t like mysteries,” I answered, “and I don’t understand why you +won’t come out frankly and tell me what you want. Why has it all got +to come through Miss Baker?” + +“Oh, it’s nothing underhand,” he assured me. “Miss Baker’s a great +sportswoman, you know, and she’d never do anything that wasn’t all +right.” + +Suddenly he looked at his watch, jumped up, and hurried from the room, +leaving me with Mr. Wolfshiem at the table. + +“He has to telephone,” said Mr. Wolfshiem, following him with his +eyes. “Fine fellow, isn’t he? Handsome to look at and a perfect +gentleman.” + +“Yes.” + +“He’s an Oggsford man.” + +“Oh!” + +“He went to Oggsford College in England. You know Oggsford College?” + +“I’ve heard of it.” + +“It’s one of the most famous colleges in the world.” + +“Have you known Gatsby for a long time?” I inquired. + +“Several years,” he answered in a gratified way. “I made the pleasure +of his acquaintance just after the war. But I knew I had discovered a +man of fine breeding after I talked with him an hour. I said to +myself: ‘There’s the kind of man you’d like to take home and introduce +to your mother and sister.’ ” He paused. “I see you’re looking at my +cuff buttons.” + +I hadn’t been looking at them, but I did now. They were composed of +oddly familiar pieces of ivory. + +“Finest specimens of human molars,” he informed me. + +“Well!” I inspected them. “That’s a very interesting idea.” + +“Yeah.” He flipped his sleeves up under his coat. “Yeah, Gatsby’s very +careful about women. He would never so much as look at a friend’s +wife.” + +When the subject of this instinctive trust returned to the table and +sat down Mr. Wolfshiem drank his coffee with a jerk and got to his +feet. + +“I have enjoyed my lunch,” he said, “and I’m going to run off from you +two young men before I outstay my welcome.” + +“Don’t hurry Meyer,” said Gatsby, without enthusiasm. Mr. Wolfshiem +raised his hand in a sort of benediction. + +“You’re very polite, but I belong to another generation,” he announced +solemnly. “You sit here and discuss your sports and 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 Wolfshiem? 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. + +“He just saw the opportunity.” + +“Why isn’t he in jail?” + +“They can’t get him, old sport. He’s a smart man.” + +I insisted on paying the check. As the waiter brought my change I +caught sight of Tom Buchanan across the crowded room. + +“Come along with me for a minute,” I said; “I’ve got to say hello to +someone.” + +When he saw us Tom jumped up and took half a dozen steps in our +direction. + +“Where’ve you been?” he demanded eagerly. “Daisy’s furious because you +haven’t called up.” + +“This is Mr. Gatsby, Mr. Buchanan.” + +They shook hands briefly, and a strained, unfamiliar look of +embarrassment came over Gatsby’s face. + +“How’ve you been, anyhow?” demanded Tom of me. “How’d you happen to +come up this far to eat?” + +“I’ve been having lunch with Mr. Gatsby.” + +I turned toward Mr. Gatsby, but he was no longer there. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +One October day in nineteen-seventeen— + +(said Jordan Baker that afternoon, sitting up very straight on a +straight chair in the tea-garden at the Plaza Hotel) + +—I was walking along from one place to another, half on the sidewalks +and half on the lawns. I was happier on the lawns because I had on +shoes from England with rubber knobs on the soles that bit into the +soft ground. I had on a new plaid skirt also that blew a little in the +wind, and whenever this happened the red, white, and blue banners in +front of all the houses stretched out stiff and said tut-tut-tut-tut, +in a disapproving way. + +The largest of the banners and the largest of the lawns belonged to +Daisy Fay’s house. She was just eighteen, two years older than me, and +by far the most popular of all the young girls in Louisville. She +dressed in white, and had a little white roadster, and all day long +the telephone rang in her house and excited young officers from Camp +Taylor demanded the privilege of monopolizing her that +night. “Anyways, for an hour!” + +When I came opposite her house that morning her white roadster was +beside the kerb, and she was sitting in it with a lieutenant I had +never seen before. They were so engrossed in each other that she +didn’t see me until I was five feet away. + +“Hello, Jordan,” she called unexpectedly. “Please come here.” + +I was flattered that she wanted to speak to me, because of all the +older girls I admired her most. She asked me if I was going to the Red +Cross to make bandages. I was. Well, then, would I tell them that she +couldn’t come that day? The officer looked at Daisy while she was +speaking, in a way that every young girl wants to be looked at +sometime, and because it seemed romantic to me I have remembered the +incident ever since. His name was Jay Gatsby, and I didn’t lay eyes on +him again for over four years—even after I’d met him on Long Island I +didn’t realize it was the same man. + +That was nineteen-seventeen. By the next year I had a few beaux +myself, and I began to play in tournaments, so I didn’t see Daisy very +often. She went with a slightly older crowd—when she went with anyone +at all. Wild rumours were circulating about her—how her mother had +found her packing her bag one winter night to go to New York and say +goodbye to a soldier who was going overseas. She was effectually +prevented, but she wasn’t on speaking terms with her family for +several weeks. After that she didn’t play around with the soldiers any +more, but only with a few flat-footed, shortsighted young men in town, +who couldn’t get into the army at all. + +By the next autumn she was gay again, gay as ever. She had a début +after the armistice, and in February she was presumably engaged to a +man from New Orleans. In June she married Tom Buchanan of Chicago, +with more pomp and circumstance than Louisville ever knew before. He +came down with a hundred people in four private cars, and hired a +whole floor of the Muhlbach Hotel, and the day before the wedding he +gave her a string of pearls valued at three hundred and fifty thousand +dollars. + +I was a bridesmaid. I came into her room half an hour before the +bridal dinner, and found her lying on her bed as lovely as the June +night in her flowered dress—and as drunk as a monkey. She had a bottle +of Sauterne in one hand and a letter in the other. + +“ ’Gratulate me,” she muttered. “Never had a drink before, but oh how +I do enjoy it.” + +“What’s the matter, Daisy?” + +I was scared, I can tell you; I’d never seen a girl like that before. + +“Here, dearies.” She groped around in a wastebasket she had with her +on the bed and pulled out the string of pearls. “Take ’em downstairs +and give ’em back to whoever they belong to. Tell ’em all Daisy’s +change’ her mine. Say: ‘Daisy’s change’ her mine!’ ” + +She began to cry—she cried and cried. I rushed out and found her +mother’s maid, and we locked the door and got her into a cold bath. +She wouldn’t let go of the letter. She took it into the tub with her +and squeezed it up in a wet ball, and only let me leave it in the +soap-dish when she saw that it was coming to pieces like snow. + +But she didn’t say another word. We gave her spirits of ammonia and +put ice on her forehead and hooked her back into her dress, and half +an hour later, when we walked out of the room, the pearls were around +her neck and the incident was over. Next day at five o’clock she +married Tom Buchanan without so much as a shiver, and started off on a +three months’ trip to the South Seas. + +I saw them in Santa Barbara when they came back, and I thought I’d +never seen a girl so mad about her husband. If he left the room for a +minute she’d look around uneasily, and say: “Where’s Tom gone?” and +wear the most abstracted expression until she saw him coming in the +door. She used to sit on the sand with his head in her lap by the +hour, rubbing her fingers over his eyes and looking at him with +unfathomable delight. It was touching to see them together—it made you +laugh in a hushed, fascinated way. That was in August. A week after I +left Santa Barbara Tom ran into a wagon on the Ventura road one night, +and ripped a front wheel off his car. The girl who was with him got +into the papers, too, because her arm was broken—she was one of the +chambermaids in the Santa Barbara Hotel. + +The next April Daisy had her little girl, and they went to France for +a year. I saw them one spring in Cannes, and later in Deauville, and +then they came back to Chicago to settle down. Daisy was popular in +Chicago, as you know. They moved with a fast crowd, all of them young +and rich and wild, but she came out with an absolutely perfect +reputation. Perhaps because she doesn’t drink. It’s a great advantage +not to drink among hard-drinking people. You can hold your tongue and, +moreover, you can time any little irregularity of your own so that +everybody else is so blind that they don’t see or care. Perhaps Daisy +never went in for amour at all—and yet there’s something in that voice +of hers … + +Well, about six weeks ago, she heard the name Gatsby for the first +time in years. It was when I asked you—do you remember?—if you knew +Gatsby in West Egg. After you had gone home she came into my room and +woke me up, and said: “What Gatsby?” and when I described him—I was +half asleep—she said in the strangest voice that it must be the man +she used to know. It wasn’t until then that I connected this Gatsby +with the officer in her white car. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +When Jordan Baker had finished telling all this we had left the Plaza +for half an hour and were driving in a victoria through Central Park. +The sun had gone down behind the tall apartments of the movie stars in +the West Fifties, and the clear voices of children, already gathered +like crickets on the grass, rose through the hot twilight: + + “I’m the Sheik of Araby. Your love belongs to me. At night when + you’re asleep Into your tent I’ll creep—” + +“It was a strange coincidence,” I said. + +“But it wasn’t a coincidence at all.” + +“Why not?” + +“Gatsby bought that house so that Daisy would be just across the bay.” + +Then it had not been merely the stars to which he had aspired on that +June night. He came alive to me, delivered suddenly from the womb of +his purposeless splendour. + +“He wants to know,” continued Jordan, “if you’ll invite Daisy to your +house some afternoon and then let him come over.” + +The modesty of the demand shook me. He had waited five years and +bought a mansion where he dispensed starlight to casual moths—so that +he could “come over” some afternoon to a stranger’s garden. + +“Did I have to know all this before he could ask such a little thing?” + +“He’s afraid, he’s waited so long. He thought you might be +offended. You see, he’s regular tough underneath it all.” + +Something worried me. + +“Why didn’t he ask you to arrange a meeting?” + +“He wants her to see his house,” she explained. “And your house is +right next door.” + +“Oh!” + +“I think he half expected her to wander into one of his parties, some +night,” went on Jordan, “but she never did. Then he began asking +people casually if they knew her, and I was the first one he found. It +was that night he sent for me at his dance, and you should have heard +the elaborate way he worked up to it. Of course, I immediately +suggested a luncheon in New York—and I thought he’d go mad: + +“ ‘I don’t want to do anything out of the way!’ he kept saying. ‘I +want to see her right next door.’ + +“When I said you were a particular friend of Tom’s, he started to +abandon the whole idea. He doesn’t know very much about Tom, though he +says he’s read a Chicago paper for years just on the chance of +catching a glimpse of Daisy’s name.” + +It was dark now, and as we dipped under a little bridge I put my arm +around Jordan’s golden shoulder and drew her toward me and asked her +to dinner. Suddenly I wasn’t thinking of Daisy and Gatsby any more, +but of this clean, hard, limited person, who dealt in universal +scepticism, and who leaned back jauntily just within the circle of my +arm. A phrase began to beat in my ears with a sort of heady +excitement: “There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy, and +the tired.” + +“And Daisy ought to have something in her life,” murmured Jordan to +me. + +“Does she want to see Gatsby?” + +“She’s not to know about it. Gatsby doesn’t want her to know. You’re +just supposed to invite her to tea.” + +We passed a barrier of dark trees, and then the façade of Fifty-Ninth +Street, a block of delicate pale light, beamed down into the park. +Unlike Gatsby and Tom Buchanan, I had no girl whose disembodied face +floated along the dark cornices and blinding signs, and so I drew up +the girl beside me, tightening my arms. Her wan, scornful mouth +smiled, and so I drew her up again closer, this time to my face. + + + V + +When I came home to West Egg that night I was afraid for a moment that +my house was on fire. Two o’clock and the whole corner of the +peninsula was blazing with light, which fell unreal on the shrubbery +and made thin elongating glints upon the roadside wires. Turning a +corner, I saw that it was Gatsby’s house, lit from tower to cellar. + +At first I thought it was another party, a wild rout that had resolved +itself into “hide-and-go-seek” or “sardines-in-the-box” with all the +house thrown open to the game. But there wasn’t a sound. Only wind in +the trees, which blew the wires and made the lights go off and on +again as if the house had winked into the darkness. As my taxi groaned +away I saw Gatsby walking toward me across his lawn. + +“Your place looks like the World’s Fair,” I said. + +“Does it?” He turned his eyes toward it absently. “I have been +glancing into some of the rooms. Let’s go to Coney Island, old +sport. In my car.” + +“It’s too late.” + +“Well, suppose we take a plunge in the swimming pool? I haven’t made +use of it all summer.” + +“I’ve got to go to bed.” + +“All right.” + +He waited, looking at me with suppressed eagerness. + +“I talked with Miss Baker,” I said after a moment. “I’m going to call +up Daisy tomorrow and invite her over here to tea.” + +“Oh, that’s all right,” he said carelessly. “I don’t want to put you +to any trouble.” + +“What day would suit you?” + +“What day would suit you?” he corrected me quickly. “I don’t want to +put you to any trouble, you see.” + +“How about the day after tomorrow?” + +He considered for a moment. Then, with reluctance: “I want to get the +grass cut,” he said. + +We both looked down at the grass—there was a sharp line where my +ragged lawn ended and the darker, well-kept expanse of his began. I +suspected that he meant my grass. + +“There’s another little thing,” he said uncertainly, and hesitated. + +“Would you rather put it off for a few days?” I asked. + +“Oh, it isn’t about that. At least—” He fumbled with a series of +beginnings. “Why, I thought—why, look here, old sport, you don’t make +much money, do you?” + +“Not very much.” + +This seemed to reassure him and he continued more confidently. + +“I thought you didn’t, if you’ll pardon my—you see, I carry on a +little business on the side, a sort of side line, you understand. And +I thought that if you don’t make very much—You’re selling bonds, +aren’t you, old sport?” + +“Trying to.” + +“Well, this would interest you. It wouldn’t take up much of your time +and you might pick up a nice bit of money. It happens to be a rather +confidential sort of thing.” + +I realize now that under different circumstances that conversation +might have been one of the crises of my life. But, because the offer +was obviously and tactlessly for a service to be rendered, I had no +choice except to cut him off there. + +“I’ve got my hands full,” I said. “I’m much obliged but I couldn’t +take on any more work.” + +“You wouldn’t have to do any business with Wolfshiem.” Evidently he +thought that I was shying away from the “gonnegtion” mentioned at +lunch, but I assured him he was wrong. He waited a moment longer, +hoping I’d begin a conversation, but I was too absorbed to be +responsive, so he went unwillingly home. + +The evening had made me lightheaded and happy; I think I walked into a +deep sleep as I entered my front door. So I don’t know whether or not +Gatsby went to Coney Island, or for how many hours he “glanced into +rooms” while his house blazed gaudily on. I called up Daisy from the +office next morning, and invited her to come to tea. + +“Don’t bring Tom,” I warned her. + +“What?” + +“Don’t bring Tom.” + +“Who is ‘Tom’?” she asked innocently. + +The day agreed upon was pouring rain. At eleven o’clock a man in a +raincoat, dragging a lawn-mower, tapped at my front door and said that +Mr. Gatsby had sent him over to cut my grass. This reminded me that I +had forgotten to tell my Finn to come back, so I drove into West Egg +Village to search for her among soggy whitewashed alleys and to buy +some cups and lemons and flowers. + +The flowers were unnecessary, for at two o’clock a greenhouse arrived +from Gatsby’s, with innumerable receptacles to contain it. An hour +later the front door opened nervously, and Gatsby in a white flannel +suit, silver shirt, and gold-coloured tie, hurried in. He was pale, +and there were dark signs of sleeplessness beneath his eyes. + +“Is everything all right?” he asked immediately. + +“The grass looks fine, if that’s what you mean.” + +“What grass?” he inquired blankly. “Oh, the grass in the yard.” He +looked out the window at it, but, judging from his expression, I don’t +believe he saw a thing. + +“Looks very good,” he remarked vaguely. “One of the papers said they +thought the rain would stop about four. I think it was The +Journal. Have you got everything you need in the shape of—of tea?” + +I took him into the pantry, where he looked a little reproachfully at +the Finn. Together we scrutinized the twelve lemon cakes from the +delicatessen shop. + +“Will they do?” I asked. + +“Of course, of course! They’re fine!” and he added hollowly, “… old +sport.” + +The rain cooled about half-past three to a damp mist, through which +occasional thin drops swam like dew. Gatsby looked with vacant eyes +through a copy of Clay’s Economics, starting at the Finnish tread that +shook the kitchen floor, and peering towards the bleared windows from +time to time as if a series of invisible but alarming happenings were +taking place outside. Finally he got up and informed me, in an +uncertain voice, that he was going home. + +“Why’s that?” + +“Nobody’s coming to tea. It’s too late!” He looked at his watch as if +there was some pressing demand on his time elsewhere. “I can’t wait +all day.” + +“Don’t be silly; it’s just two minutes to four.” + +He sat down miserably, as if I had pushed him, and simultaneously +there was the sound of a motor turning into my lane. We both jumped +up, and, a little harrowed myself, I went out into the yard. + +Under the dripping bare lilac-trees a large open car was coming up the +drive. It stopped. Daisy’s face, tipped sideways beneath a +three-cornered lavender hat, looked out at me with a bright ecstatic +smile. + +“Is this absolutely where you live, my dearest one?” + +The exhilarating ripple of her voice was a wild tonic in the rain. I +had to follow the sound of it for a moment, up and down, with my ear +alone, before any words came through. A damp streak of hair lay like a +dash of blue paint across her cheek, and her hand was wet with +glistening drops as I took it to help her from the car. + +“Are you in love with me,” she said low in my ear, “or why did I have +to come alone?” + +“That’s the secret of Castle Rackrent. Tell your chauffeur to go far +away and spend an hour.” + +“Come back in an hour, Ferdie.” Then in a grave murmur: “His name is +Ferdie.” + +“Does the gasoline affect his nose?” + +“I don’t think so,” she said innocently. “Why?” + +We went in. To my overwhelming surprise the living-room was deserted. + +“Well, that’s funny,” I exclaimed. + +“What’s funny?” + +She turned her head as there was a light dignified knocking at the +front door. I went out and opened it. Gatsby, pale as death, with his +hands plunged like weights in his coat pockets, was standing in a +puddle of water glaring tragically into my eyes. + +With his hands still in his coat pockets he stalked by me into the +hall, turned sharply as if he were on a wire, and disappeared into the +living-room. It wasn’t a bit funny. Aware of the loud beating of my +own heart I pulled the door to against the increasing rain. + +For half a minute there wasn’t a sound. Then from the living-room I +heard a sort of choking murmur and part of a laugh, followed by +Daisy’s voice on a clear artificial note: + +“I certainly am awfully glad to see you again.” + +A pause; it endured horribly. I had nothing to do in the hall, so I +went into the room. + +Gatsby, his hands still in his pockets, was reclining against the +mantelpiece in a strained counterfeit of perfect ease, even of +boredom. His head leaned back so far that it rested against the face +of a defunct mantelpiece clock, and from this position his distraught +eyes stared down at Daisy, who was sitting, frightened but graceful, +on the edge of a stiff chair. + +“We’ve met before,” muttered Gatsby. His eyes glanced momentarily at +me, and his lips parted with an abortive attempt at a laugh. Luckily +the clock took this moment to tilt dangerously at the pressure of his +head, whereupon he turned and caught it with trembling fingers, and +set it back in place. Then he sat down, rigidly, his elbow on the arm +of the sofa and his chin in his hand. + +“I’m sorry about the clock,” he said. + +My own face had now assumed a deep tropical burn. I couldn’t muster up +a single commonplace out of the thousand in my head. + +“It’s an old clock,” I told them idiotically. + +I think we all believed for a moment that it had smashed in pieces on +the floor. + +“We haven’t met for many years,” said Daisy, her voice as +matter-of-fact as it could ever be. + +“Five years next November.” + +The automatic quality of Gatsby’s answer set us all back at least +another minute. I had them both on their feet with the desperate +suggestion that they help me make tea in the kitchen when the demoniac +Finn brought it in on a tray. + +Amid the welcome confusion of cups and cakes a certain physical +decency established itself. Gatsby got himself into a shadow and, +while Daisy and I talked, looked conscientiously from one to the other +of us with tense, unhappy eyes. However, as calmness wasn’t an end in +itself, I made an excuse at the first possible moment, and got to my +feet. + +“Where are you going?” demanded Gatsby in immediate alarm. + +“I’ll be back.” + +“I’ve got to speak to you about something before you go.” + +He followed me wildly into the kitchen, closed the door, and +whispered: “Oh, God!” in a miserable way. + +“What’s the matter?” + +“This is a terrible mistake,” he said, shaking his head from side to +side, “a terrible, terrible mistake.” + +“You’re just embarrassed, that’s all,” and luckily I added: “Daisy’s +embarrassed too.” + +“She’s embarrassed?” he repeated incredulously. + +“Just as much as you are.” + +“Don’t talk so loud.” + +“You’re acting like a little boy,” I broke out impatiently. “Not only +that, but you’re rude. Daisy’s sitting in there all alone.” + +He raised his hand to stop my words, looked at me with unforgettable +reproach, and, opening the door cautiously, went back into the other +room. + +I walked out the back way—just as Gatsby had when he had made his +nervous circuit of the house half an hour before—and ran for a huge +black knotted tree, whose massed leaves made a fabric against the +rain. Once more it was pouring, and my irregular lawn, well-shaved by +Gatsby’s gardener, abounded in small muddy swamps and prehistoric +marshes. There was nothing to look at from under the tree except +Gatsby’s enormous house, so I stared at it, like Kant at his church +steeple, for half an hour. A brewer had built it early in the “period” +craze, a decade before, and there was a story that he’d agreed to pay +five years’ taxes on all the neighbouring cottages if the owners would +have their roofs thatched with straw. Perhaps their refusal took the +heart out of his plan to Found a Family—he went into an immediate +decline. His children sold his house with the black wreath still on +the door. Americans, while willing, even eager, to be serfs, have +always been obstinate about being peasantry. + +After half an hour, the sun shone again, and the grocer’s automobile +rounded Gatsby’s drive with the raw material for his servants’ +dinner—I felt sure he wouldn’t eat a spoonful. A maid began opening +the upper windows of his house, appeared momentarily in each, and, +leaning from the large central bay, spat meditatively into the +garden. It was time I went back. While the rain continued it had +seemed like the murmur of their voices, rising and swelling a little +now and then with gusts of emotion. But in the new silence I felt that +silence had fallen within the house too. + +I went in—after making every possible noise in the kitchen, short of +pushing over the stove—but I don’t believe they heard a sound. They +were sitting at either end of the couch, looking at each other as if +some question had been asked, or was in the air, and every vestige of +embarrassment was gone. Daisy’s face was smeared with tears, and when +I came in she jumped up and began wiping at it with her handkerchief +before a mirror. But there was a change in Gatsby that was simply +confounding. He literally glowed; without a word or a gesture of +exultation a new well-being radiated from him and filled the little +room. + +“Oh, hello, old sport,” he said, as if he hadn’t seen me for years. I +thought for a moment he was going to shake hands. + +“It’s stopped raining.” + +“Has it?” When he realized what I was talking about, that there were +twinkle-bells of sunshine in the room, he smiled like a weather man, +like an ecstatic patron of recurrent light, and repeated the news to +Daisy. “What do you think of that? It’s stopped raining.” + +“I’m glad, Jay.” Her throat, full of aching, grieving beauty, told +only of her unexpected joy. + +“I want you and Daisy to come over to my house,” he said, “I’d like to +show her around.” + +“You’re sure you want me to come?” + +“Absolutely, old sport.” + +Daisy went upstairs to wash her face—too late I thought with +humiliation of my towels—while Gatsby and I waited on the lawn. + +“My house looks well, doesn’t it?” he demanded. “See how the whole +front of it catches the light.” + +I agreed that it was splendid. + +“Yes.” His eyes went over it, every arched door and square tower. “It +took me just three years to earn the money that bought it.” + +“I thought you inherited your money.” + +“I did, old sport,” he said automatically, “but I lost most of it in +the big panic—the panic of the war.” + +I think he hardly knew what he was saying, for when I asked him what +business he was in he answered: “That’s my affair,” before he realized +that it wasn’t an appropriate reply. + +“Oh, I’ve been in several things,” he corrected himself. “I was in the +drug business and then I was in the oil business. But I’m not in +either one now.” He looked at me with more attention. “Do you mean +you’ve been thinking over what I proposed the other night?” + +Before I could answer, Daisy came out of the house and two rows of +brass buttons on her dress gleamed in the sunlight. + +“That huge place there?” she cried pointing. + +“Do you like it?” + +“I love it, but I don’t see how you live there all alone.” + +“I keep it always full of interesting people, night and day. People +who do interesting things. Celebrated people.” + +Instead of taking the shortcut along the Sound we went down to the +road and entered by the big postern. With enchanting murmurs Daisy +admired this aspect or that of the feudal silhouette against the sky, +admired the gardens, the sparkling odour of jonquils and the frothy +odour of hawthorn and plum blossoms and the pale gold odour of +kiss-me-at-the-gate. It was strange to reach the marble steps and find +no stir of bright dresses in and out the door, and hear no sound but +bird voices in the trees. + +And inside, as we wandered through Marie Antoinette music-rooms and +Restoration Salons, I felt that there were guests concealed behind +every couch and table, under orders to be breathlessly silent until we +had passed through. As Gatsby closed the door of “the Merton College +Library” I could have sworn I heard the owl-eyed man break into +ghostly laughter. + +We went upstairs, through period bedrooms swathed in rose and lavender +silk and vivid with new flowers, through dressing-rooms and poolrooms, +and bathrooms with sunken baths—intruding into one chamber where a +dishevelled man in pyjamas was doing liver exercises on the floor. It +was Mr. Klipspringer, the “boarder.” I had seen him wandering hungrily +about the beach that morning. Finally we came to Gatsby’s own +apartment, a bedroom and a bath, and an Adam’s study, where we sat +down and drank a glass of some Chartreuse he took from a cupboard in +the wall. + +He hadn’t once ceased looking at Daisy, and I think he revalued +everything in his house according to the measure of response it drew +from her well-loved eyes. Sometimes too, he stared around at his +possessions in a dazed way, as though in her actual and astounding +presence none of it was any longer real. Once he nearly toppled down a +flight of stairs. + +His bedroom was the simplest room of all—except where the dresser was +garnished with a toilet set of pure dull gold. Daisy took the brush +with delight, and smoothed her hair, whereupon Gatsby sat down and +shaded his eyes and began to laugh. + +“It’s the funniest thing, old sport,” he said hilariously. “I +can’t—When I try to—” + +He had passed visibly through two states and was entering upon a +third. After his embarrassment and his unreasoning joy he was consumed +with wonder at her presence. He had been full of the idea so long, +dreamed it right through to the end, waited with his teeth set, so to +speak, at an inconceivable pitch of intensity. Now, in the reaction, +he was running down like an over-wound clock. + +Recovering himself in a minute he opened for us two hulking patent +cabinets which held his massed suits and dressing-gowns and ties, and +his shirts, piled like bricks in stacks a dozen high. + +“I’ve got a man in England who buys me clothes. He sends over a +selection of things at the beginning of each season, spring and fall.” + +He took out a pile of shirts and began throwing them, one by one, +before us, shirts of sheer linen and thick silk and fine flannel, +which lost their folds as they fell and covered the table in +many-coloured disarray. While we admired he brought more and the soft +rich heap mounted higher—shirts with stripes and scrolls and plaids in +coral and apple-green and lavender and faint orange, with monograms of +indian blue. Suddenly, with a strained sound, Daisy bent her head into +the shirts and began to cry stormily. + +“They’re such beautiful shirts,” she sobbed, her voice muffled in the +thick folds. “It makes me sad because I’ve never seen such—such +beautiful shirts before.” + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +After the house, we were to see the grounds and the swimming pool, and +the hydroplane, and the midsummer flowers—but outside Gatsby’s window +it began to rain again, so we stood in a row looking at the corrugated +surface of the Sound. + +“If it wasn’t for the mist we could see your home across the bay,” +said Gatsby. “You always have a green light that burns all night at +the end of your dock.” + +Daisy put her arm through his abruptly, but he seemed absorbed in what +he had just said. Possibly it had occurred to him that the colossal +significance of that light had now vanished forever. Compared to the +great distance that had separated him from Daisy it had seemed very +near to her, almost touching her. It had seemed as close as a star to +the moon. Now it was again a green light on a dock. His count of +enchanted objects had diminished by one. + +I began to walk about the room, examining various indefinite objects +in the half darkness. A large photograph of an elderly man in yachting +costume attracted me, hung on the wall over his desk. + +“Who’s this?” + +“That? That’s Mr. Dan Cody, old sport.” + +The name sounded faintly familiar. + +“He’s dead now. He used to be my best friend years ago.” + +There was a small picture of Gatsby, also in yachting costume, on the +bureau—Gatsby with his head thrown back defiantly—taken apparently +when he was about eighteen. + +“I adore it,” exclaimed Daisy. “The pompadour! You never told me you +had a pompadour—or a yacht.” + +“Look at this,” said Gatsby quickly. “Here’s a lot of clippings—about +you.” + +They stood side by side examining it. I was going to ask to see the +rubies when the phone rang, and Gatsby took up the receiver. + +“Yes … Well, I can’t talk now … I can’t talk now, old sport … I said a +small town … He must know what a small town is … Well, he’s no use to +us if Detroit is his idea of a small town …” + +He rang off. + +“Come here quick!” cried Daisy at the window. + +The rain was still falling, but the darkness had parted in the west, +and there was a pink and golden billow of foamy clouds above the sea. + +“Look at that,” she whispered, and then after a moment: “I’d like to +just get one of those pink clouds and put you in it and push you +around.” + +I tried to go then, but they wouldn’t hear of it; perhaps my presence +made them feel more satisfactorily alone. + +“I know what we’ll do,” said Gatsby, “we’ll have Klipspringer play the +piano.” + +He went out of the room calling “Ewing!” and returned in a few minutes +accompanied by an embarrassed, slightly worn young man, with +shell-rimmed glasses and scanty blond hair. He was now decently +clothed in a “sport shirt,” open at the neck, sneakers, and duck +trousers of a nebulous hue. + +“Did we interrupt your exercise?” inquired Daisy politely. + +“I was asleep,” cried Mr. Klipspringer, in a spasm of embarrassment. +“That is, I’d been asleep. Then I got up …” + +“Klipspringer plays the piano,” said Gatsby, cutting him off. “Don’t +you, Ewing, old sport?” + +“I don’t play well. I don’t—hardly play at all. I’m all out of prac—” + +“We’ll go downstairs,” interrupted Gatsby. He flipped a switch. The +grey windows disappeared as the house glowed full of light. + +In the music-room Gatsby turned on a solitary lamp beside the piano. +He lit Daisy’s cigarette from a trembling match, and sat down with her +on a couch far across the room, where there was no light save what the +gleaming floor bounced in from the hall. + +When Klipspringer had played “The Love Nest” he turned around on the +bench and searched unhappily for Gatsby in the gloom. + +“I’m all out of practice, you see. I told you I couldn’t play. I’m all +out of prac—” + +“Don’t talk so much, old sport,” commanded Gatsby. “Play!” + + “In the morning, In the evening, Ain’t we got fun—” + +Outside the wind was loud and there was a faint flow of thunder along +the Sound. All the lights were going on in West Egg now; the electric +trains, men-carrying, were plunging home through the rain from New +York. It was the hour of a profound human change, and excitement was +generating on the air. + + “One thing’s sure and nothing’s surer The rich get richer and the + poor get—children. In the meantime, In between time—” + +As I went over to say goodbye I saw that the expression of +bewilderment had come back into Gatsby’s face, as though a faint doubt +had occurred to him as to the quality of his present happiness. Almost +five years! There must have been moments even that afternoon when +Daisy tumbled short of his dreams—not through her own fault, but +because of the colossal vitality of his illusion. It had gone beyond +her, beyond everything. He had thrown himself into it with a creative +passion, adding to it all the time, decking it out with every bright +feather that drifted his way. No amount of fire or freshness can +challenge what a man can store up in his ghostly heart. + +As I watched him he adjusted himself a little, visibly. His hand took +hold of hers, and as she said something low in his ear he turned +toward her with a rush of emotion. I think that voice held him most, +with its fluctuating, feverish warmth, because it couldn’t be +over-dreamed—that voice was a deathless song. + +They had forgotten me, but Daisy glanced up and held out her hand; +Gatsby didn’t know me now at all. I looked once more at them and they +looked back at me, remotely, possessed by intense life. Then I went +out of the room and down the marble steps into the rain, leaving them +there together. + + + VI + +About this time an ambitious young reporter from New York arrived one +morning at Gatsby’s door and asked him if he had anything to say. + +“Anything to say about what?” inquired Gatsby politely. + +“Why—any statement to give out.” + +It transpired after a confused five minutes that the man had heard +Gatsby’s name around his office in a connection which he either +wouldn’t reveal or didn’t fully understand. This was his day off and +with laudable initiative he had hurried out “to see.” + +It was a random shot, and yet the reporter’s instinct was right. +Gatsby’s notoriety, spread about by the hundreds who had accepted his +hospitality and so become authorities upon his past, had increased all +summer until he fell just short of being news. Contemporary legends +such as the “underground pipeline to Canada” attached themselves to +him, and there was one persistent story that he didn’t live in a house +at all, but in a boat that looked like a house and was moved secretly +up and down the Long Island shore. Just why these inventions were a +source of satisfaction to James Gatz of North Dakota, isn’t easy to +say. + +James Gatz—that was really, or at least legally, his name. He had +changed it at the age of seventeen and at the specific moment that +witnessed the beginning of his career—when he saw Dan Cody’s yacht +drop anchor over the most insidious flat on Lake Superior. It was +James Gatz who had been loafing along the beach that afternoon in a +torn green jersey and a pair of canvas pants, but it was already Jay +Gatsby who borrowed a rowboat, pulled out to the Tuolomee, and +informed Cody that a wind might catch him and break him up in half an +hour. + +I suppose he’d had the name ready for a long time, even then. His +parents were shiftless and unsuccessful farm people—his imagination +had never really accepted them as his parents at all. The truth was +that Jay Gatsby of West Egg, Long Island, sprang from his Platonic +conception of himself. He was a son of God—a phrase which, if it means +anything, means just that—and he must be about His Father’s business, +the service of a vast, vulgar, and meretricious beauty. So he invented +just the sort of Jay Gatsby that a seventeen-year-old boy would be +likely to invent, and to this conception he was faithful to the end. + +For over a year he had been beating his way along the south shore of +Lake Superior as a clam-digger and a salmon-fisher or in any other +capacity that brought him food and bed. His brown, hardening body +lived naturally through the half-fierce, half-lazy work of the bracing +days. He knew women early, and since they spoiled him he became +contemptuous of them, of young virgins because they were ignorant, of +the others because they were hysterical about things which in his +overwhelming self-absorption he took for granted. + +But his heart was in a constant, turbulent riot. The most grotesque +and fantastic conceits haunted him in his bed at night. A universe of +ineffable gaudiness spun itself out in his brain while the clock +ticked on the washstand and the moon soaked with wet light his tangled +clothes upon the floor. Each night he added to the pattern of his +fancies until drowsiness closed down upon some vivid scene with an +oblivious embrace. For a while these reveries provided an outlet for +his imagination; they were a satisfactory hint of the unreality of +reality, a promise that the rock of the world was founded securely on +a fairy’s wing. + +An instinct toward his future glory had led him, some months before, +to the small Lutheran College of St. Olaf’s in southern Minnesota. He +stayed there two weeks, dismayed at its ferocious indifference to the +drums of his destiny, to destiny itself, and despising the janitor’s +work with which he was to pay his way through. Then he drifted back to +Lake Superior, and he was still searching for something to do on the +day that Dan Cody’s yacht dropped anchor in the shallows alongshore. + +Cody was fifty years old then, a product of the Nevada silver fields, +of the Yukon, of every rush for metal since seventy-five. The +transactions in Montana copper that made him many times a millionaire +found him physically robust but on the verge of soft-mindedness, and, +suspecting this, an infinite number of women tried to separate him +from his money. The none too savoury ramifications by which Ella Kaye, +the newspaper woman, played Madame de Maintenon to his weakness and +sent him to sea in a yacht, were common property of the turgid +journalism in 1902. He had been coasting along all too hospitable +shores for five years when he turned up as James Gatz’s destiny in +Little Girl Bay. + +To young Gatz, resting on his oars and looking up at the railed deck, +that yacht represented all the beauty and glamour in the world. I +suppose he smiled at Cody—he had probably discovered that people liked +him when he smiled. At any rate Cody asked him a few questions (one of +them elicited the brand new name) and found that he was quick and +extravagantly ambitious. A few days later he took him to Duluth and +bought him a blue coat, six pairs of white duck trousers, and a +yachting cap. And when the Tuolomee left for the West Indies and the +Barbary Coast, Gatsby left too. + +He was employed in a vague personal capacity—while he remained with +Cody he was in turn steward, mate, skipper, secretary, and even +jailor, for Dan Cody sober knew what lavish doings Dan Cody drunk +might soon be about, and he provided for such contingencies by +reposing more and more trust in Gatsby. The arrangement lasted five +years, during which the boat went three times around the Continent. +It might have lasted indefinitely except for the fact that Ella Kaye +came on board one night in Boston and a week later Dan Cody +inhospitably died. + +I remember the portrait of him up in Gatsby’s bedroom, a grey, florid +man with a hard, empty face—the pioneer debauchee, who during one +phase of American life brought back to the Eastern seaboard the savage +violence of the frontier brothel and saloon. It was indirectly due to +Cody that Gatsby drank so little. Sometimes in the course of gay +parties women used to rub champagne into his hair; for himself he +formed the habit of letting liquor alone. + +And it was from Cody that he inherited money—a legacy of twenty-five +thousand dollars. He didn’t get it. He never understood the legal +device that was used against him, but what remained of the millions +went intact to Ella Kaye. He was left with his singularly appropriate +education; the vague contour of Jay Gatsby had filled out to the +substantiality of a man. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +He told me all this very much later, but I’ve put it down here with +the idea of exploding those first wild rumours about his antecedents, +which weren’t even faintly true. Moreover he told it to me at a time +of confusion, when I had reached the point of believing everything and +nothing about him. So I take advantage of this short halt, while +Gatsby, so to speak, caught his breath, to clear this set of +misconceptions away. + +It was a halt, too, in my association with his affairs. For several +weeks I didn’t see him or hear his voice on the phone—mostly I was in +New York, trotting around with Jordan and trying to ingratiate myself +with her senile aunt—but finally I went over to his house one Sunday +afternoon. I hadn’t been there two minutes when somebody brought Tom +Buchanan in for a drink. I was startled, naturally, but the really +surprising thing was that it hadn’t happened before. + +They were a party of three on horseback—Tom and a man named Sloane and +a pretty woman in a brown riding-habit, who had been there previously. + +“I’m delighted to see you,” said Gatsby, standing on his porch. “I’m +delighted that you dropped in.” + +As though they cared! + +“Sit right down. Have a cigarette or a cigar.” He walked around the +room quickly, ringing bells. “I’ll have something to drink for you in +just a minute.” + +He was profoundly affected by the fact that Tom was there. But he +would be uneasy anyhow until he had given them something, realizing in +a vague way that that was all they came for. Mr. Sloane wanted +nothing. A lemonade? No, thanks. A little champagne? Nothing at all, +thanks … I’m sorry— + +“Did you have a nice ride?” + +“Very good roads around here.” + +“I suppose the automobiles—” + +“Yeah.” + +Moved by an irresistible impulse, Gatsby turned to Tom, who had +accepted the introduction as a stranger. + +“I believe we’ve met somewhere before, Mr. Buchanan.” + +“Oh, yes,” said Tom, gruffly polite, but obviously not remembering. +“So we did. I remember very well.” + +“About two weeks ago.” + +“That’s right. You were with Nick here.” + +“I know your wife,” continued Gatsby, almost aggressively. + +“That so?” + +Tom turned to me. + +“You live near here, Nick?” + +“Next door.” + +“That so?” + +Mr. Sloane didn’t enter into the conversation, but lounged back +haughtily in his chair; the woman said nothing either—until +unexpectedly, after two highballs, she became cordial. + +“We’ll all come over to your next party, Mr. Gatsby,” she suggested. +“What do you say?” + +“Certainly; I’d be delighted to have you.” + +“Be ver’ nice,” said Mr. Sloane, without gratitude. “Well—think ought +to be starting home.” + +“Please don’t hurry,” Gatsby urged them. He had control of himself +now, and he wanted to see more of Tom. “Why don’t you—why don’t you +stay for supper? I wouldn’t be surprised if some other people dropped +in from New York.” + +“You come to supper with me,” said the lady enthusiastically. “Both of +you.” + +This included me. Mr. Sloane got to his feet. + +“Come along,” he said—but to her only. + +“I mean it,” she insisted. “I’d love to have you. Lots of room.” + +Gatsby looked at me questioningly. He wanted to go and he didn’t see +that Mr. Sloane had determined he shouldn’t. + +“I’m afraid I won’t be able to,” I said. + +“Well, you come,” she urged, concentrating on Gatsby. + +Mr. Sloane murmured something close to her ear. + +“We won’t be late if we start now,” she insisted aloud. + +“I haven’t got a horse,” said Gatsby. “I used to ride in the army, but +I’ve never bought a horse. I’ll have to follow you in my car. Excuse +me for just a minute.” + +The rest of us walked out on the porch, where Sloane and the lady +began an impassioned conversation aside. + +“My God, I believe the man’s coming,” said Tom. “Doesn’t he know she +doesn’t want him?” + +“She says she does want him.” + +“She has a big dinner party and he won’t know a soul there.” He +frowned. “I wonder where in the devil he met Daisy. By God, I may be +old-fashioned in my ideas, but women run around too much these days to +suit me. They meet all kinds of crazy fish.” + +Suddenly Mr. Sloane and the lady walked down the steps and mounted +their horses. + +“Come on,” said Mr. Sloane to Tom, “we’re late. We’ve got to go.” And +then to me: “Tell him we couldn’t wait, will you?” + +Tom and I shook hands, the rest of us exchanged a cool nod, and they +trotted quickly down the drive, disappearing under the August foliage +just as Gatsby, with hat and light overcoat in hand, came out the +front door. + +Tom was evidently perturbed at Daisy’s running around alone, for on +the following Saturday night he came with her to Gatsby’s +party. Perhaps his presence gave the evening its peculiar quality of +oppressiveness—it stands out in my memory from Gatsby’s other parties +that summer. There were the same people, or at least the same sort of +people, the same profusion of champagne, the same many-coloured, +many-keyed commotion, but I felt an unpleasantness in the air, a +pervading harshness that hadn’t been there before. Or perhaps I had +merely grown used to it, grown to accept West Egg as a world complete +in itself, with its own standards and its own great figures, second to +nothing because it had no consciousness of being so, and now I was +looking at it again, through Daisy’s eyes. It is invariably saddening +to look through new eyes at things upon which you have expended your +own powers of adjustment. + +They arrived at twilight, and, as we strolled out among the sparkling +hundreds, Daisy’s voice was playing murmurous tricks in her throat. + +“These things excite me so,” she whispered. “If you want to kiss me +any time during the evening, Nick, just let me know and I’ll be glad +to arrange it for you. Just mention my name. Or present a green card. +I’m giving out green—” + +“Look around,” suggested Gatsby. + +“I’m looking around. I’m having a marvellous—” + +“You must see the faces of many people you’ve heard about.” + +Tom’s arrogant eyes roamed the crowd. + +“We don’t go around very much,” he said; “in fact, I was just thinking +I don’t know a soul here.” + +“Perhaps you know that lady.” Gatsby indicated a gorgeous, scarcely +human orchid of a woman who sat in state under a white-plum tree. Tom +and Daisy stared, with that peculiarly unreal feeling that accompanies +the recognition of a hitherto ghostly celebrity of the movies. + +“She’s lovely,” said Daisy. + +“The man bending over her is her director.” + +He took them ceremoniously from group to group: + +“Mrs. Buchanan … and Mr. Buchanan—” After an instant’s hesitation he +added: “the polo player.” + +“Oh no,” objected Tom quickly, “not me.” + +But evidently the sound of it pleased Gatsby for Tom remained “the +polo player” for the rest of the evening. + +“I’ve never met so many celebrities,” Daisy exclaimed. “I liked that +man—what was his name?—with the sort of blue nose.” + +Gatsby identified him, adding that he was a small producer. + +“Well, I liked him anyhow.” + +“I’d a little rather not be the polo player,” said Tom pleasantly, +“I’d rather look at all these famous people in—in oblivion.” + +Daisy and Gatsby danced. I remember being surprised by his graceful, +conservative foxtrot—I had never seen him dance before. Then they +sauntered over to my house and sat on the steps for half an hour, +while at her request I remained watchfully in the garden. “In case +there’s a fire or a flood,” she explained, “or any act of God.” + +Tom appeared from his oblivion as we were sitting down to supper +together. “Do you mind if I eat with some people over here?” he +said. “A fellow’s getting off some funny stuff.” + +“Go ahead,” answered Daisy genially, “and if you want to take down any +addresses here’s my little gold pencil.” … She looked around after a +moment and told me the girl was “common but pretty,” and I knew that +except for the half-hour she’d been alone with Gatsby she wasn’t +having a good time. + +We were at a particularly tipsy table. That was my fault—Gatsby had +been called to the phone, and I’d enjoyed these same people only two +weeks before. But what had amused me then turned septic on the air +now. + +“How do you feel, Miss Baedeker?” + +The girl addressed was trying, unsuccessfully, to slump against my +shoulder. At this inquiry she sat up and opened her eyes. + +“Wha’?” + +A massive and lethargic woman, who had been urging Daisy to play golf +with her at the local club tomorrow, spoke in Miss Baedeker’s defence: + +“Oh, she’s all right now. When she’s had five or six cocktails she +always starts screaming like that. I tell her she ought to leave it +alone.” + +“I do leave it alone,” affirmed the accused hollowly. + +“We heard you yelling, so I said to Doc Civet here: ‘There’s somebody +that needs your help, Doc.’ ” + +“She’s much obliged, I’m sure,” said another friend, without +gratitude, “but you got her dress all wet when you stuck her head in +the pool.” + +“Anything I hate is to get my head stuck in a pool,” mumbled Miss +Baedeker. “They almost drowned me once over in New Jersey.” + +“Then you ought to leave it alone,” countered Doctor Civet. + +“Speak for yourself!” cried Miss Baedeker violently. “Your hand +shakes. I wouldn’t let you operate on me!” + +It was like that. Almost the last thing I remember was standing with +Daisy and watching the moving-picture director and his Star. They were +still under the white-plum tree and their faces were touching except +for a pale, thin ray of moonlight between. It occurred to me that he +had been very slowly bending toward her all evening to attain this +proximity, and even while I watched I saw him stoop one ultimate +degree and kiss at her cheek. + +“I like her,” said Daisy, “I think she’s lovely.” + +But the rest offended her—and inarguably because it wasn’t a gesture +but an emotion. She was appalled by West Egg, this unprecedented +“place” that Broadway had begotten upon a Long Island fishing +village—appalled by its raw vigour that chafed under the old +euphemisms and by the too obtrusive fate that herded its inhabitants +along a shortcut from nothing to nothing. She saw something awful in +the very simplicity she failed to understand. + +I sat on the front steps with them while they waited for their car. +It was dark here in front; only the bright door sent ten square feet +of light volleying out into the soft black morning. Sometimes a shadow +moved against a dressing-room blind above, gave way to another shadow, +an indefinite procession of shadows, who rouged and powdered in an +invisible glass. + +“Who is this Gatsby anyhow?” demanded Tom suddenly. “Some big +bootlegger?” + +“Where’d you hear that?” I inquired. + +“I didn’t hear it. I imagined it. A lot of these newly rich people are +just big bootleggers, you know.” + +“Not Gatsby,” I said shortly. + +He was silent for a moment. The pebbles of the drive crunched under +his feet. + +“Well, he certainly must have strained himself to get this menagerie +together.” + +A breeze stirred the grey haze of Daisy’s fur collar. + +“At least they are more interesting than the people we know,” she said +with an effort. + +“You didn’t look so interested.” + +“Well, I was.” + +Tom laughed and turned to me. + +“Did you notice Daisy’s face when that girl asked her to put her under +a cold shower?” + +Daisy began to sing with the music in a husky, rhythmic whisper, +bringing out a meaning in each word that it had never had before and +would never have again. When the melody rose her voice broke up +sweetly, following it, in a way contralto voices have, and each change +tipped out a little of her warm human magic upon the air. + +“Lots of people come who haven’t been invited,” she said +suddenly. “That girl hadn’t been invited. They simply force their way +in and he’s too polite to object.” + +“I’d like to know who he is and what he does,” insisted Tom. “And I +think I’ll make a point of finding out.” + +“I can tell you right now,” she answered. “He owned some drugstores, a +lot of drugstores. He built them up himself.” + +The dilatory limousine came rolling up the drive. + +“Good night, Nick,” said Daisy. + +Her glance left me and sought the lighted top of the steps, where +“Three O’Clock in the Morning,” a neat, sad little waltz of that year, +was drifting out the open door. After all, in the very casualness of +Gatsby’s party there were romantic possibilities totally absent from +her world. What was it up there in the song that seemed to be calling +her back inside? What would happen now in the dim, incalculable hours? +Perhaps some unbelievable guest would arrive, a person infinitely rare +and to be marvelled at, some authentically radiant young girl who with +one fresh glance at Gatsby, one moment of magical encounter, would +blot out those five years of unwavering devotion. + +I stayed late that night. Gatsby asked me to wait until he was free, +and I lingered in the garden until the inevitable swimming party had +run up, chilled and exalted, from the black beach, until the lights +were extinguished in the guestrooms overhead. When he came down the +steps at last the tanned skin was drawn unusually tight on his face, +and his eyes were bright and tired. + +“She didn’t like it,” he said immediately. + +“Of course she did.” + +“She didn’t like it,” he insisted. “She didn’t have a good time.” + +He was silent, and I guessed at his unutterable depression. + +“I feel far away from her,” he said. “It’s hard to make her +understand.” + +“You mean about the dance?” + +“The dance?” He dismissed all the dances he had given with a snap of +his fingers. “Old sport, the dance is unimportant.” + +He wanted nothing less of Daisy than that she should go to Tom and +say: “I never loved you.” After she had obliterated four years with +that sentence they could decide upon the more practical measures to be +taken. One of them was that, after she was free, they were to go back +to Louisville and be married from her house—just as if it were five +years ago. + +“And she doesn’t understand,” he said. “She used to be able to +understand. We’d sit for hours—” + +He broke off and began to walk up and down a desolate path of fruit +rinds and discarded favours and crushed flowers. + +“I wouldn’t ask too much of her,” I ventured. “You can’t repeat the +past.” + +“Can’t repeat the past?” he cried incredulously. “Why of course you +can!” + +He looked around him wildly, as if the past were lurking here in the +shadow of his house, just out of reach of his hand. + +“I’m going to fix everything just the way it was before,” he said, +nodding determinedly. “She’ll see.” + +He talked a lot about the past, and I gathered that he wanted to +recover something, some idea of himself perhaps, that had gone into +loving Daisy. His life had been confused and disordered since then, +but if he could once return to a certain starting place and go over it +all slowly, he could find out what that thing was … + +… One autumn night, five years before, they had been walking down the +street when the leaves were falling, and they came to a place where +there were no trees and the sidewalk was white with moonlight. They +stopped here and turned toward each other. Now it was a cool night +with that mysterious excitement in it which comes at the two changes +of the year. The quiet lights in the houses were humming out into the +darkness and there was a stir and bustle among the stars. Out of the +corner of his eye Gatsby saw that the blocks of the sidewalks really +formed a ladder and mounted to a secret place above the trees—he could +climb to it, if he climbed alone, and once there he could suck on the +pap of life, gulp down the incomparable milk of wonder. + +His heart beat faster as Daisy’s white face came up to his own. He +knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable +visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like +the mind of God. So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the +tuning-fork that had been struck upon a star. Then he kissed her. At +his lips’ touch she blossomed for him like a flower and the +incarnation was complete. + +Through all he said, even through his appalling sentimentality, I was +reminded of something—an elusive rhythm, a fragment of lost words, +that I had heard somewhere a long time ago. For a moment a phrase +tried to take shape in my mouth and my lips parted like a dumb man’s, +as though there was more struggling upon them than a wisp of startled +air. But they made no sound, and what I had almost remembered was +uncommunicable forever. + + + VII + +It was when curiosity about Gatsby was at its highest that the lights +in his house failed to go on one Saturday night—and, as obscurely as +it had begun, his career as Trimalchio was over. Only gradually did I +become aware that the automobiles which turned expectantly into his +drive stayed for just a minute and then drove sulkily away. Wondering +if he were sick I went over to find out—an unfamiliar butler with a +villainous face squinted at me suspiciously from the door. + +“Is Mr. Gatsby sick?” + +“Nope.” After a pause he added “sir” in a dilatory, grudging way. + +“I hadn’t seen him around, and I was rather worried. Tell him Mr. +Carraway came over.” + +“Who?” he demanded rudely. + +“Carraway.” + +“Carraway. All right, I’ll tell him.” + +Abruptly he slammed the door. + +My Finn informed me that Gatsby had dismissed every servant in his +house a week ago and replaced them with half a dozen others, who never +went into West Egg village to be bribed by the tradesmen, but ordered +moderate supplies over the telephone. The grocery boy reported that +the kitchen looked like a pigsty, and the general opinion in the +village was that the new people weren’t servants at all. + +Next day Gatsby called me on the phone. + +“Going away?” I inquired. + +“No, old sport.” + +“I hear you fired all your servants.” + +“I wanted somebody who wouldn’t gossip. Daisy comes over quite +often—in the afternoons.” + +So the whole caravansary had fallen in like a card house at the +disapproval in her eyes. + +“They’re some people Wolfshiem wanted to do something for. They’re all +brothers and sisters. They used to run a small hotel.” + +“I see.” + +He was calling up at Daisy’s request—would I come to lunch at her +house tomorrow? Miss Baker would be there. Half an hour later Daisy +herself telephoned and seemed relieved to find that I was +coming. Something was up. And yet I couldn’t believe that they would +choose this occasion for a scene—especially for the rather harrowing +scene that Gatsby had outlined in the garden. + +The next day was broiling, almost the last, certainly the warmest, of +the summer. As my train emerged from the tunnel into sunlight, only +the hot whistles of the National Biscuit Company broke the simmering +hush at noon. The straw seats of the car hovered on the edge of +combustion; the woman next to me perspired delicately for a while into +her white shirtwaist, and then, as her newspaper dampened under her +fingers, lapsed despairingly into deep heat with a desolate cry. Her +pocketbook slapped to the floor. + +“Oh, my!” she gasped. + +I picked it up with a weary bend and handed it back to her, holding it +at arm’s length and by the extreme tip of the corners to indicate that +I had no designs upon it—but everyone near by, including the woman, +suspected me just the same. + +“Hot!” said the conductor to familiar faces. “Some weather! … Hot! … +Hot! … Hot! … Is it hot enough for you? Is it hot? Is it … ?” + +My commutation ticket came back to me with a dark stain from his hand. +That anyone should care in this heat whose flushed lips he kissed, +whose head made damp the pyjama pocket over his heart! + +… Through the hall of the Buchanans’ house blew a faint wind, carrying +the sound of the telephone bell out to Gatsby and me as we waited at +the door. + +“The master’s body?” roared the butler into the mouthpiece. “I’m +sorry, madame, but we can’t furnish it—it’s far too hot to touch this +noon!” + +What he really said was: “Yes … Yes … I’ll see.” + +He set down the receiver and came toward us, glistening slightly, to +take our stiff straw hats. + +“Madame expects you in the salon!” he cried, needlessly indicating the +direction. In this heat every extra gesture was an affront to the +common store of life. + +The room, shadowed well with awnings, was dark and cool. Daisy and +Jordan lay upon an enormous couch, like silver idols weighing down +their own white dresses against the singing breeze of the fans. + +“We can’t move,” they said together. + +Jordan’s fingers, powdered white over their tan, rested for a moment +in mine. + +“And Mr. Thomas Buchanan, the athlete?” I inquired. + +Simultaneously I heard his voice, gruff, muffled, husky, at the hall +telephone. + +Gatsby stood in the centre of the crimson carpet and gazed around with +fascinated eyes. Daisy watched him and laughed, her sweet, exciting +laugh; a tiny gust of powder rose from her bosom into the air. + +“The rumour is,” whispered Jordan, “that that’s Tom’s girl on the +telephone.” + +We were silent. The voice in the hall rose high with annoyance: “Very +well, then, I won’t sell you the car at all … I’m under no obligations +to you at all … and as for your bothering me about it at lunch time, I +won’t stand that at all!” + +“Holding down the receiver,” said Daisy cynically. + +“No, he’s not,” I assured her. “It’s a bona-fide deal. I happen to +know about it.” + +Tom flung open the door, blocked out its space for a moment with his +thick body, and hurried into the room. + +“Mr. Gatsby!” He put out his broad, flat hand with well-concealed +dislike. “I’m glad to see you, sir … Nick …” + +“Make us a cold drink,” cried Daisy. + +As he left the room again she got up and went over to Gatsby and +pulled his face down, kissing him on the mouth. + +“You know I love you,” she murmured. + +“You forget there’s a lady present,” said Jordan. + +Daisy looked around doubtfully. + +“You kiss Nick too.” + +“What a low, vulgar girl!” + +“I don’t care!” cried Daisy, and began to clog on the brick fireplace. +Then she remembered the heat and sat down guiltily on the couch just +as a freshly laundered nurse leading a little girl came into the room. + +“Bles-sed pre-cious,” she crooned, holding out her arms. “Come to your +own mother that loves you.” + +The child, relinquished by the nurse, rushed across the room and +rooted shyly into her mother’s dress. + +“The bles-sed pre-cious! Did mother get powder on your old yellowy +hair? Stand up now, and say—How-de-do.” + +Gatsby and I in turn leaned down and took the small reluctant hand. +Afterward he kept looking at the child with surprise. I don’t think he +had ever really believed in its existence before. + +“I got dressed before luncheon,” said the child, turning eagerly to +Daisy. + +“That’s because your mother wanted to show you off.” Her face bent +into the single wrinkle of the small white neck. “You dream, you. You +absolute little dream.” + +“Yes,” admitted the child calmly. “Aunt Jordan’s got on a white dress +too.” + +“How do you like mother’s friends?” Daisy turned her around so that +she faced Gatsby. “Do you think they’re pretty?” + +“Where’s Daddy?” + +“She doesn’t look like her father,” explained Daisy. “She looks like +me. She’s got my hair and shape of the face.” + +Daisy sat back upon the couch. The nurse took a step forward and held +out her hand. + +“Come, Pammy.” + +“Goodbye, sweetheart!” + +With a reluctant backward glance the well-disciplined child held to +her nurse’s hand and was pulled out the door, just as Tom came back, +preceding four gin rickeys that clicked full of ice. + +Gatsby took up his drink. + +“They certainly look cool,” he said, with visible tension. + +We drank in long, greedy swallows. + +“I read somewhere that the sun’s getting hotter every year,” said Tom +genially. “It seems that pretty soon the earth’s going to fall into +the sun—or wait a minute—it’s just the opposite—the sun’s getting +colder every year. + +“Come outside,” he suggested to Gatsby, “I’d like you to have a look +at the place.” + +I went with them out to the veranda. On the green Sound, stagnant in +the heat, one small sail crawled slowly toward the fresher sea. +Gatsby’s eyes followed it momentarily; he raised his hand and pointed +across the bay. + +“I’m right across from you.” + +“So you are.” + +Our eyes lifted over the rose-beds and the hot lawn and the weedy +refuse of the dog-days alongshore. Slowly the white wings of the boat +moved against the blue cool limit of the sky. Ahead lay the scalloped +ocean and the abounding blessed isles. + +“There’s sport for you,” said Tom, nodding. “I’d like to be out there +with him for about an hour.” + +We had luncheon in the dining-room, darkened too against the heat, and +drank down nervous gaiety with the cold ale. + +“What’ll we do with ourselves this afternoon?” cried Daisy, “and the +day after that, and the next thirty years?” + +“Don’t be morbid,” Jordan said. “Life starts all over again when it +gets crisp in the fall.” + +“But it’s so hot,” insisted Daisy, on the verge of tears, “and +everything’s so confused. Let’s all go to town!” + +Her voice struggled on through the heat, beating against it, moulding +its senselessness into forms. + +“I’ve heard of making a garage out of a stable,” Tom was saying to +Gatsby, “but I’m the first man who ever made a stable out of a +garage.” + +“Who wants to go to town?” demanded Daisy insistently. Gatsby’s eyes +floated toward her. “Ah,” she cried, “you look so cool.” + +Their eyes met, and they stared together at each other, alone in +space. With an effort she glanced down at the table. + +“You always look so cool,” she repeated. + +She had told him that she loved him, and Tom Buchanan saw. He was +astounded. His mouth opened a little, and he looked at Gatsby, and +then back at Daisy as if he had just recognized her as someone he knew +a long time ago. + +“You resemble the advertisement of the man,” she went on innocently. +“You know the advertisement of the man—” + +“All right,” broke in Tom quickly, “I’m perfectly willing to go to +town. Come on—we’re all going to town.” + +He got up, his eyes still flashing between Gatsby and his wife. No one +moved. + +“Come on!” His temper cracked a little. “What’s the matter, anyhow? +If we’re going to town, let’s start.” + +His hand, trembling with his effort at self-control, bore to his lips +the last of his glass of ale. Daisy’s voice got us to our feet and out +on to the blazing gravel drive. + +“Are we just going to go?” she objected. “Like this? Aren’t we going +to let anyone smoke a cigarette first?” + +“Everybody smoked all through lunch.” + +“Oh, let’s have fun,” she begged him. “It’s too hot to fuss.” + +He didn’t answer. + +“Have it your own way,” she said. “Come on, Jordan.” + +They went upstairs to get ready while we three men stood there +shuffling the hot pebbles with our feet. A silver curve of the moon +hovered already in the western sky. Gatsby started to speak, changed +his mind, but not before Tom wheeled and faced him expectantly. + +“Have you got your stables here?” asked Gatsby with an effort. + +“About a quarter of a mile down the road.” + +“Oh.” + +A pause. + +“I don’t see the idea of going to town,” broke out Tom savagely. +“Women get these notions in their heads—” + +“Shall we take anything to drink?” called Daisy from an upper window. + +“I’ll get some whisky,” answered Tom. He went inside. + +Gatsby turned to me rigidly: + +“I can’t say anything in his house, old sport.” + +“She’s got an indiscreet voice,” I remarked. “It’s full of—” I +hesitated. + +“Her voice is full of money,” he said suddenly. + +That was it. I’d never understood before. It was full of money—that +was the inexhaustible charm that rose and fell in it, the jingle of +it, the cymbals’ song of it … High in a white palace the king’s +daughter, the golden girl … + +Tom came out of the house wrapping a quart bottle in a towel, followed +by Daisy and Jordan wearing small tight hats of metallic cloth and +carrying light capes over their arms. + +“Shall we all go in my car?” suggested Gatsby. He felt the hot, green +leather of the seat. “I ought to have left it in the shade.” + +“Is it standard shift?” demanded Tom. + +“Yes.” + +“Well, you take my coupé and let me drive your car to town.” + +The suggestion was distasteful to Gatsby. + +“I don’t think there’s much gas,” he objected. + +“Plenty of gas,” said Tom boisterously. He looked at the gauge. “And +if it runs out I can stop at a drugstore. You can buy anything at a +drugstore nowadays.” + +A pause followed this apparently pointless remark. Daisy looked at Tom +frowning, and an indefinable expression, at once definitely unfamiliar +and vaguely recognizable, as if I had only heard it described in +words, passed over Gatsby’s face. + +“Come on, Daisy” said Tom, pressing her with his hand toward Gatsby’s +car. “I’ll take you in this circus wagon.” + +He opened the door, but she moved out from the circle of his arm. + +“You take Nick and Jordan. We’ll follow you in the coupé.” + +She walked close to Gatsby, touching his coat with her hand. Jordan +and Tom and I got into the front seat of Gatsby’s car, Tom pushed the +unfamiliar gears tentatively, and we shot off into the oppressive +heat, leaving them out of sight behind. + +“Did you see that?” demanded Tom. + +“See what?” + +He looked at me keenly, realizing that Jordan and I must have known +all along. + +“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 science—” + +He paused. The immediate contingency overtook him, pulled him back +from the edge of 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 sign. After a moment the proprietor emerged from +the interior of his establishment and gazed hollow-eyed at the car. + +“Let’s have some gas!” cried Tom roughly. “What do you think we +stopped for—to admire the view?” + +“I’m sick,” said Wilson without moving. “Been sick all day.” + +“What’s the matter?” + +“I’m all run down.” + +“Well, shall I help myself?” Tom demanded. “You sounded well enough on +the phone.” + +With an effort Wilson left the shade and support of the doorway and, +breathing hard, unscrewed the cap of the tank. In the sunlight his +face was green. + +“I didn’t mean to interrupt your lunch,” he said. “But I need money +pretty bad, and I was wondering what you were going to do with your +old car.” + +“How do you like this one?” inquired Tom. “I bought it last week.” + +“It’s a nice yellow one,” said Wilson, as he strained at the handle. + +“Like to buy it?” + +“Big chance,” Wilson smiled faintly. “No, but I could make some money +on the other.” + +“What do you want money for, all of a sudden?” + +“I’ve been here too long. I want to get away. My wife and I want to go +West.” + +“Your wife does,” exclaimed Tom, startled. + +“She’s been talking about it for ten years.” He rested for a moment +against the pump, shading his eyes. “And now she’s going whether she +wants to or not. I’m going to get her away.” + +The coupé flashed by us with a flurry of dust and the flash of a +waving hand. + +“What do I owe you?” demanded Tom harshly. + +“I just got wised up to something funny the last two days,” remarked +Wilson. “That’s why I want to get away. That’s why I been bothering +you about the car.” + +“What do I owe you?” + +“Dollar twenty.” + +The relentless beating heat was beginning to confuse me and I had a +bad moment there before I realized that so far his suspicions hadn’t +alighted on Tom. He had discovered that Myrtle had some sort of life +apart from him in another world, and the shock had made him physically +sick. I stared at him and then at Tom, who had made a parallel +discovery less than an hour before—and it occurred to me that there +was no difference between men, in intelligence or race, so profound as +the difference between the sick and the well. Wilson was so sick that +he looked guilty, unforgivably guilty—as if he had just got some poor +girl with child. + +“I’ll let you have that car,” said Tom. “I’ll send it over tomorrow +afternoon.” + +That locality was always vaguely disquieting, even in the broad glare +of afternoon, and now I turned my head as though I had been warned of +something behind. Over the ash-heaps the giant eyes of Doctor T. J. +Eckleburg kept their vigil, but I perceived, after a moment, that +other eyes were regarding us with peculiar intensity from less than +twenty feet away. + +In one of the windows over the garage the curtains had been moved +aside a little, and Myrtle Wilson was peering down at the car. So +engrossed was she that she had no consciousness of being observed, and +one emotion after another crept into her face like objects into a +slowly developing picture. Her expression was curiously familiar—it +was an expression I had often seen on women’s faces, but on Myrtle +Wilson’s face it seemed purposeless and inexplicable until I realized +that her eyes, wide with jealous terror, were fixed not on Tom, but on +Jordan Baker, whom she took to be his wife. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +There is no confusion like the confusion of a simple mind, and as we +drove away Tom was feeling the hot whips of panic. His wife and his +mistress, until an hour ago secure and inviolate, were slipping +precipitately from his control. Instinct made him step on the +accelerator with the double purpose of overtaking Daisy and leaving +Wilson behind, and we sped along toward Astoria at fifty miles an +hour, until, among the spidery girders of the elevated, we came in +sight of the easygoing blue coupé. + +“Those big movies around Fiftieth Street are cool,” suggested +Jordan. “I love New York on summer afternoons when everyone’s away. +There’s something very sensuous about it—overripe, as if all sorts of +funny fruits were going to fall into your hands.” + +The word “sensuous” had the effect of further disquieting Tom, but +before he could invent a protest the coupé came to a stop, and Daisy +signalled us to draw up alongside. + +“Where are we going?” she cried. + +“How about the movies?” + +“It’s so hot,” she complained. “You go. We’ll ride around and meet you +after.” With an effort her wit rose faintly. “We’ll meet you on some +corner. I’ll be the man smoking two cigarettes.” + +“We can’t argue about it here,” Tom said impatiently, as a truck gave +out a cursing whistle behind us. “You follow me to the south side of +Central Park, in front of the Plaza.” + +Several times he turned his head and looked back for their car, and if +the traffic delayed them he slowed up until they came into sight. I +think he was afraid they would dart down a side-street and out of his +life forever. + +But they didn’t. And we all took the less explicable step of engaging +the parlour of a suite in the Plaza Hotel. + +The prolonged and tumultuous argument that ended by herding us into +that room eludes me, though I have a sharp physical memory that, in +the course of it, my underwear kept climbing like a damp snake around +my legs and intermittent beads of sweat raced cool across my back. +The notion originated with Daisy’s suggestion that we hire five +bathrooms and take cold baths, and then assumed more tangible form as +“a place to have a mint julep.” Each of us said over and over that it +was a “crazy idea”—we all talked at once to a baffled clerk and +thought, or pretended to think, that we were being very funny … + +The room was large and stifling, and, though it was already four +o’clock, opening the windows admitted only a gust of hot shrubbery +from the Park. Daisy went to the mirror and stood with her back to us, +fixing her hair. + +“It’s a swell suite,” whispered Jordan respectfully, and everyone +laughed. + +“Open another window,” commanded Daisy, without turning around. + +“There aren’t any more.” + +“Well, we’d better telephone for an axe—” + +“The thing to do is to forget about the heat,” said Tom impatiently. +“You make it ten times worse by crabbing about it.” + +He unrolled the bottle of whisky from the towel and put it on the +table. + +“Why not let her alone, old sport?” remarked Gatsby. “You’re the one +that wanted to come to town.” + +There was a moment of silence. The telephone book slipped from its +nail and splashed to the floor, whereupon Jordan whispered, “Excuse +me”—but this time no one laughed. + +“I’ll pick it up,” I offered. + +“I’ve got it.” Gatsby examined the parted string, muttered “Hum!” in +an interested way, and tossed the book on a chair. + +“That’s a great expression of yours, isn’t it?” said Tom sharply. + +“What is?” + +“All this ‘old sport’ business. Where’d you pick that up?” + +“Now see here, Tom,” said Daisy, turning around from the mirror, “if +you’re going to make personal remarks I won’t stay here a minute. +Call up and order some ice for the mint julep.” + +As Tom took up the receiver the compressed heat exploded into sound +and we were listening to the portentous chords of Mendelssohn’s +Wedding March from the ballroom below. + +“Imagine marrying anybody in this heat!” cried Jordan dismally. + +“Still—I was married in the middle of June,” Daisy remembered. +“Louisville in June! Somebody fainted. Who was it fainted, Tom?” + +“Biloxi,” he answered shortly. + +“A man named Biloxi. ‘Blocks’ Biloxi, and he made boxes—that’s a +fact—and he was from Biloxi, Tennessee.” + +“They carried him into my house,” appended Jordan, “because we lived +just two doors from the church. And he stayed three weeks, until Daddy +told him he had to get out. The day after he left Daddy died.” After +a moment she added. “There wasn’t any connection.” + +“I used to know a Bill Biloxi from Memphis,” I remarked. + +“That was his cousin. I knew his whole family history before he +left. He gave me an aluminium putter that I use today.” + +The music had died down as the ceremony began and now a long cheer +floated in at the window, followed by intermittent cries of +“Yea—ea—ea!” and finally by a burst of jazz as the dancing began. + +“We’re getting old,” said Daisy. “If we were young we’d rise and +dance.” + +“Remember Biloxi,” Jordan warned her. “Where’d you know him, Tom?” + +“Biloxi?” He concentrated with an effort. “I didn’t know him. He was a +friend of Daisy’s.” + +“He was not,” she denied. “I’d never seen him before. He came down in +the private car.” + +“Well, he said he knew you. He said he was raised in Louisville. Asa +Bird brought him around at the last minute and asked if we had room +for him.” + +Jordan smiled. + +“He was probably bumming his way home. He told me he was president of +your class at Yale.” + +Tom and I looked at each other blankly. + +“Biloxi?” + +“First place, we didn’t have any president—” + +Gatsby’s foot beat a short, restless tattoo and Tom eyed him suddenly. + +“By the way, Mr. Gatsby, I understand you’re an Oxford man.” + +“Not exactly.” + +“Oh, yes, I understand you went to Oxford.” + +“Yes—I went there.” + +A pause. Then Tom’s voice, incredulous and insulting: + +“You must have gone there about the time Biloxi went to New Haven.” + +Another pause. A waiter knocked and came in with crushed mint and ice +but the silence was unbroken by his “thank you” and the soft closing +of the door. This tremendous detail was to be cleared up at last. + +“I told you I went there,” said Gatsby. + +“I heard you, but I’d like to know when.” + +“It was in nineteen-nineteen, I only stayed five months. That’s why I +can’t really call myself an Oxford man.” + +Tom glanced around to see if we mirrored his unbelief. But we were all +looking at Gatsby. + +“It was an opportunity they gave to some of the officers after the +armistice,” he continued. “We could go to any of the universities in +England or France.” + +I wanted to get up and slap him on the back. I had one of those +renewals of complete faith in him that I’d experienced before. + +Daisy rose, smiling faintly, and went to the table. + +“Open the whisky, Tom,” she ordered, “and I’ll make you a mint julep. +Then you won’t seem so stupid to yourself … Look at the mint!” + +“Wait a minute,” snapped Tom, “I want to ask Mr. Gatsby one more +question.” + +“Go on,” Gatsby said politely. + +“What kind of a row are you trying to cause in my house anyhow?” + +They were out in the open at last and Gatsby was content. + +“He isn’t causing a row,” Daisy looked desperately from one to the +other. “You’re causing a row. Please have a little self-control.” + +“Self-control!” repeated Tom incredulously. “I suppose the latest +thing is to sit back and let Mr. Nobody from Nowhere make love to your +wife. Well, if that’s the idea you can count me out … Nowadays people +begin by sneering at family life and family institutions, and next +they’ll throw everything overboard and have intermarriage between +black and white.” + +Flushed with his impassioned gibberish, he saw himself standing alone +on the last barrier of civilization. + +“We’re all white here,” murmured Jordan. + +“I know I’m not very popular. I don’t give big parties. I suppose +you’ve got to make your house into a pigsty in order to have any +friends—in the modern world.” + +Angry as I was, as we all were, I was tempted to laugh whenever he +opened his mouth. The transition from libertine to prig was so +complete. + +“I’ve got something to tell you, old sport—” began Gatsby. But Daisy +guessed at his intention. + +“Please don’t!” she interrupted helplessly. “Please let’s all go +home. Why don’t we all go home?” + +“That’s a good idea,” I got up. “Come on, Tom. Nobody wants a drink.” + +“I want to know what Mr. Gatsby has to tell me.” + +“Your wife doesn’t love you,” said Gatsby. “She’s never loved you. +She loves me.” + +“You must be crazy!” exclaimed Tom automatically. + +Gatsby sprang to his feet, vivid with excitement. + +“She never loved you, do you hear?” he cried. “She only married you +because I was poor and she was tired of waiting for me. It was a +terrible mistake, but in her heart she never loved anyone except me!” + +At this point Jordan and I tried to go, but Tom and Gatsby insisted +with competitive firmness that we remain—as though neither of them had +anything to conceal and it would be a privilege to partake vicariously +of their emotions. + +“Sit down, Daisy,” Tom’s voice groped unsuccessfully for the paternal +note. “What’s been going on? I want to hear all about it.” + +“I told you what’s been going on,” said Gatsby. “Going on for five +years—and you didn’t know.” + +Tom turned to Daisy sharply. + +“You’ve been seeing this fellow for five years?” + +“Not seeing,” said Gatsby. “No, we couldn’t meet. But both of us loved +each other all that time, old sport, and you didn’t know. I used to +laugh sometimes”—but there was no laughter in his eyes—“to think that +you didn’t know.” + +“Oh—that’s all.” Tom tapped his thick fingers together like a +clergyman and leaned back in his chair. + +“You’re crazy!” he exploded. “I can’t speak about what happened five +years ago, because I didn’t know Daisy then—and I’ll be damned if I +see how you got within a mile of her unless you brought the groceries +to the back door. But all the rest of that’s a God damned lie. Daisy +loved me when she married me and she loves me now.” + +“No,” said Gatsby, shaking his head. + +“She does, though. The trouble is that sometimes she gets foolish +ideas in her head and doesn’t know what she’s doing.” He nodded +sagely. “And what’s more, I love Daisy too. Once in a while I go off +on a spree and make a fool of myself, but I always come back, and in +my heart I love her all the time.” + +“You’re revolting,” said Daisy. She turned to me, and her voice, +dropping an octave lower, filled the room with thrilling scorn: “Do +you know why we left Chicago? I’m surprised that they didn’t treat you +to the story of that little spree.” + +Gatsby walked over and stood beside her. + +“Daisy, that’s all over now,” he said earnestly. “It doesn’t matter +any more. Just tell him the truth—that you never loved him—and it’s +all wiped out forever.” + +She looked at him blindly. “Why—how could I love him—possibly?” + +“You never loved him.” + +She hesitated. Her eyes fell on Jordan and me with a sort of appeal, +as though she realized at last what she was doing—and as though she +had never, all along, intended doing anything at all. But it was done +now. It was too late. + +“I never loved him,” she said, with perceptible reluctance. + +“Not at Kapiolani?” demanded Tom suddenly. + +“No.” + +From the ballroom beneath, muffled and suffocating chords were +drifting up on hot waves of air. + +“Not that day I carried you down from the Punch Bowl to keep your +shoes dry?” There was a husky tenderness in his tone … “Daisy?” + +“Please don’t.” Her voice was cold, but the rancour was gone from it. +She looked at Gatsby. “There, Jay,” she said—but her hand as she tried +to light a cigarette was trembling. Suddenly she threw the cigarette +and the burning match on the carpet. + +“Oh, you want too much!” she cried to Gatsby. “I love you now—isn’t +that enough? I can’t help what’s past.” She began to sob +helplessly. “I did love him once—but I loved you too.” + +Gatsby’s eyes opened and closed. + +“You loved me too?” he repeated. + +“Even that’s a lie,” said Tom savagely. “She didn’t know you were +alive. Why—there’s things between Daisy and me that you’ll never know, +things that neither of us can ever forget.” + +The words seemed to bite physically into Gatsby. + +“I want to speak to Daisy alone,” he insisted. “She’s all excited +now—” + +“Even alone I can’t say I never loved Tom,” she admitted in a pitiful +voice. “It wouldn’t be true.” + +“Of course it wouldn’t,” agreed Tom. + +She turned to her husband. + +“As if it mattered to you,” she said. + +“Of course it matters. I’m going to take better care of you from now +on.” + +“You don’t understand,” said Gatsby, with a touch of panic. “You’re +not going to take care of her any more.” + +“I’m not?” Tom opened his eyes wide and laughed. He could afford to +control himself now. “Why’s that?” + +“Daisy’s leaving you.” + +“Nonsense.” + +“I am, though,” she said with a visible effort. + +“She’s not leaving me!” Tom’s words suddenly leaned down over Gatsby. +“Certainly not for a common swindler who’d have to steal the ring he +put on her finger.” + +“I won’t stand this!” cried Daisy. “Oh, please let’s get out.” + +“Who are you, anyhow?” broke out Tom. “You’re one of that bunch that +hangs around with Meyer Wolfshiem—that much I happen to know. I’ve +made a little investigation into your affairs—and I’ll carry it +further tomorrow.” + +“You can suit yourself about that, old sport,” said Gatsby steadily. + +“I found out what your ‘drugstores’ were.” He turned to us and spoke +rapidly. “He and this Wolfshiem bought up a lot of side-street +drugstores here and in Chicago and sold grain alcohol over the +counter. That’s one of his little stunts. I picked him for a +bootlegger the first time I saw him, and I wasn’t far wrong.” + +“What about it?” said Gatsby politely. “I guess your friend Walter +Chase wasn’t too proud to come in on it.” + +“And you left him in the lurch, didn’t you? You let him go to jail for +a month over in New Jersey. God! You ought to hear Walter on the +subject of you.” + +“He came to us dead broke. He was very glad to pick up some money, old +sport.” + +“Don’t you call me ‘old sport’!” cried Tom. Gatsby said +nothing. “Walter could have you up on the betting laws too, but +Wolfshiem scared him into shutting his mouth.” + +That unfamiliar yet recognizable look was back again in Gatsby’s face. + +“That drugstore business was just small change,” continued Tom slowly, +“but you’ve got something on now that Walter’s afraid to tell me +about.” + +I glanced at Daisy, who was staring terrified between Gatsby and her +husband, and at Jordan, who had begun to balance an invisible but +absorbing object on the tip of her chin. Then I turned back to +Gatsby—and was startled at his expression. He looked—and this is said +in all contempt for the babbled slander of his garden—as if he had +“killed a man.” For a moment the set of his face could be described in +just that fantastic way. + +It passed, and he began to talk excitedly to Daisy, denying +everything, defending his name against accusations that had not been +made. But with every word she was drawing further and further into +herself, so he gave that up, and only the dead dream fought on as the +afternoon slipped away, trying to touch what was no longer tangible, +struggling unhappily, undespairingly, toward that lost voice across +the room. + +The voice begged again to go. + +“Please, Tom! I can’t stand this any more.” + +Her frightened eyes told that whatever intentions, whatever courage +she had had, were definitely gone. + +“You two start on home, Daisy,” said Tom. “In Mr. Gatsby’s car.” + +She looked at Tom, alarmed now, but he insisted with magnanimous +scorn. + +“Go on. He won’t annoy you. I think he realizes that his presumptuous +little flirtation is over.” + +They were gone, without a word, snapped out, made accidental, +isolated, like ghosts, even from our pity. + +After a moment Tom got up and began wrapping the unopened bottle of +whisky in the towel. + +“Want any of this stuff? Jordan? … Nick?” + +I didn’t answer. + +“Nick?” He asked again. + +“What?” + +“Want any?” + +“No … I just remembered that today’s my birthday.” + +I was thirty. Before me stretched the portentous, menacing road of a +new decade. + +It was seven o’clock when we got into the coupé with him and started +for Long Island. Tom talked incessantly, exulting and laughing, but +his voice was as remote from Jordan and me as the foreign clamour on +the sidewalk or the tumult of the elevated overhead. Human sympathy +has its limits, and we were content to let all their tragic arguments +fade with the city lights behind. Thirty—the promise of a decade of +loneliness, a thinning list of single men to know, a thinning +briefcase of enthusiasm, thinning hair. But there was Jordan beside +me, who, unlike Daisy, was too wise ever to carry well-forgotten +dreams from age to age. As we passed over the dark bridge her wan face +fell lazily against my coat’s shoulder and the formidable stroke of +thirty died away with the reassuring pressure of her hand. + +So we drove on toward death through the cooling twilight. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +The young Greek, Michaelis, who ran the coffee joint beside the +ash-heaps was the principal witness at the inquest. He had slept +through the heat until after five, when he strolled over to the +garage, and found George Wilson sick in his office—really sick, pale +as his own pale hair and shaking all over. Michaelis advised him to go +to bed, but Wilson refused, saying that he’d miss a lot of business if +he did. While his neighbour was trying to persuade him a violent +racket broke out overhead. + +“I’ve got my wife locked in up there,” explained Wilson calmly. +“She’s going to stay there till the day after tomorrow, and then we’re +going to move away.” + +Michaelis was astonished; they had been neighbours for four years, and +Wilson had never seemed faintly capable of such a statement. +Generally he was one of these worn-out men: when he wasn’t working, he +sat on a chair in the doorway and stared at the people and the cars +that passed along the road. When anyone spoke to him he invariably +laughed in an agreeable, colourless way. He was his wife’s man and not +his own. + +So naturally Michaelis tried to find out what had happened, but Wilson +wouldn’t say a word—instead he began to throw curious, suspicious +glances at his visitor and ask him what he’d been doing at certain +times on certain days. Just as the latter was getting uneasy, some +workmen came past the door bound for his restaurant, and Michaelis +took the opportunity to get away, intending to come back later. But he +didn’t. He supposed he forgot to, that’s all. When he came outside +again, a little after seven, he was reminded of the conversation +because he heard Mrs. Wilson’s voice, loud and scolding, downstairs in +the garage. + +“Beat me!” he heard her cry. “Throw me down and beat me, you dirty +little coward!” + +A moment later she rushed out into the dusk, waving her hands and +shouting—before he could move from his door the business was over. + +The “death car” as the newspapers called it, didn’t stop; it came out +of the gathering darkness, wavered tragically for a moment, and then +disappeared around the next bend. Mavro Michaelis wasn’t even sure of +its colour—he told the first policeman that it was light green. The +other car, the one going toward New York, came to rest a hundred yards +beyond, and its driver hurried back to where Myrtle Wilson, her life +violently extinguished, knelt in the road and mingled her thick dark +blood with the dust. + +Michaelis and this man reached her first, but when they had torn open +her shirtwaist, still damp with perspiration, they saw that her left +breast was swinging loose like a flap, and there was no need to listen +for the heart beneath. The mouth was wide open and ripped a little at +the corners, as though she had choked a little in giving up the +tremendous vitality she had stored so long. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +We saw the three or four automobiles and the crowd when we were still +some distance away. + +“Wreck!” said Tom. “That’s good. Wilson’ll have a little business at +last.” + +He slowed down, but still without any intention of stopping, until, as +we came nearer, the hushed, intent faces of the people at the garage +door made him automatically put on the brakes. + +“We’ll take a look,” he said doubtfully, “just a look.” + +I became aware now of a hollow, wailing sound which issued incessantly +from the garage, a sound which as we got out of the coupé and walked +toward the door resolved itself into the words “Oh, my God!” uttered +over and over in a gasping moan. + +“There’s some bad trouble here,” said Tom excitedly. + +He reached up on tiptoes and peered over a circle of heads into the +garage, which was lit only by a yellow light in a swinging metal +basket overhead. Then he made a harsh sound in his throat, and with a +violent thrusting movement of his powerful arms pushed his way +through. + +The circle closed up again with a running murmur of expostulation; it +was a minute before I could see anything at all. Then new arrivals +deranged the line, and Jordan and I were pushed suddenly inside. + +Myrtle Wilson’s body, wrapped in a blanket, and then in another +blanket, as though she suffered from a chill in the hot night, lay on +a worktable by the wall, and Tom, with his back to us, was bending +over it, motionless. Next to him stood a motorcycle policeman taking +down names with much sweat and correction in a little book. At first I +couldn’t find the source of the high, groaning words that echoed +clamorously through the bare garage—then I saw Wilson standing on the +raised threshold of his office, swaying back and forth and holding to +the doorposts with both hands. Some man was talking to him in a low +voice and attempting, from time to time, to lay a hand on his +shoulder, but Wilson neither heard nor saw. His eyes would drop slowly +from the swinging light to the laden table by the wall, and then jerk +back to the light again, and he gave out incessantly his high, +horrible call: + +“Oh, my Ga-od! Oh, my Ga-od! Oh, Ga-od! Oh, my Ga-od!” + +Presently Tom lifted his head with a jerk and, after staring around +the garage with glazed eyes, addressed a mumbled incoherent remark to +the policeman. + +“M-a-v—” the policeman was saying, “—o—” + +“No, r—” corrected the man, “M-a-v-r-o—” + +“Listen to me!” muttered Tom fiercely. + +“r—” said the policeman, “o—” + +“g—” + +“g—” He looked up as Tom’s broad hand fell sharply on his shoulder. +“What you want, fella?” + +“What happened?—that’s what I want to know.” + +“Auto hit her. Ins’antly killed.” + +“Instantly killed,” repeated Tom, staring. + +“She ran out ina road. Son-of-a-bitch didn’t even stopus car.” + +“There was two cars,” said Michaelis, “one comin’, one goin’, see?” + +“Going where?” asked the policeman keenly. + +“One goin’ each way. Well, she”—his hand rose toward the blankets but +stopped halfway and fell to his side—“she ran out there an’ the one +comin’ from N’York knock right into her, goin’ thirty or forty miles +an hour.” + +“What’s the name of this place here?” demanded the officer. + +“Hasn’t got any name.” + +A pale well-dressed negro stepped near. + +“It was a yellow car,” he said, “big yellow car. New.” + +“See the accident?” asked the policeman. + +“No, but the car passed me down the road, going faster’n forty. Going +fifty, sixty.” + +“Come here and let’s have your name. Look out now. I want to get his +name.” + +Some words of this conversation must have reached Wilson, swaying in +the office door, for suddenly a new theme found voice among his +grasping cries: + +“You don’t have to tell me what kind of car it was! I know what kind +of car it was!” + +Watching Tom, I saw the wad of muscle back of his shoulder tighten +under his coat. He walked quickly over to Wilson and, standing in +front of him, seized him firmly by the upper arms. + +“You’ve got to pull yourself together,” he said with soothing +gruffness. + +Wilson’s eyes fell upon Tom; he started up on his tiptoes and then +would have collapsed to his knees had not Tom held him upright. + +“Listen,” said Tom, shaking him a little. “I just got here a minute +ago, from New York. I was bringing you that coupé we’ve been talking +about. That yellow car I was driving this afternoon wasn’t mine—do you +hear? I haven’t seen it all afternoon.” + +Only the negro and I were near enough to hear what he said, but the +policeman caught something in the tone and looked over with truculent +eyes. + +“What’s all that?” he demanded. + +“I’m a friend of his.” Tom turned his head but kept his hands firm on +Wilson’s body. “He says he knows the car that did it … It was a yellow +car.” + +Some dim impulse moved the policeman to look suspiciously at Tom. + +“And what colour’s your car?” + +“It’s a blue car, a coupé.” + +“We’ve come straight from New York,” I said. + +Someone who had been driving a little behind us confirmed this, and +the policeman turned away. + +“Now, if you’ll let me have that name again correct—” + +Picking up Wilson like a doll, Tom carried him into the office, set +him down in a chair, and came back. + +“If somebody’ll come here and sit with him,” he snapped +authoritatively. He watched while the two men standing closest glanced +at each other and went unwillingly into the room. Then Tom shut the +door on them and came down the single step, his eyes avoiding the +table. As he passed close to me he whispered: “Let’s get out.” + +Self-consciously, with his authoritative arms breaking the way, we +pushed through the still gathering crowd, passing a hurried doctor, +case in hand, who had been sent for in wild hope half an hour ago. + +Tom drove slowly until we were beyond the bend—then his foot came down +hard, and the coupé raced along through the night. In a little while I +heard a low husky sob, and saw that the tears were overflowing down +his face. + +“The God damned coward!” he whimpered. “He didn’t even stop his car.” + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +The Buchanans’ house floated suddenly toward us through the dark +rustling trees. Tom stopped beside the porch and looked up at the +second floor, where two windows bloomed with light among the vines. + +“Daisy’s home,” he said. As we got out of the car he glanced at me and +frowned slightly. + +“I ought to have dropped you in West Egg, Nick. There’s nothing we can +do tonight.” + +A change had come over him, and he spoke gravely, and with decision. +As we walked across the moonlight gravel to the porch he disposed of +the situation in a few brisk phrases. + +“I’ll telephone for a taxi to take you home, and while you’re waiting +you and Jordan better go in the kitchen and have them get you some +supper—if you want any.” He opened the door. “Come in.” + +“No, thanks. But I’d be glad if you’d order me the taxi. I’ll wait +outside.” + +Jordan put her hand on my arm. + +“Won’t you come in, Nick?” + +“No, thanks.” + +I was feeling a little sick and I wanted to be alone. But Jordan +lingered for a moment more. + +“It’s only half-past nine,” she said. + +I’d be damned if I’d go in; I’d had enough of all of them for one day, +and suddenly that included Jordan too. She must have seen something of +this in my expression, for she turned abruptly away and ran up the +porch steps into the house. I sat down for a few minutes with my head +in my hands, until I heard the phone taken up inside and the butler’s +voice calling a taxi. Then I walked slowly down the drive away from +the house, intending to wait by the gate. + +I hadn’t gone twenty yards when I heard my name and Gatsby stepped +from between two bushes into the path. I must have felt pretty weird +by that time, because I could think of nothing except the luminosity +of his pink suit under the moon. + +“What are you doing?” I inquired. + +“Just standing here, old sport.” + +Somehow, that seemed a despicable occupation. For all I knew he was +going to rob the house in a moment; I wouldn’t have been surprised to +see sinister faces, the faces of “Wolfshiem’s people,” behind him in +the dark shrubbery. + +“Did you see any trouble on the road?” he asked after a minute. + +“Yes.” + +He hesitated. + +“Was she killed?” + +“Yes.” + +“I thought so; I told Daisy I thought so. It’s better that the shock +should all come at once. She stood it pretty well.” + +He spoke as if Daisy’s reaction was the only thing that mattered. + +“I got to West Egg by a side road,” he went on, “and left the car in +my garage. I don’t think anybody saw us, but of course I can’t be +sure.” + +I disliked him so much by this time that I didn’t find it necessary to +tell him he was wrong. + +“Who was the woman?” he inquired. + +“Her name was Wilson. Her husband owns the garage. How the devil did +it happen?” + +“Well, I tried to swing the wheel—” He broke off, and suddenly I +guessed at the truth. + +“Was Daisy driving?” + +“Yes,” he said after a moment, “but of course I’ll say I was. You see, +when we left New York she was very nervous and she thought it would +steady her to drive—and this woman rushed out at us just as we were +passing a car coming the other way. It all happened in a minute, but +it seemed to me that she wanted to speak to us, thought we were +somebody she knew. Well, first Daisy turned away from the woman toward +the other car, and then she lost her nerve and turned back. The second +my hand reached the wheel I felt the shock—it must have killed her +instantly.” + +“It ripped her open—” + +“Don’t tell me, old sport.” He winced. “Anyhow—Daisy stepped on it. I +tried to make her stop, but she couldn’t, so I pulled on the emergency +brake. Then she fell over into my lap and I drove on. + +“She’ll be all right tomorrow,” he said presently. “I’m just going to +wait here and see if he tries to bother her about that unpleasantness +this afternoon. She’s locked herself into her room, and if he tries +any brutality she’s going to turn the light out and on again.” + +“He won’t touch her,” I said. “He’s not thinking about her.” + +“I don’t trust him, old sport.” + +“How long are you going to wait?” + +“All night, if necessary. Anyhow, till they all go to bed.” + +A new point of view occurred to me. Suppose Tom found out that Daisy +had been driving. He might think he saw a connection in it—he might +think anything. I looked at the house; there were two or three bright +windows downstairs and the pink glow from Daisy’s room on the ground +floor. + +“You wait here,” I said. “I’ll see if there’s any sign of a +commotion.” + +I walked back along the border of the lawn, traversed the gravel +softly, and tiptoed up the veranda steps. The drawing-room curtains +were open, and I saw that the room was empty. Crossing the porch where +we had dined that June night three months before, I came to a small +rectangle of light which I guessed was the pantry window. The blind +was drawn, but I found a rift at the sill. + +Daisy and Tom were sitting opposite each other at the kitchen table, +with a plate of cold fried chicken between them, and two bottles of +ale. He was talking intently across the table at her, and in his +earnestness his hand had fallen upon and covered her own. Once in a +while she looked up at him and nodded in agreement. + +They weren’t happy, and neither of them had touched the chicken or the +ale—and yet they weren’t unhappy either. There was an unmistakable air +of natural intimacy about the picture, and anybody would have said +that they were conspiring together. + +As I tiptoed from the porch I heard my taxi feeling its way along the +dark road toward the house. Gatsby was waiting where I had left him in +the drive. + +“Is it all quiet up there?” he asked anxiously. + +“Yes, it’s all quiet.” I hesitated. “You’d better come home and get +some sleep.” + +He shook his head. + +“I want to wait here till Daisy goes to bed. Good night, old sport.” + +He put his hands in his coat pockets and turned back eagerly to his +scrutiny of the house, as though my presence marred the sacredness of +the vigil. So I walked away and left him standing there in the +moonlight—watching over nothing. + + + VIII + +I couldn’t sleep all night; a foghorn was groaning incessantly on the +Sound, and I tossed half-sick between grotesque reality and savage, +frightening dreams. Toward dawn I heard a taxi go up Gatsby’s drive, +and immediately I jumped out of bed and began to dress—I felt that I +had something to tell him, something to warn him about, and morning +would be too late. + +Crossing his lawn, I saw that his front door was still open and he was +leaning against a table in the hall, heavy with dejection or sleep. + +“Nothing happened,” he said wanly. “I waited, and about four o’clock +she came to the window and stood there for a minute and then turned +out the light.” + +His house had never seemed so enormous to me as it did that night when +we hunted through the great rooms for cigarettes. We pushed aside +curtains that were like pavilions, and felt over innumerable feet of +dark wall for electric light switches—once I tumbled with a sort of +splash upon the keys of a ghostly piano. There was an inexplicable +amount of dust everywhere, and the rooms were musty, as though they +hadn’t been aired for many days. I found the humidor on an unfamiliar +table, with two stale, dry cigarettes inside. Throwing open the French +windows of the drawing-room, we sat smoking out into the darkness. + +“You ought to go away,” I said. “It’s pretty certain they’ll trace +your car.” + +“Go away now, old sport?” + +“Go to Atlantic City for a week, or up to Montreal.” + +He wouldn’t consider it. He couldn’t possibly leave Daisy until he +knew what she was going to do. He was clutching at some last hope and +I couldn’t bear to shake him free. + +It was this night that he told me the strange story of his youth with +Dan Cody—told it to me because “Jay Gatsby” had broken up like glass +against Tom’s hard malice, and the long secret extravaganza was played +out. I think that he would have acknowledged anything now, without +reserve, but he wanted to talk about Daisy. + +She was the first “nice” girl he had ever known. In various unrevealed +capacities he had come in contact with such people, but always with +indiscernible barbed wire between. He found her excitingly +desirable. He went to her house, at first with other officers from +Camp Taylor, then alone. It amazed him—he had never been in such a +beautiful house before. But what gave it an air of breathless +intensity, was that Daisy lived there—it was as casual a thing to her +as his tent out at camp was to him. There was a ripe mystery about it, +a hint of bedrooms upstairs more beautiful and cool than other +bedrooms, of gay and radiant activities taking place through its +corridors, and of romances that were not musty and laid away already +in lavender but fresh and breathing and redolent of this year’s +shining motorcars and of dances whose flowers were scarcely +withered. It excited him, too, that many men had already loved +Daisy—it increased her value in his eyes. He felt their presence all +about the house, pervading the air with the shades and echoes of still +vibrant emotions. + +But he knew that he was in Daisy’s house by a colossal +accident. However glorious might be his future as Jay Gatsby, he was +at present a penniless young man without a past, and at any moment the +invisible cloak of his uniform might slip from his shoulders. So he +made the most of his time. He took what he could get, ravenously and +unscrupulously—eventually he took Daisy one still October night, took +her because he had no real right to touch her hand. + +He might have despised himself, for he had certainly taken her under +false pretences. I don’t mean that he had traded on his phantom +millions, but he had deliberately given Daisy a sense of security; he +let her believe that he was a person from much the same strata as +herself—that he was fully able to take care of her. As a matter of +fact, he had no such facilities—he had no comfortable family standing +behind him, and he was liable at the whim of an impersonal government +to be blown anywhere about the world. + +But he didn’t despise himself and it didn’t turn out as he had +imagined. He had intended, probably, to take what he could and go—but +now he found that he had committed himself to the following of a +grail. He knew that Daisy was extraordinary, but he didn’t realize +just how extraordinary a “nice” girl could be. She vanished into her +rich house, into her rich, full life, leaving Gatsby—nothing. He felt +married to her, that was all. + +When they met again, two days later, it was Gatsby who was breathless, +who was, somehow, betrayed. Her porch was bright with the bought +luxury of star-shine; the wicker of the settee squeaked fashionably as +she turned toward him and he kissed her curious and lovely mouth. She +had caught a cold, and it made her voice huskier and more charming +than ever, and Gatsby was overwhelmingly aware of the youth and +mystery that wealth imprisons and preserves, of the freshness of many +clothes, and of Daisy, gleaming like silver, safe and proud above the +hot struggles of the poor. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +“I can’t describe to you how surprised I was to find out I loved her, +old sport. I even hoped for a while that she’d throw me over, but she +didn’t, because she was in love with me too. She thought I knew a lot +because I knew different things from her … Well, there I was, way off +my ambitions, getting deeper in love every minute, and all of a sudden +I didn’t care. What was the use of doing great things if I could have +a better time telling her what I was going to do?” + +On the last afternoon before he went abroad, he sat with Daisy in his +arms for a long, silent time. It was a cold fall day, with fire in the +room and her cheeks flushed. Now and then she moved and he changed his +arm a little, and once he kissed her dark shining hair. The afternoon +had made them tranquil for a while, as if to give them a deep memory +for the long parting the next day promised. They had never been closer +in their month of love, nor communicated more profoundly one with +another, than when she brushed silent lips against his coat’s shoulder +or when he touched the end of her fingers, gently, as though she were +asleep. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +He did extraordinarily well in the war. He was a captain before he +went to the front, and following the Argonne battles he got his +majority and the command of the divisional machine-guns. After the +armistice he tried frantically to get home, but some complication or +misunderstanding sent him to Oxford instead. He was worried now—there +was a quality of nervous despair in Daisy’s letters. She didn’t see +why he couldn’t come. She was feeling the pressure of the world +outside, and she wanted to see him and feel his presence beside her +and be reassured that she was doing the right thing after all. + +For Daisy was young and her artificial world was redolent of orchids +and pleasant, cheerful snobbery and orchestras which set the rhythm of +the year, summing up the sadness and suggestiveness of life in new +tunes. All night the saxophones wailed the hopeless comment of the +“Beale Street Blues” while a hundred pairs of golden and silver +slippers shuffled the shining dust. At the grey tea hour there were +always rooms that throbbed incessantly with this low, sweet fever, +while fresh faces drifted here and there like rose petals blown by the +sad horns around the floor. + +Through this twilight universe Daisy began to move again with the +season; suddenly she was again keeping half a dozen dates a day with +half a dozen men, and drowsing asleep at dawn with the beads and +chiffon of an evening-dress tangled among dying orchids on the floor +beside her bed. And all the time something within her was crying for a +decision. She wanted her life shaped now, immediately—and the decision +must be made by some force—of love, of money, of unquestionable +practicality—that was close at hand. + +That force took shape in the middle of spring with the arrival of Tom +Buchanan. There was a wholesome bulkiness about his person and his +position, and Daisy was flattered. Doubtless there was a certain +struggle and a certain relief. The letter reached Gatsby while he was +still at Oxford. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +It was dawn now on Long Island and we went about opening the rest of +the windows downstairs, filling the house with grey-turning, +gold-turning light. The shadow of a tree fell abruptly across the dew +and ghostly birds began to sing among the blue leaves. There was a +slow, pleasant movement in the air, scarcely a wind, promising a cool, +lovely day. + +“I don’t think she ever loved him.” Gatsby turned around from a window +and looked at me challengingly. “You must remember, old sport, she was +very excited this afternoon. He told her those things in a way that +frightened her—that made it look as if I was some kind of cheap +sharper. And the result was she hardly knew what she was saying.” + +He sat down gloomily. + +“Of course she might have loved him just for a minute, when they were +first married—and loved me more even then, do you see?” + +Suddenly he came out with a curious remark. + +“In any case,” he said, “it was just personal.” + +What could you make of that, except to suspect some intensity in his +conception of the affair that couldn’t be measured? + +He came back from France when Tom and Daisy were still on their +wedding trip, and made a miserable but irresistible journey to +Louisville on the last of his army pay. He stayed there a week, +walking the streets where their footsteps had clicked together through +the November night and revisiting the out-of-the-way places to which +they had driven in her white car. Just as Daisy’s house had always +seemed to him more mysterious and gay than other houses, so his idea +of the city itself, even though she was gone from it, was pervaded +with a melancholy beauty. + +He left feeling that if he had searched harder, he might have found +her—that he was leaving her behind. The day-coach—he was penniless +now—was hot. He went out to the open vestibule and sat down on a +folding-chair, and the station slid away and the backs of unfamiliar +buildings moved by. Then out into the spring fields, where a yellow +trolley raced them for a minute with people in it who might once have +seen the pale magic of her face along the casual street. + +The track curved and now it was going away from the sun, which, as it +sank lower, seemed to spread itself in benediction over the vanishing +city where she had drawn her breath. He stretched out his hand +desperately as if to snatch only a wisp of air, to save a fragment of +the spot that she had made lovely for him. But it was all going by too +fast now for his blurred eyes and he knew that he had lost that part +of it, the freshest and the best, forever. + +It was nine o’clock when we finished breakfast and went out on the +porch. The night had made a sharp difference in the weather and there +was an autumn flavour in the air. The gardener, the last one of +Gatsby’s former servants, came to the foot of the steps. + +“I’m going to drain the pool today, Mr. Gatsby. Leaves’ll start +falling pretty soon, and then there’s always trouble with the pipes.” + +“Don’t do it today,” Gatsby answered. He turned to me apologetically. +“You know, old sport, I’ve never used that pool all summer?” + +I looked at my watch and stood up. + +“Twelve minutes to my train.” + +I didn’t want to go to the city. I wasn’t worth a decent stroke of +work, but it was more than that—I didn’t want to leave Gatsby. I +missed that train, and then another, before I could get myself away. + +“I’ll call you up,” I said finally. + +“Do, old sport.” + +“I’ll call you about noon.” + +We walked slowly down the steps. + +“I suppose Daisy’ll call too.” He looked at me anxiously, as if he +hoped I’d corroborate this. + +“I suppose so.” + +“Well, goodbye.” + +We shook hands and I started away. Just before I reached the hedge I +remembered something and turned around. + +“They’re a rotten crowd,” I shouted across the lawn. “You’re worth the +whole damn bunch put together.” + +I’ve always been glad I said that. It was the only compliment I ever +gave him, because I disapproved of him from beginning to end. First he +nodded politely, and then his face broke into that radiant and +understanding smile, as if we’d been in ecstatic cahoots on that fact +all the time. His gorgeous pink rag of a suit made a bright spot of +colour against the white steps, and I thought of the night when I +first came to his ancestral home, three months before. The lawn and +drive had been crowded with the faces of those who guessed at his +corruption—and he had stood on those steps, concealing his +incorruptible dream, as he waved them goodbye. + +I thanked him for his hospitality. We were always thanking him for +that—I and the others. + +“Goodbye,” I called. “I enjoyed breakfast, Gatsby.” + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Up in the city, I tried for a while to list the quotations on an +interminable amount of stock, then I fell asleep in my swivel-chair. +Just before noon the phone woke me, and I started up with sweat +breaking out on my forehead. It was Jordan Baker; she often called me +up at this hour because the uncertainty of her own movements between +hotels and clubs and private houses made her hard to find in any other +way. Usually her voice came over the wire as something fresh and cool, +as if a divot from a green golf-links had come sailing in at the +office window, but this morning it seemed harsh and dry. + +“I’ve left Daisy’s house,” she said. “I’m at Hempstead, and I’m going +down to Southampton this afternoon.” + +Probably it had been tactful to leave Daisy’s house, but the act +annoyed me, and her next remark made me rigid. + +“You weren’t so nice to me last night.” + +“How could it have mattered then?” + +Silence for a moment. Then: + +“However—I want to see you.” + +“I want to see you, too.” + +“Suppose I don’t go to Southampton, and come into town this +afternoon?” + +“No—I don’t think this afternoon.” + +“Very well.” + +“It’s impossible this afternoon. Various—” + +We talked like that for a while, and then abruptly we weren’t talking +any longer. I don’t know which of us hung up with a sharp click, but I +know I didn’t care. I couldn’t have talked to her across a tea-table +that day if I never talked to her again in this world. + +I called Gatsby’s house a few minutes later, but the line was busy. I +tried four times; finally an exasperated central told me the wire was +being kept open for long distance from Detroit. Taking out my +timetable, I drew a small circle around the three-fifty train. Then I +leaned back in my chair and tried to think. It was just noon. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +When I passed the ash-heaps on the train that morning I had crossed +deliberately to the other side of the car. I supposed there’d be a +curious crowd around there all day with little boys searching for dark +spots in the dust, and some garrulous man telling over and over what +had happened, until it became less and less real even to him and he +could tell it no longer, and Myrtle Wilson’s tragic achievement was +forgotten. Now I want to go back a little and tell what happened at +the garage after we left there the night before. + +They had difficulty in locating the sister, Catherine. She must have +broken her rule against drinking that night, for when she arrived she +was stupid with liquor and unable to understand that the ambulance had +already gone to Flushing. When they convinced her of this, she +immediately fainted, as if that was the intolerable part of the +affair. Someone, kind or curious, took her in his car and drove her in +the wake of her sister’s body. + +Until long after midnight a changing crowd lapped up against the front +of the garage, while George Wilson rocked himself back and forth on +the couch inside. For a while the door of the office was open, and +everyone who came into the garage glanced irresistibly through it. +Finally someone said it was a shame, and closed the door. Michaelis +and several other men were with him; first, four or five men, later +two or three men. Still later Michaelis had to ask the last stranger +to wait there fifteen minutes longer, while he went back to his own +place and made a pot of coffee. After that, he stayed there alone with +Wilson until dawn. + +About three o’clock the quality of Wilson’s incoherent muttering +changed—he grew quieter and began to talk about the yellow car. He +announced that he had a way of finding out whom the yellow car +belonged to, and then he blurted out that a couple of months ago his +wife had come from the city with her face bruised and her nose +swollen. + +But when he heard himself say this, he flinched and began to cry “Oh, +my God!” again in his groaning voice. Michaelis made a clumsy attempt +to distract him. + +“How long have you been married, George? Come on there, try and sit +still a minute, and answer my question. How long have you been +married?” + +“Twelve years.” + +“Ever had any children? Come on, George, sit still—I asked you a +question. Did you ever have any children?” + +The hard brown beetles kept thudding against the dull light, and +whenever Michaelis heard a car go tearing along the road outside it +sounded to him like the car that hadn’t stopped a few hours before. +He didn’t like to go into the garage, because the work bench was +stained where the body had been lying, so he moved uncomfortably +around the office—he knew every object in it before morning—and from +time to time sat down beside Wilson trying to keep him more quiet. + +“Have you got a church you go to sometimes, George? Maybe even if you +haven’t been there for a long time? Maybe I could call up the church +and get a priest to come over and he could talk to you, see?” + +“Don’t belong to any.” + +“You ought to have a church, George, for times like this. You must +have gone to church once. Didn’t you get married in a church? Listen, +George, listen to me. Didn’t you get married in a church?” + +“That was a long time ago.” + +The effort of answering broke the rhythm of his rocking—for a moment +he was silent. Then the same half-knowing, half-bewildered look came +back into his faded eyes. + +“Look in the drawer there,” he said, pointing at the desk. + +“Which drawer?” + +“That drawer—that one.” + +Michaelis opened the drawer nearest his hand. There was nothing in it +but a small, expensive dog-leash, made of leather and braided +silver. It was apparently new. + +“This?” he inquired, holding it up. + +Wilson stared and nodded. + +“I found it yesterday afternoon. She tried to tell me about it, but I +knew it was something funny.” + +“You mean your wife bought it?” + +“She had it wrapped in tissue paper on her bureau.” + +Michaelis didn’t see anything odd in that, and he gave Wilson a dozen +reasons why his wife might have bought the dog-leash. But conceivably +Wilson had heard some of these same explanations before, from Myrtle, +because he began saying “Oh, my God!” again in a whisper—his comforter +left several explanations in the air. + +“Then he killed her,” said Wilson. His mouth dropped open suddenly. + +“Who did?” + +“I have a way of finding out.” + +“You’re morbid, George,” said his friend. “This has been a strain to +you and you don’t know what you’re saying. You’d better try and sit +quiet till morning.” + +“He murdered her.” + +“It was an accident, George.” + +Wilson shook his head. His eyes narrowed and his mouth widened +slightly with the ghost of a superior “Hm!” + +“I know,” he said definitely. “I’m one of these trusting fellas and I +don’t think any harm to nobody, but when I get to know a thing I know +it. It was the man in that car. She ran out to speak to him and he +wouldn’t stop.” + +Michaelis had seen this too, but it hadn’t occurred to him that there +was any special significance in it. He believed that Mrs. Wilson had +been running away from her husband, rather than trying to stop any +particular car. + +“How could she of been like that?” + +“She’s a deep one,” said Wilson, as if that answered the question. +“Ah-h-h—” + +He began to rock again, and Michaelis stood twisting the leash in his +hand. + +“Maybe you got some friend that I could telephone for, George?” + +This was a forlorn hope—he was almost sure that Wilson had no friend: +there was not enough of him for his wife. He was glad a little later +when he noticed a change in the room, a blue quickening by the window, +and realized that dawn wasn’t far off. About five o’clock it was blue +enough outside to snap off the light. + +Wilson’s glazed eyes turned out to the ash-heaps, where small grey +clouds took on fantastic shapes and scurried here and there in the +faint dawn wind. + +“I spoke to her,” he muttered, after a long silence. “I told her she +might fool me but she couldn’t fool God. I took her to the +window”—with an effort he got up and walked to the rear window and +leaned with his face pressed against it—“and I said ‘God knows what +you’ve been doing, everything you’ve been doing. You may fool me, but +you can’t fool God!’ ” + +Standing behind him, Michaelis saw with a shock that he was looking at +the eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg, which had just emerged, pale and +enormous, from the dissolving night. + +“God sees everything,” repeated Wilson. + +“That’s an advertisement,” Michaelis assured him. Something made him +turn away from the window and look back into the room. But Wilson +stood there a long time, his face close to the window pane, nodding +into the twilight. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +By six o’clock Michaelis was worn out, and grateful for the sound of a +car stopping outside. It was one of the watchers of the night before +who had promised to come back, so he cooked breakfast for three, which +he and the other man ate together. Wilson was quieter now, and +Michaelis went home to sleep; when he awoke four hours later and +hurried back to the garage, Wilson was gone. + +His movements—he was on foot all the time—were afterward traced to +Port Roosevelt and then to Gad’s Hill, where he bought a sandwich that +he didn’t eat, and a cup of coffee. He must have been tired and +walking slowly, for he didn’t reach Gad’s Hill until noon. Thus far +there was no difficulty in accounting for his time—there were boys who +had seen a man “acting sort of crazy,” and motorists at whom he stared +oddly from the side of the road. Then for three hours he disappeared +from view. The police, on the strength of what he said to Michaelis, +that he “had a way of finding out,” supposed that he spent that time +going from garage to garage thereabout, inquiring for a yellow car. On +the other hand, no garage man who had seen him ever came forward, and +perhaps he had an easier, surer way of finding out what he wanted to +know. By half-past two he was in West Egg, where he asked someone the +way to Gatsby’s house. So by that time he knew Gatsby’s name. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +At two o’clock Gatsby put on his bathing-suit and left word with the +butler that if anyone phoned word was to be brought to him at the +pool. He stopped at the garage for a pneumatic mattress that had +amused his guests during the summer, and the chauffeur helped him to +pump it up. Then he gave instructions that the open car wasn’t to be +taken out under any circumstances—and this was strange, because the +front right fender needed repair. + +Gatsby shouldered the mattress and started for the pool. Once he +stopped and shifted it a little, and the chauffeur asked him if he +needed help, but he shook his head and in a moment disappeared among +the yellowing trees. + +No telephone message arrived, but the butler went without his sleep +and waited for it until four o’clock—until long after there was anyone +to give it to if it came. I have an idea that Gatsby himself didn’t +believe it would come, and perhaps he no longer cared. If that was +true he must have felt that he had lost the old warm world, paid a +high price for living too long with a single dream. He must have +looked up at an unfamiliar sky through frightening leaves and shivered +as he found what a grotesque thing a rose is and how raw the sunlight +was upon the scarcely created grass. A new world, material without +being real, where poor ghosts, breathing dreams like air, drifted +fortuitously about … like that ashen, fantastic figure gliding toward +him through the amorphous trees. + +The chauffeur—he was one of Wolfshiem’s protégés—heard the +shots—afterwards he could only say that he hadn’t thought anything +much about them. I drove from the station directly to Gatsby’s house +and my rushing anxiously up the front steps was the first thing that +alarmed anyone. But they knew then, I firmly believe. With scarcely a +word said, four of us, the chauffeur, butler, gardener, and I hurried +down to the pool. + +There was a faint, barely perceptible movement of the water as the +fresh flow from one end urged its way toward the drain at the other. +With little ripples that were hardly the shadows of waves, the laden +mattress moved irregularly down the pool. A small gust of wind that +scarcely corrugated the surface was enough to disturb its accidental +course with its accidental burden. The touch of a cluster of leaves +revolved it slowly, tracing, like the leg of transit, a thin red +circle in the water. + +It was after we started with Gatsby toward the house that the gardener +saw Wilson’s body a little way off in the grass, and the holocaust was +complete. + + + IX + +After two years I remember the rest of that day, and that night and +the next day, only as an endless drill of police and photographers and +newspaper men in and out of Gatsby’s front door. A rope stretched +across the main gate and a policeman by it kept out the curious, but +little boys soon discovered that they could enter through my yard, and +there were always a few of them clustered open-mouthed about the +pool. Someone with a positive manner, perhaps a detective, used the +expression “madman” as he bent over Wilson’s body that afternoon, and +the adventitious authority of his voice set the key for the newspaper +reports next morning. + +Most of those reports were a nightmare—grotesque, circumstantial, +eager, and untrue. When Michaelis’s testimony at the inquest brought +to light Wilson’s suspicions of his wife I thought the whole tale +would shortly be served up in racy pasquinade—but Catherine, who might +have said anything, didn’t say a word. She showed a surprising amount +of character about it too—looked at the coroner with determined eyes +under that corrected brow of hers, and swore that her sister had never +seen Gatsby, that her sister was completely happy with her husband, +that her sister had been into no mischief whatever. She convinced +herself of it, and cried into her handkerchief, as if the very +suggestion was more than she could endure. So Wilson was reduced to a +man “deranged by grief” in order that the case might remain in its +simplest form. And it rested there. + +But all this part of it seemed remote and unessential. I found myself +on Gatsby’s side, and alone. From the moment I telephoned news of the +catastrophe to West Egg village, every surmise about him, and every +practical question, was referred to me. At first I was surprised and +confused; then, as he lay in his house and didn’t move or breathe or +speak, hour upon hour, it grew upon me that I was responsible, because +no one else was interested—interested, I mean, with that intense +personal interest to which everyone has some vague right at the end. + +I called up Daisy half an hour after we found him, called her +instinctively and without hesitation. But she and Tom had gone away +early that afternoon, and taken baggage with them. + +“Left no address?” + +“No.” + +“Say when they’d be back?” + +“No.” + +“Any idea where they are? How I could reach them?” + +“I don’t know. Can’t say.” + +I wanted to get somebody for him. I wanted to go into the room where +he lay and reassure him: “I’ll get somebody for you, Gatsby. Don’t +worry. Just trust me and I’ll get somebody for you—” + +Meyer Wolfshiem’s name wasn’t in the phone book. The butler gave me +his office address on Broadway, and I called Information, but by the +time I had the number it was long after five, and no one answered the +phone. + +“Will you ring again?” + +“I’ve rung three times.” + +“It’s very important.” + +“Sorry. I’m afraid no one’s there.” + +I went back to the drawing-room and thought for an instant that they +were chance visitors, all these official people who suddenly filled +it. But, though they drew back the sheet and looked at Gatsby with +shocked eyes, his protest continued in my brain: + +“Look here, old sport, you’ve got to get somebody for me. You’ve got +to try hard. I can’t go through this alone.” + +Someone started to ask me questions, but I broke away and going +upstairs looked hastily through the unlocked parts of his desk—he’d +never told me definitely that his parents were dead. But there was +nothing—only the picture of Dan Cody, a token of forgotten violence, +staring down from the wall. + +Next morning I sent the butler to New York with a letter to Wolfshiem, +which asked for information and urged him to come out on the next +train. That request seemed superfluous when I wrote it. I was sure +he’d start when he saw the newspapers, just as I was sure there’d be a +wire from Daisy before noon—but neither a wire nor Mr. Wolfshiem +arrived; no one arrived except more police and photographers and +newspaper men. When the butler brought back Wolfshiem’s answer I began +to have a feeling of defiance, of scornful solidarity between Gatsby +and me against them all. + + Dear Mr. Carraway. This has been one of the most terrible shocks of + my life to me I hardly can believe it that it is true at all. Such a + mad act as that man did should make us all think. I cannot come down + now as I am tied up in some very important business and cannot get + mixed up in this thing now. If there is anything I can do a little + later let me know in a letter by Edgar. I hardly know where I am when + I hear about a thing like this and am completely knocked down and + out. + + Yours truly + + Meyer Wolfshiem + +and then hasty addenda beneath: + + Let me know about the funeral etc do not know his family at all. + +When the phone rang that afternoon and Long Distance said Chicago was +calling I thought this would be Daisy at last. But the connection came +through as a man’s voice, very thin and far away. + +“This is Slagle speaking …” + +“Yes?” The name was unfamiliar. + +“Hell of a note, isn’t it? Get my wire?” + +“There haven’t been any wires.” + +“Young Parke’s in trouble,” he said rapidly. “They picked him up when +he handed the bonds over the counter. They got a circular from New +York giving ’em the numbers just five minutes before. What d’you know +about that, hey? You never can tell in these hick towns—” + +“Hello!” I interrupted breathlessly. “Look here—this isn’t Mr. +Gatsby. Mr. Gatsby’s dead.” + +There was a long silence on the other end of the wire, followed by an +exclamation … then a quick squawk as the connection was broken. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +I think it was on the third day that a telegram signed Henry C. Gatz +arrived from a town in Minnesota. It said only that the sender was +leaving immediately and to postpone the funeral until he came. + +It was Gatsby’s father, a solemn old man, very helpless and dismayed, +bundled up in a long cheap ulster against the warm September day. His +eyes leaked continuously with excitement, and when I took the bag and +umbrella from his hands he began to pull so incessantly at his sparse +grey beard that I had difficulty in getting off his coat. He was on +the point of collapse, so I took him into the music-room and made him +sit down while I sent for something to eat. But he wouldn’t eat, and +the glass of milk spilled from his trembling hand. + +“I saw it in the Chicago newspaper,” he said. “It was all in the +Chicago newspaper. I started right away.” + +“I didn’t know how to reach you.” + +His eyes, seeing nothing, moved ceaselessly about the room. + +“It was a madman,” he said. “He must have been mad.” + +“Wouldn’t you like some coffee?” I urged him. + +“I don’t want anything. I’m all right now, Mr.—” + +“Carraway.” + +“Well, I’m all right now. Where have they got Jimmy?” + +I took him into the drawing-room, where his son lay, and left him +there. Some little boys had come up on the steps and were looking into +the hall; when I told them who had arrived, they went reluctantly +away. + +After a little while Mr. Gatz opened the door and came out, his mouth +ajar, his face flushed slightly, his eyes leaking isolated and +unpunctual tears. He had reached an age where death no longer has the +quality of ghastly surprise, and when he looked around him now for the +first time and saw the height and splendour of the hall and the great +rooms opening out from it into other rooms, his grief began to be +mixed with an awed pride. I helped him to a bedroom upstairs; while he +took off his coat and vest I told him that all arrangements had been +deferred until he came. + +“I didn’t know what you’d want, Mr. Gatsby—” + +“Gatz is my name.” + +“—Mr. Gatz. I thought you might want to take the body West.” + +He shook his head. + +“Jimmy always liked it better down East. He rose up to his position in +the East. Were you a friend of my boy’s, Mr.—?” + +“We were close friends.” + +“He had a big future before him, you know. He was only a young man, +but he had a lot of brain power here.” + +He touched his head impressively, and I nodded. + +“If he’d of lived, he’d of been a great man. A man like James J. +Hill. He’d of helped build up the country.” + +“That’s true,” I said, uncomfortably. + +He fumbled at the embroidered coverlet, trying to take it from the +bed, and lay down stiffly—was instantly asleep. + +That night an obviously frightened person called up, and demanded to +know who I was before he would give his name. + +“This is Mr. Carraway,” I said. + +“Oh!” He sounded relieved. “This is Klipspringer.” + +I was relieved too, for that seemed to promise another friend at +Gatsby’s grave. I didn’t want it to be in the papers and draw a +sightseeing crowd, so I’d been calling up a few people myself. They +were hard to find. + +“The funeral’s tomorrow,” I said. “Three o’clock, here at the house. +I wish you’d tell anybody who’d be interested.” + +“Oh, I will,” he broke out hastily. “Of course I’m not likely to see +anybody, but if I do.” + +His tone made me suspicious. + +“Of course you’ll be there yourself.” + +“Well, I’ll certainly try. What I called up about is—” + +“Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “How about saying you’ll come?” + +“Well, the fact is—the truth of the matter is that I’m staying with +some people up here in Greenwich, and they rather expect me to be with +them tomorrow. In fact, there’s a sort of picnic or something. Of +course I’ll do my best to get away.” + +I ejaculated an unrestrained “Huh!” and he must have heard me, for he +went on nervously: + +“What I called up about was a pair of shoes I left there. I wonder if +it’d be too much trouble to have the butler send them on. You see, +they’re tennis shoes, and I’m sort of helpless without them. My +address is care of B. F.—” + +I didn’t hear the rest of the name, because I hung up the receiver. + +After that I felt a certain shame for Gatsby—one gentleman to whom I +telephoned implied that he had got what he deserved. However, that was +my fault, for he was one of those who used to sneer most bitterly at +Gatsby on the courage of Gatsby’s liquor, and I should have known +better than to call him. + +The morning of the funeral I went up to New York to see Meyer +Wolfshiem; I couldn’t seem to reach him any other way. The door that I +pushed open, on the advice of an elevator boy, was marked “The +Swastika Holding Company,” and at first there didn’t seem to be anyone +inside. But when I’d shouted “hello” several times in vain, an +argument broke out behind a partition, and presently a lovely Jewess +appeared at an interior door and scrutinized me with black hostile +eyes. + +“Nobody’s in,” she said. “Mr. Wolfshiem’s gone to Chicago.” + +The first part of this was obviously untrue, for someone had begun to +whistle “The Rosary,” tunelessly, inside. + +“Please say that Mr. Carraway wants to see him.” + +“I can’t get him back from Chicago, can I?” + +At this moment a voice, unmistakably Wolfshiem’s, called “Stella!” +from the other side of the door. + +“Leave your name on the desk,” she said quickly. “I’ll give it to him +when he gets back.” + +“But I know he’s there.” + +She took a step toward me and began to slide her hands indignantly up +and down her hips. + +“You young men think you can force your way in here any time,” she +scolded. “We’re getting sickantired of it. When I say he’s in Chicago, +he’s in Chicago.” + +I mentioned Gatsby. + +“Oh-h!” She looked at me over again. “Will you just—What was your +name?” + +She vanished. In a moment Meyer Wolfshiem stood solemnly in the +doorway, holding out both hands. He drew me into his office, remarking +in a reverent voice that it was a sad time for all of us, and offered +me a cigar. + +“My memory goes back to when first I met him,” he said. “A young major +just out of the army and covered over with medals he got in the war. +He was so hard up he had to keep on wearing his uniform because he +couldn’t buy some regular clothes. First time I saw him was when he +came into Winebrenner’s poolroom at Forty-third Street and asked for a +job. He hadn’t eat anything for a couple of days. ‘Come on have some +lunch with me,’ I said. He ate more than four dollars’ worth of food +in half an hour.” + +“Did you start him in business?” I inquired. + +“Start him! I made him.” + +“Oh.” + +“I raised him up out of nothing, right out of the gutter. I saw right +away he was a fine-appearing, gentlemanly young man, and when he told +me he was at Oggsford I knew I could use him good. I got him to join +the American Legion and he used to stand high there. Right off he did +some work for a client of mine up to Albany. We were so thick like +that in everything”—he held up two bulbous fingers—“always together.” + +I wondered if this partnership had included the World’s Series +transaction in 1919. + +“Now he’s dead,” I said after a moment. “You were his closest friend, +so I know you’ll want to come to his funeral this afternoon.” + +“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?” + +“He come out to see me two years ago and bought me the house I live in +now. Of course we was broke up when he run off from home, but I see +now there was a reason for it. He knew he had a big future in front of +him. And ever since he made a success he was very generous with me.” + +He seemed reluctant to put away the picture, held it for another +minute, lingeringly, before my eyes. Then he returned the wallet and +pulled from his pocket a ragged old copy of a book called Hopalong +Cassidy. + +“Look here, this is a book he had when he was a boy. It just shows +you.” + +He opened it at the back cover and turned it around for me to see. On +the last flyleaf was printed the word schedule, and the date September +12, 1906. And underneath: + + Rise from bed 6:00 a.m. + Dumbell exercise and wall-scaling 6:15-6:30 ” + Study electricity, etc. 7:15-8:15 ” + Work 8:30-4:30 p.m. + Baseball and sports 4:30-5:00 ” + Practise elocution, poise and how to attain it 5:00-6:00 ” + Study needed inventions 7:00-9:00 ” + + General Resolves + + * No wasting time at Shafters or [a name, indecipherable] + + * No more smokeing or chewing. + + * Bath every other day + + * Read one improving book or magazine per week + + * Save $5.00 [crossed out] $3.00 per week + + * Be better to parents + +“I came across this book by accident,” said the old man. “It just +shows you, don’t it?” + +“It just shows you.” + +“Jimmy was bound to get ahead. He always had some resolves like this +or something. Do you notice what he’s got about improving his mind? He +was always great for that. He told me I et like a hog once, and I beat +him for it.” + +He was reluctant to close the book, reading each item aloud and then +looking eagerly at me. I think he rather expected me to copy down the +list for my own use. + +A little before three the Lutheran minister arrived from Flushing, and +I began to look involuntarily out the windows for other cars. So did +Gatsby’s father. And as the time passed and the servants came in and +stood waiting in the hall, his eyes began to blink anxiously, and he +spoke of the rain in a worried, uncertain way. The minister glanced +several times at his watch, so I took him aside and asked him to wait +for half an hour. But it wasn’t any use. Nobody came. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +About five o’clock our procession of three cars reached the cemetery +and stopped in a thick drizzle beside the gate—first a motor hearse, +horribly black and wet, then Mr. Gatz and the minister and me in the +limousine, and a little later four or five servants and the postman +from West Egg, in Gatsby’s station wagon, all wet to the skin. As we +started through the gate into the cemetery I heard a car stop and then +the sound of someone splashing after us over the soggy ground. I +looked around. It was the man with owl-eyed glasses whom I had found +marvelling over Gatsby’s books in the library one night three months +before. + +I’d never seen him since then. I don’t know how he knew about the +funeral, or even his name. The rain poured down his thick glasses, and +he took them off and wiped them to see the protecting canvas unrolled +from Gatsby’s grave. + +I tried to think about Gatsby then for a moment, but he was already +too far away, and I could only remember, without resentment, that +Daisy hadn’t sent a message or a flower. Dimly I heard someone murmur +“Blessed are the dead that the rain falls on,” and then the owl-eyed +man said “Amen to that,” in a brave voice. + +We straggled down quickly through the rain to the cars. Owl-eyes spoke +to me by the gate. + +“I couldn’t get to the house,” he remarked. + +“Neither could anybody else.” + +“Go on!” He started. “Why, my God! they used to go there by the +hundreds.” + +He took off his glasses and wiped them again, outside and in. + +“The poor son-of-a-bitch,” he said. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +One of my most vivid memories is of coming back West from prep school +and later from college at Christmas time. Those who went farther than +Chicago would gather in the old dim Union Station at six o’clock of a +December evening, with a few Chicago friends, already caught up into +their own holiday gaieties, to bid them a hasty goodbye. I remember +the fur coats of the girls returning from Miss This-or-That’s and the +chatter of frozen breath and the hands waving overhead as we caught +sight of old acquaintances, and the matchings of invitations: “Are you +going to the Ordways’? the Herseys’? the Schultzes’?” and the long +green tickets clasped tight in our gloved hands. And last the murky +yellow cars of the Chicago, Milwaukee and St. Paul railroad looking +cheerful as Christmas itself on the tracks beside the gate. + +When we pulled out into the winter night and the real snow, our snow, +began to stretch out beside us and twinkle against the windows, and +the dim lights of small Wisconsin stations moved by, a sharp wild +brace came suddenly into the air. We drew in deep breaths of it as we +walked back from dinner through the cold vestibules, unutterably aware +of our identity with this country for one strange hour, before we +melted indistinguishably into it again. + +That’s my Middle West—not the wheat or the prairies or the lost Swede +towns, but the thrilling returning trains of my youth, and the street +lamps and sleigh bells in the frosty dark and the shadows of holly +wreaths thrown by lighted windows on the snow. I am part of that, a +little solemn with the feel of those long winters, a little complacent +from growing up in the Carraway house in a city where dwellings are +still called through decades by a family’s name. I see now that this +has been a story of the West, after all—Tom and Gatsby, Daisy and +Jordan and I, were all Westerners, and perhaps we possessed some +deficiency in common which made us subtly unadaptable to Eastern life. + +Even when the East excited me most, even when I was most keenly aware +of its superiority to the bored, sprawling, swollen towns beyond the +Ohio, with their interminable inquisitions which spared only the +children and the very old—even then it had always for me a quality of +distortion. West Egg, especially, still figures in my more fantastic +dreams. I see it as a night scene by El Greco: a hundred houses, at +once conventional and grotesque, crouching under a sullen, overhanging +sky and a lustreless moon. In the foreground four solemn men in dress +suits are walking along the sidewalk with a stretcher on which lies a +drunken woman in a white evening dress. Her hand, which dangles over +the side, sparkles cold with jewels. Gravely the men turn in at a +house—the wrong house. But no one knows the woman’s name, and no one +cares. + +After Gatsby’s death the East was haunted for me like that, distorted +beyond my eyes’ power of correction. So when the blue smoke of brittle +leaves was in the air and the wind blew the wet laundry stiff on the +line I decided to come back home. + +There was one thing to be done before I left, an awkward, unpleasant +thing that perhaps had better have been let alone. But I wanted to +leave things in order and not just trust that obliging and indifferent +sea to sweep my refuse away. I saw Jordan Baker and talked over and +around what had happened to us together, and what had happened +afterward to me, and she lay perfectly still, listening, in a big +chair. + +She was dressed to play golf, and I remember thinking she looked like +a good illustration, her chin raised a little jauntily, her hair the +colour of an autumn leaf, her face the same brown tint as the +fingerless glove on her knee. When I had finished she told me without +comment that she was engaged to another man. I doubted that, though +there were several she could have married at a nod of her head, but I +pretended to be surprised. For just a minute I wondered if I wasn’t +making a mistake, then I thought it all over again quickly and got up +to say goodbye. + +“Nevertheless you did throw me over,” said Jordan suddenly. “You threw +me over on the telephone. I don’t give a damn about you now, but it +was a new experience for me, and I felt a little dizzy for a while.” + +We shook hands. + +“Oh, and do you remember”—she added—“a conversation we had once about +driving a car?” + +“Why—not exactly.” + +“You said a bad driver was only safe until she met another bad driver? +Well, I met another bad driver, didn’t I? I mean it was careless of me +to make such a wrong guess. I thought you were rather an honest, +straightforward person. I thought it was your secret pride.” + +“I’m thirty,” I said. “I’m five years too old to lie to myself and +call it honour.” + +She didn’t answer. Angry, and half in love with her, and tremendously +sorry, I turned away. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +One afternoon late in October I saw Tom Buchanan. He was walking ahead +of me along Fifth Avenue in his alert, aggressive way, his hands out a +little from his body as if to fight off interference, his head moving +sharply here and there, adapting itself to his restless eyes. Just as +I slowed up to avoid overtaking him he stopped and began frowning into +the windows of a jewellery store. Suddenly he saw me and walked back, +holding out his hand. + +“What’s the matter, Nick? Do you object to shaking hands with me?” + +“Yes. You know what I think of you.” + +“You’re crazy, Nick,” he said quickly. “Crazy as hell. I don’t know +what’s the matter with you.” + +“Tom,” I inquired, “what did you say to Wilson that afternoon?” + +He stared at me without a word, and I knew I had guessed right about +those missing hours. I started to turn away, but he took a step after +me and grabbed my arm. + +“I told him the truth,” he said. “He came to the door while we were +getting ready to leave, and when I sent down word that we weren’t in +he tried to force his way upstairs. He was crazy enough to kill me if +I hadn’t told him who owned the car. His hand was on a revolver in his +pocket every minute he was in the house—” He broke off defiantly. +“What if I did tell him? That fellow had it coming to him. He threw +dust into your eyes just like he did in Daisy’s, but he was a tough +one. He ran over Myrtle like you’d run over a dog and never even +stopped his car.” + +There was nothing I could say, except the one unutterable fact that it +wasn’t true. + +“And if you think I didn’t have my share of suffering—look here, when +I went to give up that flat and saw that damn box of dog biscuits +sitting there on the sideboard, I sat down and cried like a baby. By +God it was awful—” + +I couldn’t forgive him or like him, but I saw that what he had done +was, to him, entirely justified. It was all very careless and +confused. They were careless people, Tom and Daisy—they smashed up +things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their +vast carelessness, or whatever it was that kept them together, and let +other people clean up the mess they had made … + +I shook hands with him; it seemed silly not to, for I felt suddenly as +though I were talking to a child. Then he went into the jewellery +store to buy a pearl necklace—or perhaps only a pair of cuff +buttons—rid of my provincial squeamishness forever. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Gatsby’s house was still empty when I left—the grass on his lawn had +grown as long as mine. One of the taxi drivers in the village never +took a fare past the entrance gate without stopping for a minute and +pointing inside; perhaps it was he who drove Daisy and Gatsby over to +East Egg the night of the accident, and perhaps he had made a story +about it all his own. I didn’t want to hear it and I avoided him when +I got off the train. + +I spent my Saturday nights in New York because those gleaming, +dazzling parties of his were with me so vividly that I could still +hear the music and the laughter, faint and incessant, from his garden, +and the cars going up and down his drive. One night I did hear a +material car there, and saw its lights stop at his front steps. But I +didn’t investigate. Probably it was some final guest who had been away +at the ends of the earth and didn’t know that the party was over. + +On the last night, with my trunk packed and my car sold to the grocer, +I went over and looked at that huge incoherent failure of a house once +more. On the white steps an obscene word, scrawled by some boy with a +piece of brick, stood out clearly in the moonlight, and I erased it, +drawing my shoe raspingly along the stone. Then I wandered down to the +beach and sprawled out on the sand. + +Most of the big shore places were closed now and there were hardly any +lights except the shadowy, moving glow of a ferryboat across the +Sound. And as the moon rose higher the inessential houses began to +melt away until gradually I became aware of the old island here that +flowered once for Dutch sailors’ eyes—a fresh, green breast of the new +world. Its vanished trees, the trees that had made way for Gatsby’s +house, had once pandered in whispers to the last and greatest of all +human dreams; for a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his +breath in the presence of this continent, compelled into an aesthetic +contemplation he neither understood nor desired, face to face for the +last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity for +wonder. + +And as I sat there brooding on the old, unknown world, I thought of +Gatsby’s wonder when he first picked out the green light at the end of +Daisy’s dock. He had come a long way to this blue lawn, and his dream +must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He +did not know that it was already behind him, somewhere back in that +vast obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic +rolled on under the night. + +Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by +year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no +matter—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms further … And +one fine morning— + +So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into +the past. + + + + *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT GATSBY *** + + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. + + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ +concept and trademark. 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Thus, we do not +necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper +edition. + + +Most people start at our website which has the main PG search +facility: www.gutenberg.org. + + +This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + diff --git a/examples/ordered_wordcount/run_ordered_wordcount.py b/examples/ordered_wordcount/run_ordered_wordcount.py index 355ddd9a..fd15276f 100644 --- a/examples/ordered_wordcount/run_ordered_wordcount.py +++ b/examples/ordered_wordcount/run_ordered_wordcount.py @@ -1,84 +1,64 @@ """ -Copyright (c) 2022 Oak Ridge National Laboratory. - -This program is free software: you can redistribute it and/or modify -it under the terms of the MIT License. +Example of counting the number of words in two text files then combine the +results into a total word count result. This creates the following files in +the working directory: gatsby.json, oz.json, and wordcount_summary.txt """ import logging -import os +from pathlib import Path from zambeze import Campaign, ShellActivity def main(): - # logging (for debugging purposes) + """Run several shell activities to count words in text files.""" + + # Setup and configure a logger logger = logging.getLogger(__name__) logger.setLevel(logging.DEBUG) + ch = logging.StreamHandler() ch.setLevel(logging.DEBUG) + formatter = logging.Formatter( "[Zambeze Agent] [%(levelname)s] %(asctime)s - %(message)s" ) ch.setFormatter(formatter) + logger.addHandler(ch) - # create campaign - campaign = Campaign("My Simple Ordered Wordcount Campaign", logger=logger) + # Create activities + curr_dir = Path.cwd() - # define an activity - curr_dir = os.path.dirname(__file__) activity_1 = ShellActivity( name="Simple Ordered Wordcount (Oz)", - files=[f"http://127.0.0.1{curr_dir}/wordcount.py"], - command="python3", - arguments=[ - f"{curr_dir}/wordcount.py", - "--textfile", - f"{curr_dir}/wizard_of_oz_book.txt", - "--name", - "oz", - ], + files=[f"local://{curr_dir}/wordcount.py"], + command="python", + arguments=f"{curr_dir}/wordcount.py --textfile {curr_dir}/wizard_of_oz_book.txt --name oz", logger=logger, - # Uncomment if running on M1 Mac. - env_vars={"PATH": "${PATH}:/opt/homebrew/bin"}, ) activity_2 = ShellActivity( name="Simple Ordered Wordcount (Gatsby)", - files=[f"{curr_dir}/wordcount.py"], - command="python3", - arguments=[ - f"{curr_dir}/wordcount.py", - "--textfile", - f"{curr_dir}/gatsby_book.txt", - "--name", - "gatsby", - ], + files=[f"local://{curr_dir}/wordcount.py"], + command="python", + arguments=f"{curr_dir}/wordcount.py --textfile {curr_dir}/gatsby_book.txt --name gatsby", logger=logger, - # Uncomment if running on M1 Mac. - env_vars={"PATH": "${PATH}:/opt/homebrew/bin"}, ) activity_3 = ShellActivity( name="Merge wordcounts", - files=[f"{curr_dir}/oz.json", f"{curr_dir}/gatsby.json"], - command="python3", - arguments=[ - f"{curr_dir}/merge_counts.py", - "--countfiles", - f"{curr_dir}/gatsby.json", - f"{curr_dir}/oz.json", - ], + files=[], + command="python", + arguments=f"{curr_dir}/merge_counts.py --countfiles gatsby.json oz.json", logger=logger, - # Uncomment if running on M1 Mac. - env_vars={"PATH": "${PATH}:/opt/homebrew/bin"}, ) - campaign.add_activity(activity_1) - campaign.add_activity(activity_2) - campaign.add_activity(activity_3) - - # run the campaign + # Create and dispatch the campaign + campaign = Campaign( + "Word count campaign", + activities=[activity_1, activity_2, activity_3], + logger=logger, + ) campaign.dispatch() diff --git a/examples/ordered_wordcount/wizard_of_oz_book.txt b/examples/ordered_wordcount/wizard_of_oz_book.txt new file mode 100644 index 00000000..53d639af --- /dev/null +++ b/examples/ordered_wordcount/wizard_of_oz_book.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5130 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, by L. Frank Baum + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: The Wonderful Wizard of Oz + +Author: L. Frank Baum + +Release Date: February, 1993 [eBook #55] +[Most recently updated: October 19, 2020] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WONDERFUL WIZARD OF OZ *** + +[Illustration] + + + + +The Wonderful Wizard of Oz + +by L. Frank Baum + + +This book is dedicated to my good friend & comrade +My Wife +L.F.B. + + +Contents + + Introduction + Chapter I. The Cyclone + Chapter II. The Council with the Munchkins + Chapter III. How Dorothy Saved the Scarecrow + Chapter IV. The Road Through the Forest + Chapter V. The Rescue of the Tin Woodman + Chapter VI. The Cowardly Lion + Chapter VII. The Journey to the Great Oz + Chapter VIII. The Deadly Poppy Field + Chapter IX. The Queen of the Field Mice + Chapter X. The Guardian of the Gates + Chapter XI. The Emerald City of Oz + Chapter XII. The Search for the Wicked Witch + Chapter XIII. The Rescue + Chapter XIV. The Winged Monkeys + Chapter XV. The Discovery of Oz, the Terrible + Chapter XVI. The Magic Art of the Great Humbug + Chapter XVII. How the Balloon Was Launched + Chapter XVIII. Away to the South + Chapter XIX. Attacked by the Fighting Trees + Chapter XX. The Dainty China Country + Chapter XXI. The Lion Becomes the King of Beasts + Chapter XXII. The Country of the Quadlings + Chapter XXIII. Glinda The Good Witch Grants Dorothy’s Wish + Chapter XXIV. Home Again + + + + +Introduction + + +Folklore, legends, myths and fairy tales have followed childhood +through the ages, for every healthy youngster has a wholesome and +instinctive love for stories fantastic, marvelous and manifestly +unreal. The winged fairies of Grimm and Andersen have brought more +happiness to childish hearts than all other human creations. + +Yet the old time fairy tale, having served for generations, may now be +classed as “historical” in the children’s library; for the time has +come for a series of newer “wonder tales” in which the stereotyped +genie, dwarf and fairy are eliminated, together with all the horrible +and blood-curdling incidents devised by their authors to point a +fearsome moral to each tale. Modern education includes morality; +therefore the modern child seeks only entertainment in its wonder tales +and gladly dispenses with all disagreeable incident. + +Having this thought in mind, the story of “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz” +was written solely to please children of today. It aspires to being a +modernized fairy tale, in which the wonderment and joy are retained and +the heartaches and nightmares are left out. + +L. Frank Baum +Chicago, April, 1900. + + + +The Wonderful Wizard of Oz + + + + +Chapter I +The Cyclone + + +Dorothy lived in the midst of the great Kansas prairies, with Uncle +Henry, who was a farmer, and Aunt Em, who was the farmer’s wife. Their +house was small, for the lumber to build it had to be carried by wagon +many miles. There were four walls, a floor and a roof, which made one +room; and this room contained a rusty looking cookstove, a cupboard for +the dishes, a table, three or four chairs, and the beds. Uncle Henry +and Aunt Em had a big bed in one corner, and Dorothy a little bed in +another corner. There was no garret at all, and no cellar—except a +small hole dug in the ground, called a cyclone cellar, where the family +could go in case one of those great whirlwinds arose, mighty enough to +crush any building in its path. It was reached by a trap door in the +middle of the floor, from which a ladder led down into the small, dark +hole. + +When Dorothy stood in the doorway and looked around, she could see +nothing but the great gray prairie on every side. Not a tree nor a +house broke the broad sweep of flat country that reached to the edge of +the sky in all directions. The sun had baked the plowed land into a +gray mass, with little cracks running through it. Even the grass was +not green, for the sun had burned the tops of the long blades until +they were the same gray color to be seen everywhere. Once the house had +been painted, but the sun blistered the paint and the rains washed it +away, and now the house was as dull and gray as everything else. + +When Aunt Em came there to live she was a young, pretty wife. The sun +and wind had changed her, too. They had taken the sparkle from her eyes +and left them a sober gray; they had taken the red from her cheeks and +lips, and they were gray also. She was thin and gaunt, and never smiled +now. When Dorothy, who was an orphan, first came to her, Aunt Em had +been so startled by the child’s laughter that she would scream and +press her hand upon her heart whenever Dorothy’s merry voice reached +her ears; and she still looked at the little girl with wonder that she +could find anything to laugh at. + +Uncle Henry never laughed. He worked hard from morning till night and +did not know what joy was. He was gray also, from his long beard to his +rough boots, and he looked stern and solemn, and rarely spoke. + +It was Toto that made Dorothy laugh, and saved her from growing as gray +as her other surroundings. Toto was not gray; he was a little black +dog, with long silky hair and small black eyes that twinkled merrily on +either side of his funny, wee nose. Toto played all day long, and +Dorothy played with him, and loved him dearly. + +Today, however, they were not playing. Uncle Henry sat upon the +doorstep and looked anxiously at the sky, which was even grayer than +usual. Dorothy stood in the door with Toto in her arms, and looked at +the sky too. Aunt Em was washing the dishes. + +From the far north they heard a low wail of the wind, and Uncle Henry +and Dorothy could see where the long grass bowed in waves before the +coming storm. There now came a sharp whistling in the air from the +south, and as they turned their eyes that way they saw ripples in the +grass coming from that direction also. + +Suddenly Uncle Henry stood up. + +“There’s a cyclone coming, Em,” he called to his wife. “I’ll go look +after the stock.” Then he ran toward the sheds where the cows and +horses were kept. + +Aunt Em dropped her work and came to the door. One glance told her of +the danger close at hand. + +“Quick, Dorothy!” she screamed. “Run for the cellar!” + +Toto jumped out of Dorothy’s arms and hid under the bed, and the girl +started to get him. Aunt Em, badly frightened, threw open the trap door +in the floor and climbed down the ladder into the small, dark hole. +Dorothy caught Toto at last and started to follow her aunt. When she +was halfway across the room there came a great shriek from the wind, +and the house shook so hard that she lost her footing and sat down +suddenly upon the floor. + +Then a strange thing happened. + +The house whirled around two or three times and rose slowly through the +air. Dorothy felt as if she were going up in a balloon. + +The north and south winds met where the house stood, and made it the +exact center of the cyclone. In the middle of a cyclone the air is +generally still, but the great pressure of the wind on every side of +the house raised it up higher and higher, until it was at the very top +of the cyclone; and there it remained and was carried miles and miles +away as easily as you could carry a feather. + +It was very dark, and the wind howled horribly around her, but Dorothy +found she was riding quite easily. After the first few whirls around, +and one other time when the house tipped badly, she felt as if she were +being rocked gently, like a baby in a cradle. + +Toto did not like it. He ran about the room, now here, now there, +barking loudly; but Dorothy sat quite still on the floor and waited to +see what would happen. + +Once Toto got too near the open trap door, and fell in; and at first +the little girl thought she had lost him. But soon she saw one of his +ears sticking up through the hole, for the strong pressure of the air +was keeping him up so that he could not fall. She crept to the hole, +caught Toto by the ear, and dragged him into the room again, afterward +closing the trap door so that no more accidents could happen. + +Hour after hour passed away, and slowly Dorothy got over her fright; +but she felt quite lonely, and the wind shrieked so loudly all about +her that she nearly became deaf. At first she had wondered if she would +be dashed to pieces when the house fell again; but as the hours passed +and nothing terrible happened, she stopped worrying and resolved to +wait calmly and see what the future would bring. At last she crawled +over the swaying floor to her bed, and lay down upon it; and Toto +followed and lay down beside her. + +In spite of the swaying of the house and the wailing of the wind, +Dorothy soon closed her eyes and fell fast asleep. + + + + +Chapter II +The Council with the Munchkins + + +She was awakened by a shock, so sudden and severe that if Dorothy had +not been lying on the soft bed she might have been hurt. As it was, the +jar made her catch her breath and wonder what had happened; and Toto +put his cold little nose into her face and whined dismally. Dorothy sat +up and noticed that the house was not moving; nor was it dark, for the +bright sunshine came in at the window, flooding the little room. She +sprang from her bed and with Toto at her heels ran and opened the door. + +The little girl gave a cry of amazement and looked about her, her eyes +growing bigger and bigger at the wonderful sights she saw. + +The cyclone had set the house down very gently—for a cyclone—in the +midst of a country of marvelous beauty. There were lovely patches of +greensward all about, with stately trees bearing rich and luscious +fruits. Banks of gorgeous flowers were on every hand, and birds with +rare and brilliant plumage sang and fluttered in the trees and bushes. +A little way off was a small brook, rushing and sparkling along between +green banks, and murmuring in a voice very grateful to a little girl +who had lived so long on the dry, gray prairies. + +While she stood looking eagerly at the strange and beautiful sights, +she noticed coming toward her a group of the queerest people she had +ever seen. They were not as big as the grown folk she had always been +used to; but neither were they very small. In fact, they seemed about +as tall as Dorothy, who was a well-grown child for her age, although +they were, so far as looks go, many years older. + +Three were men and one a woman, and all were oddly dressed. They wore +round hats that rose to a small point a foot above their heads, with +little bells around the brims that tinkled sweetly as they moved. The +hats of the men were blue; the little woman’s hat was white, and she +wore a white gown that hung in pleats from her shoulders. Over it were +sprinkled little stars that glistened in the sun like diamonds. The men +were dressed in blue, of the same shade as their hats, and wore +well-polished boots with a deep roll of blue at the tops. The men, +Dorothy thought, were about as old as Uncle Henry, for two of them had +beards. But the little woman was doubtless much older. Her face was +covered with wrinkles, her hair was nearly white, and she walked rather +stiffly. + +When these people drew near the house where Dorothy was standing in the +doorway, they paused and whispered among themselves, as if afraid to +come farther. But the little old woman walked up to Dorothy, made a low +bow and said, in a sweet voice: + +“You are welcome, most noble Sorceress, to the land of the Munchkins. +We are so grateful to you for having killed the Wicked Witch of the +East, and for setting our people free from bondage.” + +Dorothy listened to this speech with wonder. What could the little +woman possibly mean by calling her a sorceress, and saying she had +killed the Wicked Witch of the East? Dorothy was an innocent, harmless +little girl, who had been carried by a cyclone many miles from home; +and she had never killed anything in all her life. + +But the little woman evidently expected her to answer; so Dorothy said, +with hesitation, “You are very kind, but there must be some mistake. I +have not killed anything.” + +“Your house did, anyway,” replied the little old woman, with a laugh, +“and that is the same thing. See!” she continued, pointing to the +corner of the house. “There are her two feet, still sticking out from +under a block of wood.” + +Dorothy looked, and gave a little cry of fright. There, indeed, just +under the corner of the great beam the house rested on, two feet were +sticking out, shod in silver shoes with pointed toes. + +“Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” cried Dorothy, clasping her hands together in +dismay. “The house must have fallen on her. Whatever shall we do?” + +“There is nothing to be done,” said the little woman calmly. + +“But who was she?” asked Dorothy. + +“She was the Wicked Witch of the East, as I said,” answered the little +woman. “She has held all the Munchkins in bondage for many years, +making them slave for her night and day. Now they are all set free, and +are grateful to you for the favor.” + +“Who are the Munchkins?” inquired Dorothy. + +“They are the people who live in this land of the East where the Wicked +Witch ruled.” + +“Are you a Munchkin?” asked Dorothy. + +“No, but I am their friend, although I live in the land of the North. +When they saw the Witch of the East was dead the Munchkins sent a swift +messenger to me, and I came at once. I am the Witch of the North.” + +“Oh, gracious!” cried Dorothy. “Are you a real witch?” + +“Yes, indeed,” answered the little woman. “But I am a good witch, and +the people love me. I am not as powerful as the Wicked Witch was who +ruled here, or I should have set the people free myself.” + +“But I thought all witches were wicked,” said the girl, who was half +frightened at facing a real witch. “Oh, no, that is a great mistake. +There were only four witches in all the Land of Oz, and two of them, +those who live in the North and the South, are good witches. I know +this is true, for I am one of them myself, and cannot be mistaken. +Those who dwelt in the East and the West were, indeed, wicked witches; +but now that you have killed one of them, there is but one Wicked Witch +in all the Land of Oz—the one who lives in the West.” + +“But,” said Dorothy, after a moment’s thought, “Aunt Em has told me +that the witches were all dead—years and years ago.” + +“Who is Aunt Em?” inquired the little old woman. + +“She is my aunt who lives in Kansas, where I came from.” + +The Witch of the North seemed to think for a time, with her head bowed +and her eyes upon the ground. Then she looked up and said, “I do not +know where Kansas is, for I have never heard that country mentioned +before. But tell me, is it a civilized country?” + +“Oh, yes,” replied Dorothy. + +“Then that accounts for it. In the civilized countries I believe there +are no witches left, nor wizards, nor sorceresses, nor magicians. But, +you see, the Land of Oz has never been civilized, for we are cut off +from all the rest of the world. Therefore we still have witches and +wizards amongst us.” + +“Who are the wizards?” asked Dorothy. + +“Oz himself is the Great Wizard,” answered the Witch, sinking her voice +to a whisper. “He is more powerful than all the rest of us together. He +lives in the City of Emeralds.” + +Dorothy was going to ask another question, but just then the Munchkins, +who had been standing silently by, gave a loud shout and pointed to the +corner of the house where the Wicked Witch had been lying. + +“What is it?” asked the little old woman, and looked, and began to +laugh. The feet of the dead Witch had disappeared entirely, and nothing +was left but the silver shoes. + +“She was so old,” explained the Witch of the North, “that she dried up +quickly in the sun. That is the end of her. But the silver shoes are +yours, and you shall have them to wear.” She reached down and picked up +the shoes, and after shaking the dust out of them handed them to +Dorothy. + +“The Witch of the East was proud of those silver shoes,” said one of +the Munchkins, “and there is some charm connected with them; but what +it is we never knew.” + +Dorothy carried the shoes into the house and placed them on the table. +Then she came out again to the Munchkins and said: + +“I am anxious to get back to my aunt and uncle, for I am sure they will +worry about me. Can you help me find my way?” + +The Munchkins and the Witch first looked at one another, and then at +Dorothy, and then shook their heads. + +“At the East, not far from here,” said one, “there is a great desert, +and none could live to cross it.” + +“It is the same at the South,” said another, “for I have been there and +seen it. The South is the country of the Quadlings.” + +“I am told,” said the third man, “that it is the same at the West. And +that country, where the Winkies live, is ruled by the Wicked Witch of +the West, who would make you her slave if you passed her way.” + +“The North is my home,” said the old lady, “and at its edge is the same +great desert that surrounds this Land of Oz. I’m afraid, my dear, you +will have to live with us.” + +Dorothy began to sob at this, for she felt lonely among all these +strange people. Her tears seemed to grieve the kind-hearted Munchkins, +for they immediately took out their handkerchiefs and began to weep +also. As for the little old woman, she took off her cap and balanced +the point on the end of her nose, while she counted “One, two, three” +in a solemn voice. At once the cap changed to a slate, on which was +written in big, white chalk marks: + +“LET DOROTHY GO TO THE CITY OF EMERALDS” + + +The little old woman took the slate from her nose, and having read the +words on it, asked, “Is your name Dorothy, my dear?” + +“Yes,” answered the child, looking up and drying her tears. + +“Then you must go to the City of Emeralds. Perhaps Oz will help you.” + +“Where is this city?” asked Dorothy. + +“It is exactly in the center of the country, and is ruled by Oz, the +Great Wizard I told you of.” + +“Is he a good man?” inquired the girl anxiously. + +“He is a good Wizard. Whether he is a man or not I cannot tell, for I +have never seen him.” + +“How can I get there?” asked Dorothy. + +“You must walk. It is a long journey, through a country that is +sometimes pleasant and sometimes dark and terrible. However, I will use +all the magic arts I know of to keep you from harm.” + +“Won’t you go with me?” pleaded the girl, who had begun to look upon +the little old woman as her only friend. + +“No, I cannot do that,” she replied, “but I will give you my kiss, and +no one will dare injure a person who has been kissed by the Witch of +the North.” + +She came close to Dorothy and kissed her gently on the forehead. Where +her lips touched the girl they left a round, shining mark, as Dorothy +found out soon after. + +“The road to the City of Emeralds is paved with yellow brick,” said the +Witch, “so you cannot miss it. When you get to Oz do not be afraid of +him, but tell your story and ask him to help you. Good-bye, my dear.” + +The three Munchkins bowed low to her and wished her a pleasant journey, +after which they walked away through the trees. The Witch gave Dorothy +a friendly little nod, whirled around on her left heel three times, and +straightway disappeared, much to the surprise of little Toto, who +barked after her loudly enough when she had gone, because he had been +afraid even to growl while she stood by. + +But Dorothy, knowing her to be a witch, had expected her to disappear +in just that way, and was not surprised in the least. + + + + +Chapter III +How Dorothy Saved the Scarecrow + + +When Dorothy was left alone she began to feel hungry. So she went to +the cupboard and cut herself some bread, which she spread with butter. +She gave some to Toto, and taking a pail from the shelf she carried it +down to the little brook and filled it with clear, sparkling water. +Toto ran over to the trees and began to bark at the birds sitting +there. Dorothy went to get him, and saw such delicious fruit hanging +from the branches that she gathered some of it, finding it just what +she wanted to help out her breakfast. + +Then she went back to the house, and having helped herself and Toto to +a good drink of the cool, clear water, she set about making ready for +the journey to the City of Emeralds. + +Dorothy had only one other dress, but that happened to be clean and was +hanging on a peg beside her bed. It was gingham, with checks of white +and blue; and although the blue was somewhat faded with many washings, +it was still a pretty frock. The girl washed herself carefully, dressed +herself in the clean gingham, and tied her pink sunbonnet on her head. +She took a little basket and filled it with bread from the cupboard, +laying a white cloth over the top. Then she looked down at her feet and +noticed how old and worn her shoes were. + +“They surely will never do for a long journey, Toto,” she said. And +Toto looked up into her face with his little black eyes and wagged his +tail to show he knew what she meant. + +At that moment Dorothy saw lying on the table the silver shoes that had +belonged to the Witch of the East. + +“I wonder if they will fit me,” she said to Toto. “They would be just +the thing to take a long walk in, for they could not wear out.” + +She took off her old leather shoes and tried on the silver ones, which +fitted her as well as if they had been made for her. + +Finally she picked up her basket. + +“Come along, Toto,” she said. “We will go to the Emerald City and ask +the Great Oz how to get back to Kansas again.” + +She closed the door, locked it, and put the key carefully in the pocket +of her dress. And so, with Toto trotting along soberly behind her, she +started on her journey. + +There were several roads nearby, but it did not take her long to find +the one paved with yellow bricks. Within a short time she was walking +briskly toward the Emerald City, her silver shoes tinkling merrily on +the hard, yellow road-bed. The sun shone bright and the birds sang +sweetly, and Dorothy did not feel nearly so bad as you might think a +little girl would who had been suddenly whisked away from her own +country and set down in the midst of a strange land. + +She was surprised, as she walked along, to see how pretty the country +was about her. There were neat fences at the sides of the road, painted +a dainty blue color, and beyond them were fields of grain and +vegetables in abundance. Evidently the Munchkins were good farmers and +able to raise large crops. Once in a while she would pass a house, and +the people came out to look at her and bow low as she went by; for +everyone knew she had been the means of destroying the Wicked Witch and +setting them free from bondage. The houses of the Munchkins were +odd-looking dwellings, for each was round, with a big dome for a roof. +All were painted blue, for in this country of the East blue was the +favorite color. + +Toward evening, when Dorothy was tired with her long walk and began to +wonder where she should pass the night, she came to a house rather +larger than the rest. On the green lawn before it many men and women +were dancing. Five little fiddlers played as loudly as possible, and +the people were laughing and singing, while a big table near by was +loaded with delicious fruits and nuts, pies and cakes, and many other +good things to eat. + +The people greeted Dorothy kindly, and invited her to supper and to +pass the night with them; for this was the home of one of the richest +Munchkins in the land, and his friends were gathered with him to +celebrate their freedom from the bondage of the Wicked Witch. + +Dorothy ate a hearty supper and was waited upon by the rich Munchkin +himself, whose name was Boq. Then she sat upon a settee and watched the +people dance. + +When Boq saw her silver shoes he said, “You must be a great sorceress.” + +“Why?” asked the girl. + +“Because you wear silver shoes and have killed the Wicked Witch. +Besides, you have white in your frock, and only witches and sorceresses +wear white.” + +“My dress is blue and white checked,” said Dorothy, smoothing out the +wrinkles in it. + +“It is kind of you to wear that,” said Boq. “Blue is the color of the +Munchkins, and white is the witch color. So we know you are a friendly +witch.” + +Dorothy did not know what to say to this, for all the people seemed to +think her a witch, and she knew very well she was only an ordinary +little girl who had come by the chance of a cyclone into a strange +land. + +When she had tired watching the dancing, Boq led her into the house, +where he gave her a room with a pretty bed in it. The sheets were made +of blue cloth, and Dorothy slept soundly in them till morning, with +Toto curled up on the blue rug beside her. + +She ate a hearty breakfast, and watched a wee Munchkin baby, who played +with Toto and pulled his tail and crowed and laughed in a way that +greatly amused Dorothy. Toto was a fine curiosity to all the people, +for they had never seen a dog before. + +“How far is it to the Emerald City?” the girl asked. + +“I do not know,” answered Boq gravely, “for I have never been there. It +is better for people to keep away from Oz, unless they have business +with him. But it is a long way to the Emerald City, and it will take +you many days. The country here is rich and pleasant, but you must pass +through rough and dangerous places before you reach the end of your +journey.” + +This worried Dorothy a little, but she knew that only the Great Oz +could help her get to Kansas again, so she bravely resolved not to turn +back. + +She bade her friends good-bye, and again started along the road of +yellow brick. When she had gone several miles she thought she would +stop to rest, and so climbed to the top of the fence beside the road +and sat down. There was a great cornfield beyond the fence, and not far +away she saw a Scarecrow, placed high on a pole to keep the birds from +the ripe corn. + +Dorothy leaned her chin upon her hand and gazed thoughtfully at the +Scarecrow. Its head was a small sack stuffed with straw, with eyes, +nose, and mouth painted on it to represent a face. An old, pointed blue +hat, that had belonged to some Munchkin, was perched on his head, and +the rest of the figure was a blue suit of clothes, worn and faded, +which had also been stuffed with straw. On the feet were some old boots +with blue tops, such as every man wore in this country, and the figure +was raised above the stalks of corn by means of the pole stuck up its +back. + +While Dorothy was looking earnestly into the queer, painted face of the +Scarecrow, she was surprised to see one of the eyes slowly wink at her. +She thought she must have been mistaken at first, for none of the +scarecrows in Kansas ever wink; but presently the figure nodded its +head to her in a friendly way. Then she climbed down from the fence and +walked up to it, while Toto ran around the pole and barked. + +“Good day,” said the Scarecrow, in a rather husky voice. + +“Did you speak?” asked the girl, in wonder. + +“Certainly,” answered the Scarecrow. “How do you do?” + +“I’m pretty well, thank you,” replied Dorothy politely. “How do you +do?” + +“I’m not feeling well,” said the Scarecrow, with a smile, “for it is +very tedious being perched up here night and day to scare away crows.” + +“Can’t you get down?” asked Dorothy. + +“No, for this pole is stuck up my back. If you will please take away +the pole I shall be greatly obliged to you.” + +Dorothy reached up both arms and lifted the figure off the pole, for, +being stuffed with straw, it was quite light. + +“Thank you very much,” said the Scarecrow, when he had been set down on +the ground. “I feel like a new man.” + +Dorothy was puzzled at this, for it sounded queer to hear a stuffed man +speak, and to see him bow and walk along beside her. + +“Who are you?” asked the Scarecrow when he had stretched himself and +yawned. “And where are you going?” + +“My name is Dorothy,” said the girl, “and I am going to the Emerald +City, to ask the Great Oz to send me back to Kansas.” + +“Where is the Emerald City?” he inquired. “And who is Oz?” + +“Why, don’t you know?” she returned, in surprise. + +“No, indeed. I don’t know anything. You see, I am stuffed, so I have no +brains at all,” he answered sadly. + +“Oh,” said Dorothy, “I’m awfully sorry for you.” + +“Do you think,” he asked, “if I go to the Emerald City with you, that +Oz would give me some brains?” + +“I cannot tell,” she returned, “but you may come with me, if you like. +If Oz will not give you any brains you will be no worse off than you +are now.” + +“That is true,” said the Scarecrow. “You see,” he continued +confidentially, “I don’t mind my legs and arms and body being stuffed, +because I cannot get hurt. If anyone treads on my toes or sticks a pin +into me, it doesn’t matter, for I can’t feel it. But I do not want +people to call me a fool, and if my head stays stuffed with straw +instead of with brains, as yours is, how am I ever to know anything?” + +“I understand how you feel,” said the little girl, who was truly sorry +for him. “If you will come with me I’ll ask Oz to do all he can for +you.” + +“Thank you,” he answered gratefully. + +They walked back to the road. Dorothy helped him over the fence, and +they started along the path of yellow brick for the Emerald City. + +Toto did not like this addition to the party at first. He smelled +around the stuffed man as if he suspected there might be a nest of rats +in the straw, and he often growled in an unfriendly way at the +Scarecrow. + +“Don’t mind Toto,” said Dorothy to her new friend. “He never bites.” + +“Oh, I’m not afraid,” replied the Scarecrow. “He can’t hurt the straw. +Do let me carry that basket for you. I shall not mind it, for I can’t +get tired. I’ll tell you a secret,” he continued, as he walked along. +“There is only one thing in the world I am afraid of.” + +“What is that?” asked Dorothy; “the Munchkin farmer who made you?” + +“No,” answered the Scarecrow; “it’s a lighted match.” + + + + +Chapter IV +The Road Through the Forest + + +After a few hours the road began to be rough, and the walking grew so +difficult that the Scarecrow often stumbled over the yellow bricks, +which were here very uneven. Sometimes, indeed, they were broken or +missing altogether, leaving holes that Toto jumped across and Dorothy +walked around. As for the Scarecrow, having no brains, he walked +straight ahead, and so stepped into the holes and fell at full length +on the hard bricks. It never hurt him, however, and Dorothy would pick +him up and set him upon his feet again, while he joined her in laughing +merrily at his own mishap. + +The farms were not nearly so well cared for here as they were farther +back. There were fewer houses and fewer fruit trees, and the farther +they went the more dismal and lonesome the country became. + +At noon they sat down by the roadside, near a little brook, and Dorothy +opened her basket and got out some bread. She offered a piece to the +Scarecrow, but he refused. + +“I am never hungry,” he said, “and it is a lucky thing I am not, for my +mouth is only painted, and if I should cut a hole in it so I could eat, +the straw I am stuffed with would come out, and that would spoil the +shape of my head.” + +Dorothy saw at once that this was true, so she only nodded and went on +eating her bread. + +“Tell me something about yourself and the country you came from,” said +the Scarecrow, when she had finished her dinner. So she told him all +about Kansas, and how gray everything was there, and how the cyclone +had carried her to this queer Land of Oz. + +The Scarecrow listened carefully, and said, “I cannot understand why +you should wish to leave this beautiful country and go back to the dry, +gray place you call Kansas.” + +“That is because you have no brains” answered the girl. “No matter how +dreary and gray our homes are, we people of flesh and blood would +rather live there than in any other country, be it ever so beautiful. +There is no place like home.” + +The Scarecrow sighed. + +“Of course I cannot understand it,” he said. “If your heads were +stuffed with straw, like mine, you would probably all live in the +beautiful places, and then Kansas would have no people at all. It is +fortunate for Kansas that you have brains.” + +“Won’t you tell me a story, while we are resting?” asked the child. + +The Scarecrow looked at her reproachfully, and answered: + +“My life has been so short that I really know nothing whatever. I was +only made day before yesterday. What happened in the world before that +time is all unknown to me. Luckily, when the farmer made my head, one +of the first things he did was to paint my ears, so that I heard what +was going on. There was another Munchkin with him, and the first thing +I heard was the farmer saying, ‘How do you like those ears?’ + +“‘They aren’t straight,’” answered the other. + +“‘Never mind,’” said the farmer. “‘They are ears just the same,’” which +was true enough. + +“‘Now I’ll make the eyes,’” said the farmer. So he painted my right +eye, and as soon as it was finished I found myself looking at him and +at everything around me with a great deal of curiosity, for this was my +first glimpse of the world. + +“‘That’s a rather pretty eye,’” remarked the Munchkin who was watching +the farmer. “‘Blue paint is just the color for eyes.’ + +“‘I think I’ll make the other a little bigger,’” said the farmer. And +when the second eye was done I could see much better than before. Then +he made my nose and my mouth. But I did not speak, because at that time +I didn’t know what a mouth was for. I had the fun of watching them make +my body and my arms and legs; and when they fastened on my head, at +last, I felt very proud, for I thought I was just as good a man as +anyone. + +“‘This fellow will scare the crows fast enough,’ said the farmer. ‘He +looks just like a man.’ + +“‘Why, he is a man,’ said the other, and I quite agreed with him. The +farmer carried me under his arm to the cornfield, and set me up on a +tall stick, where you found me. He and his friend soon after walked +away and left me alone. + +“I did not like to be deserted this way. So I tried to walk after them. +But my feet would not touch the ground, and I was forced to stay on +that pole. It was a lonely life to lead, for I had nothing to think of, +having been made such a little while before. Many crows and other birds +flew into the cornfield, but as soon as they saw me they flew away +again, thinking I was a Munchkin; and this pleased me and made me feel +that I was quite an important person. By and by an old crow flew near +me, and after looking at me carefully he perched upon my shoulder and +said: + +“‘I wonder if that farmer thought to fool me in this clumsy manner. Any +crow of sense could see that you are only stuffed with straw.’ Then he +hopped down at my feet and ate all the corn he wanted. The other birds, +seeing he was not harmed by me, came to eat the corn too, so in a short +time there was a great flock of them about me. + +“I felt sad at this, for it showed I was not such a good Scarecrow +after all; but the old crow comforted me, saying, ‘If you only had +brains in your head you would be as good a man as any of them, and a +better man than some of them. Brains are the only things worth having +in this world, no matter whether one is a crow or a man.’ + +“After the crows had gone I thought this over, and decided I would try +hard to get some brains. By good luck you came along and pulled me off +the stake, and from what you say I am sure the Great Oz will give me +brains as soon as we get to the Emerald City.” + +“I hope so,” said Dorothy earnestly, “since you seem anxious to have +them.” + +“Oh, yes; I am anxious,” returned the Scarecrow. “It is such an +uncomfortable feeling to know one is a fool.” + +“Well,” said the girl, “let us go.” And she handed the basket to the +Scarecrow. + +There were no fences at all by the roadside now, and the land was rough +and untilled. Toward evening they came to a great forest, where the +trees grew so big and close together that their branches met over the +road of yellow brick. It was almost dark under the trees, for the +branches shut out the daylight; but the travelers did not stop, and +went on into the forest. + +“If this road goes in, it must come out,” said the Scarecrow, “and as +the Emerald City is at the other end of the road, we must go wherever +it leads us.” + +“Anyone would know that,” said Dorothy. + +“Certainly; that is why I know it,” returned the Scarecrow. “If it +required brains to figure it out, I never should have said it.” + +After an hour or so the light faded away, and they found themselves +stumbling along in the darkness. Dorothy could not see at all, but Toto +could, for some dogs see very well in the dark; and the Scarecrow +declared he could see as well as by day. So she took hold of his arm +and managed to get along fairly well. + +“If you see any house, or any place where we can pass the night,” she +said, “you must tell me; for it is very uncomfortable walking in the +dark.” + +Soon after the Scarecrow stopped. + +“I see a little cottage at the right of us,” he said, “built of logs +and branches. Shall we go there?” + +“Yes, indeed,” answered the child. “I am all tired out.” + +So the Scarecrow led her through the trees until they reached the +cottage, and Dorothy entered and found a bed of dried leaves in one +corner. She lay down at once, and with Toto beside her soon fell into a +sound sleep. The Scarecrow, who was never tired, stood up in another +corner and waited patiently until morning came. + + + + +Chapter V +The Rescue of the Tin Woodman + + +When Dorothy awoke the sun was shining through the trees and Toto had +long been out chasing birds around him and squirrels. She sat up and +looked around her. There was the Scarecrow, still standing patiently in +his corner, waiting for her. + +“We must go and search for water,” she said to him. + +“Why do you want water?” he asked. + +“To wash my face clean after the dust of the road, and to drink, so the +dry bread will not stick in my throat.” + +“It must be inconvenient to be made of flesh,” said the Scarecrow +thoughtfully, “for you must sleep, and eat and drink. However, you have +brains, and it is worth a lot of bother to be able to think properly.” + +They left the cottage and walked through the trees until they found a +little spring of clear water, where Dorothy drank and bathed and ate +her breakfast. She saw there was not much bread left in the basket, and +the girl was thankful the Scarecrow did not have to eat anything, for +there was scarcely enough for herself and Toto for the day. + +When she had finished her meal, and was about to go back to the road of +yellow brick, she was startled to hear a deep groan near by. + +“What was that?” she asked timidly. + +“I cannot imagine,” replied the Scarecrow; “but we can go and see.” + +Just then another groan reached their ears, and the sound seemed to +come from behind them. They turned and walked through the forest a few +steps, when Dorothy discovered something shining in a ray of sunshine +that fell between the trees. She ran to the place and then stopped +short, with a little cry of surprise. + +One of the big trees had been partly chopped through, and standing +beside it, with an uplifted axe in his hands, was a man made entirely +of tin. His head and arms and legs were jointed upon his body, but he +stood perfectly motionless, as if he could not stir at all. + +Dorothy looked at him in amazement, and so did the Scarecrow, while +Toto barked sharply and made a snap at the tin legs, which hurt his +teeth. + +“Did you groan?” asked Dorothy. + +“Yes,” answered the tin man, “I did. I’ve been groaning for more than a +year, and no one has ever heard me before or come to help me.” + +“What can I do for you?” she inquired softly, for she was moved by the +sad voice in which the man spoke. + +“Get an oil-can and oil my joints,” he answered. “They are rusted so +badly that I cannot move them at all; if I am well oiled I shall soon +be all right again. You will find an oil-can on a shelf in my cottage.” + +Dorothy at once ran back to the cottage and found the oil-can, and then +she returned and asked anxiously, “Where are your joints?” + +“Oil my neck, first,” replied the Tin Woodman. So she oiled it, and as +it was quite badly rusted the Scarecrow took hold of the tin head and +moved it gently from side to side until it worked freely, and then the +man could turn it himself. + +“Now oil the joints in my arms,” he said. And Dorothy oiled them and +the Scarecrow bent them carefully until they were quite free from rust +and as good as new. + +The Tin Woodman gave a sigh of satisfaction and lowered his axe, which +he leaned against the tree. + +“This is a great comfort,” he said. “I have been holding that axe in +the air ever since I rusted, and I’m glad to be able to put it down at +last. Now, if you will oil the joints of my legs, I shall be all right +once more.” + +So they oiled his legs until he could move them freely; and he thanked +them again and again for his release, for he seemed a very polite +creature, and very grateful. + +“I might have stood there always if you had not come along,” he said; +“so you have certainly saved my life. How did you happen to be here?” + +“We are on our way to the Emerald City to see the Great Oz,” she +answered, “and we stopped at your cottage to pass the night.” + +“Why do you wish to see Oz?” he asked. + +“I want him to send me back to Kansas, and the Scarecrow wants him to +put a few brains into his head,” she replied. + +The Tin Woodman appeared to think deeply for a moment. Then he said: + +“Do you suppose Oz could give me a heart?” + +“Why, I guess so,” Dorothy answered. “It would be as easy as to give +the Scarecrow brains.” + +“True,” the Tin Woodman returned. “So, if you will allow me to join +your party, I will also go to the Emerald City and ask Oz to help me.” + +“Come along,” said the Scarecrow heartily, and Dorothy added that she +would be pleased to have his company. So the Tin Woodman shouldered his +axe and they all passed through the forest until they came to the road +that was paved with yellow brick. + +The Tin Woodman had asked Dorothy to put the oil-can in her basket. +“For,” he said, “if I should get caught in the rain, and rust again, I +would need the oil-can badly.” + +It was a bit of good luck to have their new comrade join the party, for +soon after they had begun their journey again they came to a place +where the trees and branches grew so thick over the road that the +travelers could not pass. But the Tin Woodman set to work with his axe +and chopped so well that soon he cleared a passage for the entire +party. + +Dorothy was thinking so earnestly as they walked along that she did not +notice when the Scarecrow stumbled into a hole and rolled over to the +side of the road. Indeed he was obliged to call to her to help him up +again. + +“Why didn’t you walk around the hole?” asked the Tin Woodman. + +“I don’t know enough,” replied the Scarecrow cheerfully. “My head is +stuffed with straw, you know, and that is why I am going to Oz to ask +him for some brains.” + +“Oh, I see,” said the Tin Woodman. “But, after all, brains are not the +best things in the world.” + +“Have you any?” inquired the Scarecrow. + +“No, my head is quite empty,” answered the Woodman. “But once I had +brains, and a heart also; so, having tried them both, I should much +rather have a heart.” + +“And why is that?” asked the Scarecrow. + +“I will tell you my story, and then you will know.” + +So, while they were walking through the forest, the Tin Woodman told +the following story: + +“I was born the son of a woodman who chopped down trees in the forest +and sold the wood for a living. When I grew up, I too became a +woodchopper, and after my father died I took care of my old mother as +long as she lived. Then I made up my mind that instead of living alone +I would marry, so that I might not become lonely. + +“There was one of the Munchkin girls who was so beautiful that I soon +grew to love her with all my heart. She, on her part, promised to marry +me as soon as I could earn enough money to build a better house for +her; so I set to work harder than ever. But the girl lived with an old +woman who did not want her to marry anyone, for she was so lazy she +wished the girl to remain with her and do the cooking and the +housework. So the old woman went to the Wicked Witch of the East, and +promised her two sheep and a cow if she would prevent the marriage. +Thereupon the Wicked Witch enchanted my axe, and when I was chopping +away at my best one day, for I was anxious to get the new house and my +wife as soon as possible, the axe slipped all at once and cut off my +left leg. + +“This at first seemed a great misfortune, for I knew a one-legged man +could not do very well as a wood-chopper. So I went to a tinsmith and +had him make me a new leg out of tin. The leg worked very well, once I +was used to it. But my action angered the Wicked Witch of the East, for +she had promised the old woman I should not marry the pretty Munchkin +girl. When I began chopping again, my axe slipped and cut off my right +leg. Again I went to the tinsmith, and again he made me a leg out of +tin. After this the enchanted axe cut off my arms, one after the other; +but, nothing daunted, I had them replaced with tin ones. The Wicked +Witch then made the axe slip and cut off my head, and at first I +thought that was the end of me. But the tinsmith happened to come +along, and he made me a new head out of tin. + +“I thought I had beaten the Wicked Witch then, and I worked harder than +ever; but I little knew how cruel my enemy could be. She thought of a +new way to kill my love for the beautiful Munchkin maiden, and made my +axe slip again, so that it cut right through my body, splitting me into +two halves. Once more the tinsmith came to my help and made me a body +of tin, fastening my tin arms and legs and head to it, by means of +joints, so that I could move around as well as ever. But, alas! I had +now no heart, so that I lost all my love for the Munchkin girl, and did +not care whether I married her or not. I suppose she is still living +with the old woman, waiting for me to come after her. + +“My body shone so brightly in the sun that I felt very proud of it and +it did not matter now if my axe slipped, for it could not cut me. There +was only one danger—that my joints would rust; but I kept an oil-can in +my cottage and took care to oil myself whenever I needed it. However, +there came a day when I forgot to do this, and, being caught in a +rainstorm, before I thought of the danger my joints had rusted, and I +was left to stand in the woods until you came to help me. It was a +terrible thing to undergo, but during the year I stood there I had time +to think that the greatest loss I had known was the loss of my heart. +While I was in love I was the happiest man on earth; but no one can +love who has not a heart, and so I am resolved to ask Oz to give me +one. If he does, I will go back to the Munchkin maiden and marry her.” + +Both Dorothy and the Scarecrow had been greatly interested in the story +of the Tin Woodman, and now they knew why he was so anxious to get a +new heart. + +“All the same,” said the Scarecrow, “I shall ask for brains instead of +a heart; for a fool would not know what to do with a heart if he had +one.” + +“I shall take the heart,” returned the Tin Woodman; “for brains do not +make one happy, and happiness is the best thing in the world.” + +Dorothy did not say anything, for she was puzzled to know which of her +two friends was right, and she decided if she could only get back to +Kansas and Aunt Em, it did not matter so much whether the Woodman had +no brains and the Scarecrow no heart, or each got what he wanted. + +What worried her most was that the bread was nearly gone, and another +meal for herself and Toto would empty the basket. To be sure, neither +the Woodman nor the Scarecrow ever ate anything, but she was not made +of tin nor straw, and could not live unless she was fed. + + + + +Chapter VI +The Cowardly Lion + + +All this time Dorothy and her companions had been walking through the +thick woods. The road was still paved with yellow brick, but these were +much covered by dried branches and dead leaves from the trees, and the +walking was not at all good. + +There were few birds in this part of the forest, for birds love the +open country where there is plenty of sunshine. But now and then there +came a deep growl from some wild animal hidden among the trees. These +sounds made the little girl’s heart beat fast, for she did not know +what made them; but Toto knew, and he walked close to Dorothy’s side, +and did not even bark in return. + +“How long will it be,” the child asked of the Tin Woodman, “before we +are out of the forest?” + +“I cannot tell,” was the answer, “for I have never been to the Emerald +City. But my father went there once, when I was a boy, and he said it +was a long journey through a dangerous country, although nearer to the +city where Oz dwells the country is beautiful. But I am not afraid so +long as I have my oil-can, and nothing can hurt the Scarecrow, while +you bear upon your forehead the mark of the Good Witch’s kiss, and that +will protect you from harm.” + +“But Toto!” said the girl anxiously. “What will protect him?” + +“We must protect him ourselves if he is in danger,” replied the Tin +Woodman. + +Just as he spoke there came from the forest a terrible roar, and the +next moment a great Lion bounded into the road. With one blow of his +paw he sent the Scarecrow spinning over and over to the edge of the +road, and then he struck at the Tin Woodman with his sharp claws. But, +to the Lion’s surprise, he could make no impression on the tin, +although the Woodman fell over in the road and lay still. + +Little Toto, now that he had an enemy to face, ran barking toward the +Lion, and the great beast had opened his mouth to bite the dog, when +Dorothy, fearing Toto would be killed, and heedless of danger, rushed +forward and slapped the Lion upon his nose as hard as she could, while +she cried out: + +“Don’t you dare to bite Toto! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, a +big beast like you, to bite a poor little dog!” + +“I didn’t bite him,” said the Lion, as he rubbed his nose with his paw +where Dorothy had hit it. + +“No, but you tried to,” she retorted. “You are nothing but a big +coward.” + +“I know it,” said the Lion, hanging his head in shame. “I’ve always +known it. But how can I help it?” + +“I don’t know, I’m sure. To think of your striking a stuffed man, like +the poor Scarecrow!” + +“Is he stuffed?” asked the Lion in surprise, as he watched her pick up +the Scarecrow and set him upon his feet, while she patted him into +shape again. + +“Of course he’s stuffed,” replied Dorothy, who was still angry. + +“That’s why he went over so easily,” remarked the Lion. “It astonished +me to see him whirl around so. Is the other one stuffed also?” + +“No,” said Dorothy, “he’s made of tin.” And she helped the Woodman up +again. + +“That’s why he nearly blunted my claws,” said the Lion. “When they +scratched against the tin it made a cold shiver run down my back. What +is that little animal you are so tender of?” + +“He is my dog, Toto,” answered Dorothy. + +“Is he made of tin, or stuffed?” asked the Lion. + +“Neither. He’s a—a—a meat dog,” said the girl. + +“Oh! He’s a curious animal and seems remarkably small, now that I look +at him. No one would think of biting such a little thing, except a +coward like me,” continued the Lion sadly. + +“What makes you a coward?” asked Dorothy, looking at the great beast in +wonder, for he was as big as a small horse. + +“It’s a mystery,” replied the Lion. “I suppose I was born that way. All +the other animals in the forest naturally expect me to be brave, for +the Lion is everywhere thought to be the King of Beasts. I learned that +if I roared very loudly every living thing was frightened and got out +of my way. Whenever I’ve met a man I’ve been awfully scared; but I just +roared at him, and he has always run away as fast as he could go. If +the elephants and the tigers and the bears had ever tried to fight me, +I should have run myself—I’m such a coward; but just as soon as they +hear me roar they all try to get away from me, and of course I let them +go.” + +“But that isn’t right. The King of Beasts shouldn’t be a coward,” said +the Scarecrow. + +“I know it,” returned the Lion, wiping a tear from his eye with the tip +of his tail. “It is my great sorrow, and makes my life very unhappy. +But whenever there is danger, my heart begins to beat fast.” + +“Perhaps you have heart disease,” said the Tin Woodman. + +“It may be,” said the Lion. + +“If you have,” continued the Tin Woodman, “you ought to be glad, for it +proves you have a heart. For my part, I have no heart; so I cannot have +heart disease.” + +“Perhaps,” said the Lion thoughtfully, “if I had no heart I should not +be a coward.” + +“Have you brains?” asked the Scarecrow. + +“I suppose so. I’ve never looked to see,” replied the Lion. + +“I am going to the Great Oz to ask him to give me some,” remarked the +Scarecrow, “for my head is stuffed with straw.” + +“And I am going to ask him to give me a heart,” said the Woodman. + +“And I am going to ask him to send Toto and me back to Kansas,” added +Dorothy. + +“Do you think Oz could give me courage?” asked the Cowardly Lion. + +“Just as easily as he could give me brains,” said the Scarecrow. + +“Or give me a heart,” said the Tin Woodman. + +“Or send me back to Kansas,” said Dorothy. + +“Then, if you don’t mind, I’ll go with you,” said the Lion, “for my +life is simply unbearable without a bit of courage.” + +“You will be very welcome,” answered Dorothy, “for you will help to +keep away the other wild beasts. It seems to me they must be more +cowardly than you are if they allow you to scare them so easily.” + +“They really are,” said the Lion, “but that doesn’t make me any braver, +and as long as I know myself to be a coward I shall be unhappy.” + +So once more the little company set off upon the journey, the Lion +walking with stately strides at Dorothy’s side. Toto did not approve of +this new comrade at first, for he could not forget how nearly he had +been crushed between the Lion’s great jaws. But after a time he became +more at ease, and presently Toto and the Cowardly Lion had grown to be +good friends. + +During the rest of that day there was no other adventure to mar the +peace of their journey. Once, indeed, the Tin Woodman stepped upon a +beetle that was crawling along the road, and killed the poor little +thing. This made the Tin Woodman very unhappy, for he was always +careful not to hurt any living creature; and as he walked along he wept +several tears of sorrow and regret. These tears ran slowly down his +face and over the hinges of his jaw, and there they rusted. When +Dorothy presently asked him a question the Tin Woodman could not open +his mouth, for his jaws were tightly rusted together. He became greatly +frightened at this and made many motions to Dorothy to relieve him, but +she could not understand. The Lion was also puzzled to know what was +wrong. But the Scarecrow seized the oil-can from Dorothy’s basket and +oiled the Woodman’s jaws, so that after a few moments he could talk as +well as before. + +“This will serve me a lesson,” said he, “to look where I step. For if I +should kill another bug or beetle I should surely cry again, and crying +rusts my jaws so that I cannot speak.” + +Thereafter he walked very carefully, with his eyes on the road, and +when he saw a tiny ant toiling by he would step over it, so as not to +harm it. The Tin Woodman knew very well he had no heart, and therefore +he took great care never to be cruel or unkind to anything. + +“You people with hearts,” he said, “have something to guide you, and +need never do wrong; but I have no heart, and so I must be very +careful. When Oz gives me a heart of course I needn’t mind so much.” + + + + +Chapter VII +The Journey to the Great Oz + + +They were obliged to camp out that night under a large tree in the +forest, for there were no houses near. The tree made a good, thick +covering to protect them from the dew, and the Tin Woodman chopped a +great pile of wood with his axe and Dorothy built a splendid fire that +warmed her and made her feel less lonely. She and Toto ate the last of +their bread, and now she did not know what they would do for breakfast. + +“If you wish,” said the Lion, “I will go into the forest and kill a +deer for you. You can roast it by the fire, since your tastes are so +peculiar that you prefer cooked food, and then you will have a very +good breakfast.” + +“Don’t! Please don’t,” begged the Tin Woodman. “I should certainly weep +if you killed a poor deer, and then my jaws would rust again.” + +But the Lion went away into the forest and found his own supper, and no +one ever knew what it was, for he didn’t mention it. And the Scarecrow +found a tree full of nuts and filled Dorothy’s basket with them, so +that she would not be hungry for a long time. She thought this was very +kind and thoughtful of the Scarecrow, but she laughed heartily at the +awkward way in which the poor creature picked up the nuts. His padded +hands were so clumsy and the nuts were so small that he dropped almost +as many as he put in the basket. But the Scarecrow did not mind how +long it took him to fill the basket, for it enabled him to keep away +from the fire, as he feared a spark might get into his straw and burn +him up. So he kept a good distance away from the flames, and only came +near to cover Dorothy with dry leaves when she lay down to sleep. These +kept her very snug and warm, and she slept soundly until morning. + +When it was daylight, the girl bathed her face in a little rippling +brook, and soon after they all started toward the Emerald City. + +This was to be an eventful day for the travelers. They had hardly been +walking an hour when they saw before them a great ditch that crossed +the road and divided the forest as far as they could see on either +side. It was a very wide ditch, and when they crept up to the edge and +looked into it they could see it was also very deep, and there were +many big, jagged rocks at the bottom. The sides were so steep that none +of them could climb down, and for a moment it seemed that their journey +must end. + +“What shall we do?” asked Dorothy despairingly. + +“I haven’t the faintest idea,” said the Tin Woodman, and the Lion shook +his shaggy mane and looked thoughtful. + +But the Scarecrow said, “We cannot fly, that is certain. Neither can we +climb down into this great ditch. Therefore, if we cannot jump over it, +we must stop where we are.” + +“I think I could jump over it,” said the Cowardly Lion, after measuring +the distance carefully in his mind. + +“Then we are all right,” answered the Scarecrow, “for you can carry us +all over on your back, one at a time.” + +“Well, I’ll try it,” said the Lion. “Who will go first?” + +“I will,” declared the Scarecrow, “for, if you found that you could not +jump over the gulf, Dorothy would be killed, or the Tin Woodman badly +dented on the rocks below. But if I am on your back it will not matter +so much, for the fall would not hurt me at all.” + +“I am terribly afraid of falling, myself,” said the Cowardly Lion, “but +I suppose there is nothing to do but try it. So get on my back and we +will make the attempt.” + +The Scarecrow sat upon the Lion’s back, and the big beast walked to the +edge of the gulf and crouched down. + +“Why don’t you run and jump?” asked the Scarecrow. + +“Because that isn’t the way we Lions do these things,” he replied. Then +giving a great spring, he shot through the air and landed safely on the +other side. They were all greatly pleased to see how easily he did it, +and after the Scarecrow had got down from his back the Lion sprang +across the ditch again. + +Dorothy thought she would go next; so she took Toto in her arms and +climbed on the Lion’s back, holding tightly to his mane with one hand. +The next moment it seemed as if she were flying through the air; and +then, before she had time to think about it, she was safe on the other +side. The Lion went back a third time and got the Tin Woodman, and then +they all sat down for a few moments to give the beast a chance to rest, +for his great leaps had made his breath short, and he panted like a big +dog that has been running too long. + +They found the forest very thick on this side, and it looked dark and +gloomy. After the Lion had rested they started along the road of yellow +brick, silently wondering, each in his own mind, if ever they would +come to the end of the woods and reach the bright sunshine again. To +add to their discomfort, they soon heard strange noises in the depths +of the forest, and the Lion whispered to them that it was in this part +of the country that the Kalidahs lived. + +“What are the Kalidahs?” asked the girl. + +“They are monstrous beasts with bodies like bears and heads like +tigers,” replied the Lion, “and with claws so long and sharp that they +could tear me in two as easily as I could kill Toto. I’m terribly +afraid of the Kalidahs.” + +“I’m not surprised that you are,” returned Dorothy. “They must be +dreadful beasts.” + +The Lion was about to reply when suddenly they came to another gulf +across the road. But this one was so broad and deep that the Lion knew +at once he could not leap across it. + +So they sat down to consider what they should do, and after serious +thought the Scarecrow said: + +“Here is a great tree, standing close to the ditch. If the Tin Woodman +can chop it down, so that it will fall to the other side, we can walk +across it easily.” + +“That is a first-rate idea,” said the Lion. “One would almost suspect +you had brains in your head, instead of straw.” + +The Woodman set to work at once, and so sharp was his axe that the tree +was soon chopped nearly through. Then the Lion put his strong front +legs against the tree and pushed with all his might, and slowly the big +tree tipped and fell with a crash across the ditch, with its top +branches on the other side. + +They had just started to cross this queer bridge when a sharp growl +made them all look up, and to their horror they saw running toward them +two great beasts with bodies like bears and heads like tigers. + +“They are the Kalidahs!” said the Cowardly Lion, beginning to tremble. + +“Quick!” cried the Scarecrow. “Let us cross over.” + +So Dorothy went first, holding Toto in her arms, the Tin Woodman +followed, and the Scarecrow came next. The Lion, although he was +certainly afraid, turned to face the Kalidahs, and then he gave so loud +and terrible a roar that Dorothy screamed and the Scarecrow fell over +backward, while even the fierce beasts stopped short and looked at him +in surprise. + +But, seeing they were bigger than the Lion, and remembering that there +were two of them and only one of him, the Kalidahs again rushed +forward, and the Lion crossed over the tree and turned to see what they +would do next. Without stopping an instant the fierce beasts also began +to cross the tree. And the Lion said to Dorothy: + +“We are lost, for they will surely tear us to pieces with their sharp +claws. But stand close behind me, and I will fight them as long as I am +alive.” + +“Wait a minute!” called the Scarecrow. He had been thinking what was +best to be done, and now he asked the Woodman to chop away the end of +the tree that rested on their side of the ditch. The Tin Woodman began +to use his axe at once, and, just as the two Kalidahs were nearly +across, the tree fell with a crash into the gulf, carrying the ugly, +snarling brutes with it, and both were dashed to pieces on the sharp +rocks at the bottom. + +“Well,” said the Cowardly Lion, drawing a long breath of relief, “I see +we are going to live a little while longer, and I am glad of it, for it +must be a very uncomfortable thing not to be alive. Those creatures +frightened me so badly that my heart is beating yet.” + +“Ah,” said the Tin Woodman sadly, “I wish I had a heart to beat.” + +This adventure made the travelers more anxious than ever to get out of +the forest, and they walked so fast that Dorothy became tired, and had +to ride on the Lion’s back. To their great joy the trees became thinner +the farther they advanced, and in the afternoon they suddenly came upon +a broad river, flowing swiftly just before them. On the other side of +the water they could see the road of yellow brick running through a +beautiful country, with green meadows dotted with bright flowers and +all the road bordered with trees hanging full of delicious fruits. They +were greatly pleased to see this delightful country before them. + +“How shall we cross the river?” asked Dorothy. + +“That is easily done,” replied the Scarecrow. “The Tin Woodman must +build us a raft, so we can float to the other side.” + +So the Woodman took his axe and began to chop down small trees to make +a raft, and while he was busy at this the Scarecrow found on the +riverbank a tree full of fine fruit. This pleased Dorothy, who had +eaten nothing but nuts all day, and she made a hearty meal of the ripe +fruit. + +But it takes time to make a raft, even when one is as industrious and +untiring as the Tin Woodman, and when night came the work was not done. +So they found a cozy place under the trees where they slept well until +the morning; and Dorothy dreamed of the Emerald City, and of the good +Wizard Oz, who would soon send her back to her own home again. + + + + +Chapter VIII +The Deadly Poppy Field + + +Our little party of travelers awakened the next morning refreshed and +full of hope, and Dorothy breakfasted like a princess off peaches and +plums from the trees beside the river. Behind them was the dark forest +they had passed safely through, although they had suffered many +discouragements; but before them was a lovely, sunny country that +seemed to beckon them on to the Emerald City. + +To be sure, the broad river now cut them off from this beautiful land. +But the raft was nearly done, and after the Tin Woodman had cut a few +more logs and fastened them together with wooden pins, they were ready +to start. Dorothy sat down in the middle of the raft and held Toto in +her arms. When the Cowardly Lion stepped upon the raft it tipped badly, +for he was big and heavy; but the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman stood +upon the other end to steady it, and they had long poles in their hands +to push the raft through the water. + +They got along quite well at first, but when they reached the middle of +the river the swift current swept the raft downstream, farther and +farther away from the road of yellow brick. And the water grew so deep +that the long poles would not touch the bottom. + +“This is bad,” said the Tin Woodman, “for if we cannot get to the land +we shall be carried into the country of the Wicked Witch of the West, +and she will enchant us and make us her slaves.” + +“And then I should get no brains,” said the Scarecrow. + +“And I should get no courage,” said the Cowardly Lion. + +“And I should get no heart,” said the Tin Woodman. + +“And I should never get back to Kansas,” said Dorothy. + +“We must certainly get to the Emerald City if we can,” the Scarecrow +continued, and he pushed so hard on his long pole that it stuck fast in +the mud at the bottom of the river. Then, before he could pull it out +again—or let go—the raft was swept away, and the poor Scarecrow was +left clinging to the pole in the middle of the river. + +“Good-bye!” he called after them, and they were very sorry to leave +him. Indeed, the Tin Woodman began to cry, but fortunately remembered +that he might rust, and so dried his tears on Dorothy’s apron. + +Of course this was a bad thing for the Scarecrow. + +“I am now worse off than when I first met Dorothy,” he thought. “Then, +I was stuck on a pole in a cornfield, where I could make-believe scare +the crows, at any rate. But surely there is no use for a Scarecrow +stuck on a pole in the middle of a river. I am afraid I shall never +have any brains, after all!” + +Down the stream the raft floated, and the poor Scarecrow was left far +behind. Then the Lion said: + +“Something must be done to save us. I think I can swim to the shore and +pull the raft after me, if you will only hold fast to the tip of my +tail.” + +So he sprang into the water, and the Tin Woodman caught fast hold of +his tail. Then the Lion began to swim with all his might toward the +shore. It was hard work, although he was so big; but by and by they +were drawn out of the current, and then Dorothy took the Tin Woodman’s +long pole and helped push the raft to the land. + +They were all tired out when they reached the shore at last and stepped +off upon the pretty green grass, and they also knew that the stream had +carried them a long way past the road of yellow brick that led to the +Emerald City. + +“What shall we do now?” asked the Tin Woodman, as the Lion lay down on +the grass to let the sun dry him. + +“We must get back to the road, in some way,” said Dorothy. + +“The best plan will be to walk along the riverbank until we come to the +road again,” remarked the Lion. + +So, when they were rested, Dorothy picked up her basket and they +started along the grassy bank, to the road from which the river had +carried them. It was a lovely country, with plenty of flowers and fruit +trees and sunshine to cheer them, and had they not felt so sorry for +the poor Scarecrow, they could have been very happy. + +They walked along as fast as they could, Dorothy only stopping once to +pick a beautiful flower; and after a time the Tin Woodman cried out: +“Look!” + +Then they all looked at the river and saw the Scarecrow perched upon +his pole in the middle of the water, looking very lonely and sad. + +“What can we do to save him?” asked Dorothy. + +The Lion and the Woodman both shook their heads, for they did not know. +So they sat down upon the bank and gazed wistfully at the Scarecrow +until a Stork flew by, who, upon seeing them, stopped to rest at the +water’s edge. + +“Who are you and where are you going?” asked the Stork. + +“I am Dorothy,” answered the girl, “and these are my friends, the Tin +Woodman and the Cowardly Lion; and we are going to the Emerald City.” + +“This isn’t the road,” said the Stork, as she twisted her long neck and +looked sharply at the queer party. + +“I know it,” returned Dorothy, “but we have lost the Scarecrow, and are +wondering how we shall get him again.” + +“Where is he?” asked the Stork. + +“Over there in the river,” answered the little girl. + +“If he wasn’t so big and heavy I would get him for you,” remarked the +Stork. + +“He isn’t heavy a bit,” said Dorothy eagerly, “for he is stuffed with +straw; and if you will bring him back to us, we shall thank you ever +and ever so much.” + +“Well, I’ll try,” said the Stork, “but if I find he is too heavy to +carry I shall have to drop him in the river again.” + +So the big bird flew into the air and over the water till she came to +where the Scarecrow was perched upon his pole. Then the Stork with her +great claws grabbed the Scarecrow by the arm and carried him up into +the air and back to the bank, where Dorothy and the Lion and the Tin +Woodman and Toto were sitting. + +When the Scarecrow found himself among his friends again, he was so +happy that he hugged them all, even the Lion and Toto; and as they +walked along he sang “Tol-de-ri-de-oh!” at every step, he felt so gay. + +“I was afraid I should have to stay in the river forever,” he said, +“but the kind Stork saved me, and if I ever get any brains I shall find +the Stork again and do her some kindness in return.” + +“That’s all right,” said the Stork, who was flying along beside them. +“I always like to help anyone in trouble. But I must go now, for my +babies are waiting in the nest for me. I hope you will find the Emerald +City and that Oz will help you.” + +“Thank you,” replied Dorothy, and then the kind Stork flew into the air +and was soon out of sight. + +They walked along listening to the singing of the brightly colored +birds and looking at the lovely flowers which now became so thick that +the ground was carpeted with them. There were big yellow and white and +blue and purple blossoms, besides great clusters of scarlet poppies, +which were so brilliant in color they almost dazzled Dorothy’s eyes. + +“Aren’t they beautiful?” the girl asked, as she breathed in the spicy +scent of the bright flowers. + +“I suppose so,” answered the Scarecrow. “When I have brains, I shall +probably like them better.” + +“If I only had a heart, I should love them,” added the Tin Woodman. + +“I always did like flowers,” said the Lion. “They seem so helpless and +frail. But there are none in the forest so bright as these.” + +They now came upon more and more of the big scarlet poppies, and fewer +and fewer of the other flowers; and soon they found themselves in the +midst of a great meadow of poppies. Now it is well known that when +there are many of these flowers together their odor is so powerful that +anyone who breathes it falls asleep, and if the sleeper is not carried +away from the scent of the flowers, he sleeps on and on forever. But +Dorothy did not know this, nor could she get away from the bright red +flowers that were everywhere about; so presently her eyes grew heavy +and she felt she must sit down to rest and to sleep. + +But the Tin Woodman would not let her do this. + +“We must hurry and get back to the road of yellow brick before dark,” +he said; and the Scarecrow agreed with him. So they kept walking until +Dorothy could stand no longer. Her eyes closed in spite of herself and +she forgot where she was and fell among the poppies, fast asleep. + +“What shall we do?” asked the Tin Woodman. + +“If we leave her here she will die,” said the Lion. “The smell of the +flowers is killing us all. I myself can scarcely keep my eyes open, and +the dog is asleep already.” + +It was true; Toto had fallen down beside his little mistress. But the +Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, not being made of flesh, were not +troubled by the scent of the flowers. + +“Run fast,” said the Scarecrow to the Lion, “and get out of this deadly +flower bed as soon as you can. We will bring the little girl with us, +but if you should fall asleep you are too big to be carried.” + +So the Lion aroused himself and bounded forward as fast as he could go. +In a moment he was out of sight. + +“Let us make a chair with our hands and carry her,” said the Scarecrow. +So they picked up Toto and put the dog in Dorothy’s lap, and then they +made a chair with their hands for the seat and their arms for the arms +and carried the sleeping girl between them through the flowers. + +On and on they walked, and it seemed that the great carpet of deadly +flowers that surrounded them would never end. They followed the bend of +the river, and at last came upon their friend the Lion, lying fast +asleep among the poppies. The flowers had been too strong for the huge +beast and he had given up at last, and fallen only a short distance +from the end of the poppy bed, where the sweet grass spread in +beautiful green fields before them. + +“We can do nothing for him,” said the Tin Woodman, sadly; “for he is +much too heavy to lift. We must leave him here to sleep on forever, and +perhaps he will dream that he has found courage at last.” + +“I’m sorry,” said the Scarecrow. “The Lion was a very good comrade for +one so cowardly. But let us go on.” + +They carried the sleeping girl to a pretty spot beside the river, far +enough from the poppy field to prevent her breathing any more of the +poison of the flowers, and here they laid her gently on the soft grass +and waited for the fresh breeze to waken her. + + + + +Chapter IX +The Queen of the Field Mice + + +“We cannot be far from the road of yellow brick, now,” remarked the +Scarecrow, as he stood beside the girl, “for we have come nearly as far +as the river carried us away.” + +The Tin Woodman was about to reply when he heard a low growl, and +turning his head (which worked beautifully on hinges) he saw a strange +beast come bounding over the grass toward them. It was, indeed, a great +yellow Wildcat, and the Woodman thought it must be chasing something, +for its ears were lying close to its head and its mouth was wide open, +showing two rows of ugly teeth, while its red eyes glowed like balls of +fire. As it came nearer the Tin Woodman saw that running before the +beast was a little gray field mouse, and although he had no heart he +knew it was wrong for the Wildcat to try to kill such a pretty, +harmless creature. + +So the Woodman raised his axe, and as the Wildcat ran by he gave it a +quick blow that cut the beast’s head clean off from its body, and it +rolled over at his feet in two pieces. + +The field mouse, now that it was freed from its enemy, stopped short; +and coming slowly up to the Woodman it said, in a squeaky little voice: + +“Oh, thank you! Thank you ever so much for saving my life.” + +“Don’t speak of it, I beg of you,” replied the Woodman. “I have no +heart, you know, so I am careful to help all those who may need a +friend, even if it happens to be only a mouse.” + +“Only a mouse!” cried the little animal, indignantly. “Why, I am a +Queen—the Queen of all the Field Mice!” + +“Oh, indeed,” said the Woodman, making a bow. + +“Therefore you have done a great deed, as well as a brave one, in +saving my life,” added the Queen. + +At that moment several mice were seen running up as fast as their +little legs could carry them, and when they saw their Queen they +exclaimed: + +“Oh, your Majesty, we thought you would be killed! How did you manage +to escape the great Wildcat?” They all bowed so low to the little Queen +that they almost stood upon their heads. + +“This funny tin man,” she answered, “killed the Wildcat and saved my +life. So hereafter you must all serve him, and obey his slightest +wish.” + +“We will!” cried all the mice, in a shrill chorus. And then they +scampered in all directions, for Toto had awakened from his sleep, and +seeing all these mice around him he gave one bark of delight and jumped +right into the middle of the group. Toto had always loved to chase mice +when he lived in Kansas, and he saw no harm in it. + +But the Tin Woodman caught the dog in his arms and held him tight, +while he called to the mice, “Come back! Come back! Toto shall not hurt +you.” + +At this the Queen of the Mice stuck her head out from underneath a +clump of grass and asked, in a timid voice, “Are you sure he will not +bite us?” + +“I will not let him,” said the Woodman; “so do not be afraid.” + +One by one the mice came creeping back, and Toto did not bark again, +although he tried to get out of the Woodman’s arms, and would have +bitten him had he not known very well he was made of tin. Finally one +of the biggest mice spoke. + +“Is there anything we can do,” it asked, “to repay you for saving the +life of our Queen?” + +“Nothing that I know of,” answered the Woodman; but the Scarecrow, who +had been trying to think, but could not because his head was stuffed +with straw, said, quickly, “Oh, yes; you can save our friend, the +Cowardly Lion, who is asleep in the poppy bed.” + +“A Lion!” cried the little Queen. “Why, he would eat us all up.” + +“Oh, no,” declared the Scarecrow; “this Lion is a coward.” + +“Really?” asked the Mouse. + +“He says so himself,” answered the Scarecrow, “and he would never hurt +anyone who is our friend. If you will help us to save him I promise +that he shall treat you all with kindness.” + +“Very well,” said the Queen, “we trust you. But what shall we do?” + +“Are there many of these mice which call you Queen and are willing to +obey you?” + +“Oh, yes; there are thousands,” she replied. + +“Then send for them all to come here as soon as possible, and let each +one bring a long piece of string.” + +The Queen turned to the mice that attended her and told them to go at +once and get all her people. As soon as they heard her orders they ran +away in every direction as fast as possible. + +“Now,” said the Scarecrow to the Tin Woodman, “you must go to those +trees by the riverside and make a truck that will carry the Lion.” + +So the Woodman went at once to the trees and began to work; and he soon +made a truck out of the limbs of trees, from which he chopped away all +the leaves and branches. He fastened it together with wooden pegs and +made the four wheels out of short pieces of a big tree trunk. So fast +and so well did he work that by the time the mice began to arrive the +truck was all ready for them. + +They came from all directions, and there were thousands of them: big +mice and little mice and middle-sized mice; and each one brought a +piece of string in his mouth. It was about this time that Dorothy woke +from her long sleep and opened her eyes. She was greatly astonished to +find herself lying upon the grass, with thousands of mice standing +around and looking at her timidly. But the Scarecrow told her about +everything, and turning to the dignified little Mouse, he said: + +“Permit me to introduce to you her Majesty, the Queen.” + +Dorothy nodded gravely and the Queen made a curtsy, after which she +became quite friendly with the little girl. + +The Scarecrow and the Woodman now began to fasten the mice to the +truck, using the strings they had brought. One end of a string was tied +around the neck of each mouse and the other end to the truck. Of course +the truck was a thousand times bigger than any of the mice who were to +draw it; but when all the mice had been harnessed, they were able to +pull it quite easily. Even the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman could sit +on it, and were drawn swiftly by their queer little horses to the place +where the Lion lay asleep. + +After a great deal of hard work, for the Lion was heavy, they managed +to get him up on the truck. Then the Queen hurriedly gave her people +the order to start, for she feared if the mice stayed among the poppies +too long they also would fall asleep. + +At first the little creatures, many though they were, could hardly stir +the heavily loaded truck; but the Woodman and the Scarecrow both pushed +from behind, and they got along better. Soon they rolled the Lion out +of the poppy bed to the green fields, where he could breathe the sweet, +fresh air again, instead of the poisonous scent of the flowers. + +Dorothy came to meet them and thanked the little mice warmly for saving +her companion from death. She had grown so fond of the big Lion she was +glad he had been rescued. + +Then the mice were unharnessed from the truck and scampered away +through the grass to their homes. The Queen of the Mice was the last to +leave. + +“If ever you need us again,” she said, “come out into the field and +call, and we shall hear you and come to your assistance. Good-bye!” + +“Good-bye!” they all answered, and away the Queen ran, while Dorothy +held Toto tightly lest he should run after her and frighten her. + +After this they sat down beside the Lion until he should awaken; and +the Scarecrow brought Dorothy some fruit from a tree near by, which she +ate for her dinner. + + + + +Chapter X +The Guardian of the Gate + + +It was some time before the Cowardly Lion awakened, for he had lain +among the poppies a long while, breathing in their deadly fragrance; +but when he did open his eyes and roll off the truck he was very glad +to find himself still alive. + +“I ran as fast as I could,” he said, sitting down and yawning, “but the +flowers were too strong for me. How did you get me out?” + +Then they told him of the field mice, and how they had generously saved +him from death; and the Cowardly Lion laughed, and said: + +“I have always thought myself very big and terrible; yet such little +things as flowers came near to killing me, and such small animals as +mice have saved my life. How strange it all is! But, comrades, what +shall we do now?” + +“We must journey on until we find the road of yellow brick again,” said +Dorothy, “and then we can keep on to the Emerald City.” + +So, the Lion being fully refreshed, and feeling quite himself again, +they all started upon the journey, greatly enjoying the walk through +the soft, fresh grass; and it was not long before they reached the road +of yellow brick and turned again toward the Emerald City where the +Great Oz dwelt. + +The road was smooth and well paved, now, and the country about was +beautiful, so that the travelers rejoiced in leaving the forest far +behind, and with it the many dangers they had met in its gloomy shades. +Once more they could see fences built beside the road; but these were +painted green, and when they came to a small house, in which a farmer +evidently lived, that also was painted green. They passed by several of +these houses during the afternoon, and sometimes people came to the +doors and looked at them as if they would like to ask questions; but no +one came near them nor spoke to them because of the great Lion, of +which they were very much afraid. The people were all dressed in +clothing of a lovely emerald-green color and wore peaked hats like +those of the Munchkins. + +“This must be the Land of Oz,” said Dorothy, “and we are surely getting +near the Emerald City.” + +“Yes,” answered the Scarecrow. “Everything is green here, while in the +country of the Munchkins blue was the favorite color. But the people do +not seem to be as friendly as the Munchkins, and I’m afraid we shall be +unable to find a place to pass the night.” + +“I should like something to eat besides fruit,” said the girl, “and I’m +sure Toto is nearly starved. Let us stop at the next house and talk to +the people.” + +So, when they came to a good-sized farmhouse, Dorothy walked boldly up +to the door and knocked. + +A woman opened it just far enough to look out, and said, “What do you +want, child, and why is that great Lion with you?” + +“We wish to pass the night with you, if you will allow us,” answered +Dorothy; “and the Lion is my friend and comrade, and would not hurt you +for the world.” + +“Is he tame?” asked the woman, opening the door a little wider. + +“Oh, yes,” said the girl, “and he is a great coward, too. He will be +more afraid of you than you are of him.” + +“Well,” said the woman, after thinking it over and taking another peep +at the Lion, “if that is the case you may come in, and I will give you +some supper and a place to sleep.” + +So they all entered the house, where there were, besides the woman, two +children and a man. The man had hurt his leg, and was lying on the +couch in a corner. They seemed greatly surprised to see so strange a +company, and while the woman was busy laying the table the man asked: + +“Where are you all going?” + +“To the Emerald City,” said Dorothy, “to see the Great Oz.” + +“Oh, indeed!” exclaimed the man. “Are you sure that Oz will see you?” + +“Why not?” she replied. + +“Why, it is said that he never lets anyone come into his presence. I +have been to the Emerald City many times, and it is a beautiful and +wonderful place; but I have never been permitted to see the Great Oz, +nor do I know of any living person who has seen him.” + +“Does he never go out?” asked the Scarecrow. + +“Never. He sits day after day in the great Throne Room of his Palace, +and even those who wait upon him do not see him face to face.” + +“What is he like?” asked the girl. + +“That is hard to tell,” said the man thoughtfully. “You see, Oz is a +Great Wizard, and can take on any form he wishes. So that some say he +looks like a bird; and some say he looks like an elephant; and some say +he looks like a cat. To others he appears as a beautiful fairy, or a +brownie, or in any other form that pleases him. But who the real Oz is, +when he is in his own form, no living person can tell.” + +“That is very strange,” said Dorothy, “but we must try, in some way, to +see him, or we shall have made our journey for nothing.” + +“Why do you wish to see the terrible Oz?” asked the man. + +“I want him to give me some brains,” said the Scarecrow eagerly. + +“Oh, Oz could do that easily enough,” declared the man. “He has more +brains than he needs.” + +“And I want him to give me a heart,” said the Tin Woodman. + +“That will not trouble him,” continued the man, “for Oz has a large +collection of hearts, of all sizes and shapes.” + +“And I want him to give me courage,” said the Cowardly Lion. + +“Oz keeps a great pot of courage in his Throne Room,” said the man, +“which he has covered with a golden plate, to keep it from running +over. He will be glad to give you some.” + +“And I want him to send me back to Kansas,” said Dorothy. + +“Where is Kansas?” asked the man, with surprise. + +“I don’t know,” replied Dorothy sorrowfully, “but it is my home, and +I’m sure it’s somewhere.” + +“Very likely. Well, Oz can do anything; so I suppose he will find +Kansas for you. But first you must get to see him, and that will be a +hard task; for the Great Wizard does not like to see anyone, and he +usually has his own way. But what do YOU want?” he continued, speaking +to Toto. Toto only wagged his tail; for, strange to say, he could not +speak. + +The woman now called to them that supper was ready, so they gathered +around the table and Dorothy ate some delicious porridge and a dish of +scrambled eggs and a plate of nice white bread, and enjoyed her meal. +The Lion ate some of the porridge, but did not care for it, saying it +was made from oats and oats were food for horses, not for lions. The +Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman ate nothing at all. Toto ate a little of +everything, and was glad to get a good supper again. + +The woman now gave Dorothy a bed to sleep in, and Toto lay down beside +her, while the Lion guarded the door of her room so she might not be +disturbed. The Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman stood up in a corner and +kept quiet all night, although of course they could not sleep. + +The next morning, as soon as the sun was up, they started on their way, +and soon saw a beautiful green glow in the sky just before them. + +“That must be the Emerald City,” said Dorothy. + +As they walked on, the green glow became brighter and brighter, and it +seemed that at last they were nearing the end of their travels. Yet it +was afternoon before they came to the great wall that surrounded the +City. It was high and thick and of a bright green color. + +In front of them, and at the end of the road of yellow brick, was a big +gate, all studded with emeralds that glittered so in the sun that even +the painted eyes of the Scarecrow were dazzled by their brilliancy. + +There was a bell beside the gate, and Dorothy pushed the button and +heard a silvery tinkle sound within. Then the big gate swung slowly +open, and they all passed through and found themselves in a high arched +room, the walls of which glistened with countless emeralds. + +Before them stood a little man about the same size as the Munchkins. He +was clothed all in green, from his head to his feet, and even his skin +was of a greenish tint. At his side was a large green box. + +When he saw Dorothy and her companions the man asked, “What do you wish +in the Emerald City?” + +“We came here to see the Great Oz,” said Dorothy. + +The man was so surprised at this answer that he sat down to think it +over. + +“It has been many years since anyone asked me to see Oz,” he said, +shaking his head in perplexity. “He is powerful and terrible, and if +you come on an idle or foolish errand to bother the wise reflections of +the Great Wizard, he might be angry and destroy you all in an instant.” + +“But it is not a foolish errand, nor an idle one,” replied the +Scarecrow; “it is important. And we have been told that Oz is a good +Wizard.” + +“So he is,” said the green man, “and he rules the Emerald City wisely +and well. But to those who are not honest, or who approach him from +curiosity, he is most terrible, and few have ever dared ask to see his +face. I am the Guardian of the Gates, and since you demand to see the +Great Oz I must take you to his Palace. But first you must put on the +spectacles.” + +“Why?” asked Dorothy. + +“Because if you did not wear spectacles the brightness and glory of the +Emerald City would blind you. Even those who live in the City must wear +spectacles night and day. They are all locked on, for Oz so ordered it +when the City was first built, and I have the only key that will unlock +them.” + +He opened the big box, and Dorothy saw that it was filled with +spectacles of every size and shape. All of them had green glasses in +them. The Guardian of the Gates found a pair that would just fit +Dorothy and put them over her eyes. There were two golden bands +fastened to them that passed around the back of her head, where they +were locked together by a little key that was at the end of a chain the +Guardian of the Gates wore around his neck. When they were on, Dorothy +could not take them off had she wished, but of course she did not wish +to be blinded by the glare of the Emerald City, so she said nothing. + +Then the green man fitted spectacles for the Scarecrow and the Tin +Woodman and the Lion, and even on little Toto; and all were locked fast +with the key. + +Then the Guardian of the Gates put on his own glasses and told them he +was ready to show them to the Palace. Taking a big golden key from a +peg on the wall, he opened another gate, and they all followed him +through the portal into the streets of the Emerald City. + + + + +Chapter XI +The Wonderful City of Oz + + +Even with eyes protected by the green spectacles, Dorothy and her +friends were at first dazzled by the brilliancy of the wonderful City. +The streets were lined with beautiful houses all built of green marble +and studded everywhere with sparkling emeralds. They walked over a +pavement of the same green marble, and where the blocks were joined +together were rows of emeralds, set closely, and glittering in the +brightness of the sun. The window panes were of green glass; even the +sky above the City had a green tint, and the rays of the sun were +green. + +There were many people—men, women, and children—walking about, and +these were all dressed in green clothes and had greenish skins. They +looked at Dorothy and her strangely assorted company with wondering +eyes, and the children all ran away and hid behind their mothers when +they saw the Lion; but no one spoke to them. Many shops stood in the +street, and Dorothy saw that everything in them was green. Green candy +and green pop corn were offered for sale, as well as green shoes, green +hats, and green clothes of all sorts. At one place a man was selling +green lemonade, and when the children bought it Dorothy could see that +they paid for it with green pennies. + +There seemed to be no horses nor animals of any kind; the men carried +things around in little green carts, which they pushed before them. +Everyone seemed happy and contented and prosperous. + +The Guardian of the Gates led them through the streets until they came +to a big building, exactly in the middle of the City, which was the +Palace of Oz, the Great Wizard. There was a soldier before the door, +dressed in a green uniform and wearing a long green beard. + +“Here are strangers,” said the Guardian of the Gates to him, “and they +demand to see the Great Oz.” + +“Step inside,” answered the soldier, “and I will carry your message to +him.” + +So they passed through the Palace Gates and were led into a big room +with a green carpet and lovely green furniture set with emeralds. The +soldier made them all wipe their feet upon a green mat before entering +this room, and when they were seated he said politely: + +“Please make yourselves comfortable while I go to the door of the +Throne Room and tell Oz you are here.” + +They had to wait a long time before the soldier returned. When, at +last, he came back, Dorothy asked: + +“Have you seen Oz?” + +“Oh, no,” returned the soldier; “I have never seen him. But I spoke to +him as he sat behind his screen and gave him your message. He said he +will grant you an audience, if you so desire; but each one of you must +enter his presence alone, and he will admit but one each day. +Therefore, as you must remain in the Palace for several days, I will +have you shown to rooms where you may rest in comfort after your +journey.” + +“Thank you,” replied the girl; “that is very kind of Oz.” + +The soldier now blew upon a green whistle, and at once a young girl, +dressed in a pretty green silk gown, entered the room. She had lovely +green hair and green eyes, and she bowed low before Dorothy as she +said, “Follow me and I will show you your room.” + +So Dorothy said good-bye to all her friends except Toto, and taking the +dog in her arms followed the green girl through seven passages and up +three flights of stairs until they came to a room at the front of the +Palace. It was the sweetest little room in the world, with a soft +comfortable bed that had sheets of green silk and a green velvet +counterpane. There was a tiny fountain in the middle of the room, that +shot a spray of green perfume into the air, to fall back into a +beautifully carved green marble basin. Beautiful green flowers stood in +the windows, and there was a shelf with a row of little green books. +When Dorothy had time to open these books she found them full of queer +green pictures that made her laugh, they were so funny. + +In a wardrobe were many green dresses, made of silk and satin and +velvet; and all of them fitted Dorothy exactly. + +“Make yourself perfectly at home,” said the green girl, “and if you +wish for anything ring the bell. Oz will send for you tomorrow +morning.” + +She left Dorothy alone and went back to the others. These she also led +to rooms, and each one of them found himself lodged in a very pleasant +part of the Palace. Of course this politeness was wasted on the +Scarecrow; for when he found himself alone in his room he stood +stupidly in one spot, just within the doorway, to wait till morning. It +would not rest him to lie down, and he could not close his eyes; so he +remained all night staring at a little spider which was weaving its web +in a corner of the room, just as if it were not one of the most +wonderful rooms in the world. The Tin Woodman lay down on his bed from +force of habit, for he remembered when he was made of flesh; but not +being able to sleep, he passed the night moving his joints up and down +to make sure they kept in good working order. The Lion would have +preferred a bed of dried leaves in the forest, and did not like being +shut up in a room; but he had too much sense to let this worry him, so +he sprang upon the bed and rolled himself up like a cat and purred +himself asleep in a minute. + +The next morning, after breakfast, the green maiden came to fetch +Dorothy, and she dressed her in one of the prettiest gowns, made of +green brocaded satin. Dorothy put on a green silk apron and tied a +green ribbon around Toto’s neck, and they started for the Throne Room +of the Great Oz. + +First they came to a great hall in which were many ladies and gentlemen +of the court, all dressed in rich costumes. These people had nothing to +do but talk to each other, but they always came to wait outside the +Throne Room every morning, although they were never permitted to see +Oz. As Dorothy entered they looked at her curiously, and one of them +whispered: + +“Are you really going to look upon the face of Oz the Terrible?” + +“Of course,” answered the girl, “if he will see me.” + +“Oh, he will see you,” said the soldier who had taken her message to +the Wizard, “although he does not like to have people ask to see him. +Indeed, at first he was angry and said I should send you back where you +came from. Then he asked me what you looked like, and when I mentioned +your silver shoes he was very much interested. At last I told him about +the mark upon your forehead, and he decided he would admit you to his +presence.” + +Just then a bell rang, and the green girl said to Dorothy, “That is the +signal. You must go into the Throne Room alone.” + +She opened a little door and Dorothy walked boldly through and found +herself in a wonderful place. It was a big, round room with a high +arched roof, and the walls and ceiling and floor were covered with +large emeralds set closely together. In the center of the roof was a +great light, as bright as the sun, which made the emeralds sparkle in a +wonderful manner. + +But what interested Dorothy most was the big throne of green marble +that stood in the middle of the room. It was shaped like a chair and +sparkled with gems, as did everything else. In the center of the chair +was an enormous Head, without a body to support it or any arms or legs +whatever. There was no hair upon this head, but it had eyes and a nose +and mouth, and was much bigger than the head of the biggest giant. + +As Dorothy gazed upon this in wonder and fear, the eyes turned slowly +and looked at her sharply and steadily. Then the mouth moved, and +Dorothy heard a voice say: + +“I am Oz, the Great and Terrible. Who are you, and why do you seek me?” + +It was not such an awful voice as she had expected to come from the big +Head; so she took courage and answered: + +“I am Dorothy, the Small and Meek. I have come to you for help.” + +The eyes looked at her thoughtfully for a full minute. Then said the +voice: + +“Where did you get the silver shoes?” + +“I got them from the Wicked Witch of the East, when my house fell on +her and killed her,” she replied. + +“Where did you get the mark upon your forehead?” continued the voice. + +“That is where the Good Witch of the North kissed me when she bade me +good-bye and sent me to you,” said the girl. + +Again the eyes looked at her sharply, and they saw she was telling the +truth. Then Oz asked, “What do you wish me to do?” + +“Send me back to Kansas, where my Aunt Em and Uncle Henry are,” she +answered earnestly. “I don’t like your country, although it is so +beautiful. And I am sure Aunt Em will be dreadfully worried over my +being away so long.” + +The eyes winked three times, and then they turned up to the ceiling and +down to the floor and rolled around so queerly that they seemed to see +every part of the room. And at last they looked at Dorothy again. + +“Why should I do this for you?” asked Oz. + +“Because you are strong and I am weak; because you are a Great Wizard +and I am only a little girl.” + +“But you were strong enough to kill the Wicked Witch of the East,” said +Oz. + +“That just happened,” returned Dorothy simply; “I could not help it.” + +“Well,” said the Head, “I will give you my answer. You have no right to +expect me to send you back to Kansas unless you do something for me in +return. In this country everyone must pay for everything he gets. If +you wish me to use my magic power to send you home again you must do +something for me first. Help me and I will help you.” + +“What must I do?” asked the girl. + +“Kill the Wicked Witch of the West,” answered Oz. + +“But I cannot!” exclaimed Dorothy, greatly surprised. + +“You killed the Witch of the East and you wear the silver shoes, which +bear a powerful charm. There is now but one Wicked Witch left in all +this land, and when you can tell me she is dead I will send you back to +Kansas—but not before.” + +The little girl began to weep, she was so much disappointed; and the +eyes winked again and looked upon her anxiously, as if the Great Oz +felt that she could help him if she would. + +“I never killed anything, willingly,” she sobbed. “Even if I wanted to, +how could I kill the Wicked Witch? If you, who are Great and Terrible, +cannot kill her yourself, how do you expect me to do it?” + +“I do not know,” said the Head; “but that is my answer, and until the +Wicked Witch dies you will not see your uncle and aunt again. Remember +that the Witch is Wicked—tremendously Wicked—and ought to be killed. +Now go, and do not ask to see me again until you have done your task.” + +Sorrowfully Dorothy left the Throne Room and went back where the Lion +and the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman were waiting to hear what Oz had +said to her. “There is no hope for me,” she said sadly, “for Oz will +not send me home until I have killed the Wicked Witch of the West; and +that I can never do.” + +Her friends were sorry, but could do nothing to help her; so Dorothy +went to her own room and lay down on the bed and cried herself to +sleep. + +The next morning the soldier with the green whiskers came to the +Scarecrow and said: + +“Come with me, for Oz has sent for you.” + +So the Scarecrow followed him and was admitted into the great Throne +Room, where he saw, sitting in the emerald throne, a most lovely Lady. +She was dressed in green silk gauze and wore upon her flowing green +locks a crown of jewels. Growing from her shoulders were wings, +gorgeous in color and so light that they fluttered if the slightest +breath of air reached them. + +When the Scarecrow had bowed, as prettily as his straw stuffing would +let him, before this beautiful creature, she looked upon him sweetly, +and said: + +“I am Oz, the Great and Terrible. Who are you, and why do you seek me?” + +Now the Scarecrow, who had expected to see the great Head Dorothy had +told him of, was much astonished; but he answered her bravely. + +“I am only a Scarecrow, stuffed with straw. Therefore I have no brains, +and I come to you praying that you will put brains in my head instead +of straw, so that I may become as much a man as any other in your +dominions.” + +“Why should I do this for you?” asked the Lady. + +“Because you are wise and powerful, and no one else can help me,” +answered the Scarecrow. + +“I never grant favors without some return,” said Oz; “but this much I +will promise. If you will kill for me the Wicked Witch of the West, I +will bestow upon you a great many brains, and such good brains that you +will be the wisest man in all the Land of Oz.” + +“I thought you asked Dorothy to kill the Witch,” said the Scarecrow, in +surprise. + +“So I did. I don’t care who kills her. But until she is dead I will not +grant your wish. Now go, and do not seek me again until you have earned +the brains you so greatly desire.” + +The Scarecrow went sorrowfully back to his friends and told them what +Oz had said; and Dorothy was surprised to find that the Great Wizard +was not a Head, as she had seen him, but a lovely Lady. + +“All the same,” said the Scarecrow, “she needs a heart as much as the +Tin Woodman.” + +On the next morning the soldier with the green whiskers came to the Tin +Woodman and said: + +“Oz has sent for you. Follow me.” + +So the Tin Woodman followed him and came to the great Throne Room. He +did not know whether he would find Oz a lovely Lady or a Head, but he +hoped it would be the lovely Lady. “For,” he said to himself, “if it is +the head, I am sure I shall not be given a heart, since a head has no +heart of its own and therefore cannot feel for me. But if it is the +lovely Lady I shall beg hard for a heart, for all ladies are themselves +said to be kindly hearted.” + +But when the Woodman entered the great Throne Room he saw neither the +Head nor the Lady, for Oz had taken the shape of a most terrible Beast. +It was nearly as big as an elephant, and the green throne seemed hardly +strong enough to hold its weight. The Beast had a head like that of a +rhinoceros, only there were five eyes in its face. There were five long +arms growing out of its body, and it also had five long, slim legs. +Thick, woolly hair covered every part of it, and a more +dreadful-looking monster could not be imagined. It was fortunate the +Tin Woodman had no heart at that moment, for it would have beat loud +and fast from terror. But being only tin, the Woodman was not at all +afraid, although he was much disappointed. + +“I am Oz, the Great and Terrible,” spoke the Beast, in a voice that was +one great roar. “Who are you, and why do you seek me?” + +“I am a Woodman, and made of tin. Therefore I have no heart, and cannot +love. I pray you to give me a heart that I may be as other men are.” + +“Why should I do this?” demanded the Beast. + +“Because I ask it, and you alone can grant my request,” answered the +Woodman. + +Oz gave a low growl at this, but said, gruffly: “If you indeed desire a +heart, you must earn it.” + +“How?” asked the Woodman. + +“Help Dorothy to kill the Wicked Witch of the West,” replied the Beast. +“When the Witch is dead, come to me, and I will then give you the +biggest and kindest and most loving heart in all the Land of Oz.” + +So the Tin Woodman was forced to return sorrowfully to his friends and +tell them of the terrible Beast he had seen. They all wondered greatly +at the many forms the Great Wizard could take upon himself, and the +Lion said: + +“If he is a Beast when I go to see him, I shall roar my loudest, and so +frighten him that he will grant all I ask. And if he is the lovely +Lady, I shall pretend to spring upon her, and so compel her to do my +bidding. And if he is the great Head, he will be at my mercy; for I +will roll this head all about the room until he promises to give us +what we desire. So be of good cheer, my friends, for all will yet be +well.” + +The next morning the soldier with the green whiskers led the Lion to +the great Throne Room and bade him enter the presence of Oz. + +The Lion at once passed through the door, and glancing around saw, to +his surprise, that before the throne was a Ball of Fire, so fierce and +glowing he could scarcely bear to gaze upon it. His first thought was +that Oz had by accident caught on fire and was burning up; but when he +tried to go nearer, the heat was so intense that it singed his +whiskers, and he crept back tremblingly to a spot nearer the door. + +Then a low, quiet voice came from the Ball of Fire, and these were the +words it spoke: + +“I am Oz, the Great and Terrible. Who are you, and why do you seek me?” + +And the Lion answered, “I am a Cowardly Lion, afraid of everything. I +came to you to beg that you give me courage, so that in reality I may +become the King of Beasts, as men call me.” + +“Why should I give you courage?” demanded Oz. + +“Because of all Wizards you are the greatest, and alone have power to +grant my request,” answered the Lion. + +The Ball of Fire burned fiercely for a time, and the voice said, “Bring +me proof that the Wicked Witch is dead, and that moment I will give you +courage. But as long as the Witch lives, you must remain a coward.” + +The Lion was angry at this speech, but could say nothing in reply, and +while he stood silently gazing at the Ball of Fire it became so +furiously hot that he turned tail and rushed from the room. He was glad +to find his friends waiting for him, and told them of his terrible +interview with the Wizard. + +“What shall we do now?” asked Dorothy sadly. + +“There is only one thing we can do,” returned the Lion, “and that is to +go to the land of the Winkies, seek out the Wicked Witch, and destroy +her.” + +“But suppose we cannot?” said the girl. + +“Then I shall never have courage,” declared the Lion. + +“And I shall never have brains,” added the Scarecrow. + +“And I shall never have a heart,” spoke the Tin Woodman. + +“And I shall never see Aunt Em and Uncle Henry,” said Dorothy, +beginning to cry. + +“Be careful!” cried the green girl. “The tears will fall on your green +silk gown and spot it.” + +So Dorothy dried her eyes and said, “I suppose we must try it; but I am +sure I do not want to kill anybody, even to see Aunt Em again.” + +“I will go with you; but I’m too much of a coward to kill the Witch,” +said the Lion. + +“I will go too,” declared the Scarecrow; “but I shall not be of much +help to you, I am such a fool.” + +“I haven’t the heart to harm even a Witch,” remarked the Tin Woodman; +“but if you go I certainly shall go with you.” + +Therefore it was decided to start upon their journey the next morning, +and the Woodman sharpened his axe on a green grindstone and had all his +joints properly oiled. The Scarecrow stuffed himself with fresh straw +and Dorothy put new paint on his eyes that he might see better. The +green girl, who was very kind to them, filled Dorothy’s basket with +good things to eat, and fastened a little bell around Toto’s neck with +a green ribbon. + +They went to bed quite early and slept soundly until daylight, when +they were awakened by the crowing of a green cock that lived in the +back yard of the Palace, and the cackling of a hen that had laid a +green egg. + + + + +Chapter XII +The Search for the Wicked Witch + + +The soldier with the green whiskers led them through the streets of the +Emerald City until they reached the room where the Guardian of the +Gates lived. This officer unlocked their spectacles to put them back in +his great box, and then he politely opened the gate for our friends. + +“Which road leads to the Wicked Witch of the West?” asked Dorothy. + +“There is no road,” answered the Guardian of the Gates. “No one ever +wishes to go that way.” + +“How, then, are we to find her?” inquired the girl. + +“That will be easy,” replied the man, “for when she knows you are in +the country of the Winkies she will find you, and make you all her +slaves.” + +“Perhaps not,” said the Scarecrow, “for we mean to destroy her.” + +“Oh, that is different,” said the Guardian of the Gates. “No one has +ever destroyed her before, so I naturally thought she would make slaves +of you, as she has of the rest. But take care; for she is wicked and +fierce, and may not allow you to destroy her. Keep to the West, where +the sun sets, and you cannot fail to find her.” + +They thanked him and bade him good-bye, and turned toward the West, +walking over fields of soft grass dotted here and there with daisies +and buttercups. Dorothy still wore the pretty silk dress she had put on +in the palace, but now, to her surprise, she found it was no longer +green, but pure white. The ribbon around Toto’s neck had also lost its +green color and was as white as Dorothy’s dress. + +The Emerald City was soon left far behind. As they advanced the ground +became rougher and hillier, for there were no farms nor houses in this +country of the West, and the ground was untilled. + +In the afternoon the sun shone hot in their faces, for there were no +trees to offer them shade; so that before night Dorothy and Toto and +the Lion were tired, and lay down upon the grass and fell asleep, with +the Woodman and the Scarecrow keeping watch. + +Now the Wicked Witch of the West had but one eye, yet that was as +powerful as a telescope, and could see everywhere. So, as she sat in +the door of her castle, she happened to look around and saw Dorothy +lying asleep, with her friends all about her. They were a long distance +off, but the Wicked Witch was angry to find them in her country; so she +blew upon a silver whistle that hung around her neck. + +At once there came running to her from all directions a pack of great +wolves. They had long legs and fierce eyes and sharp teeth. + +“Go to those people,” said the Witch, “and tear them to pieces.” + +“Are you not going to make them your slaves?” asked the leader of the +wolves. + +“No,” she answered, “one is of tin, and one of straw; one is a girl and +another a Lion. None of them is fit to work, so you may tear them into +small pieces.” + +“Very well,” said the wolf, and he dashed away at full speed, followed +by the others. + +It was lucky the Scarecrow and the Woodman were wide awake and heard +the wolves coming. + +“This is my fight,” said the Woodman, “so get behind me and I will meet +them as they come.” + +He seized his axe, which he had made very sharp, and as the leader of +the wolves came on the Tin Woodman swung his arm and chopped the wolf’s +head from its body, so that it immediately died. As soon as he could +raise his axe another wolf came up, and he also fell under the sharp +edge of the Tin Woodman’s weapon. There were forty wolves, and forty +times a wolf was killed, so that at last they all lay dead in a heap +before the Woodman. + +Then he put down his axe and sat beside the Scarecrow, who said, “It +was a good fight, friend.” + +They waited until Dorothy awoke the next morning. The little girl was +quite frightened when she saw the great pile of shaggy wolves, but the +Tin Woodman told her all. She thanked him for saving them and sat down +to breakfast, after which they started again upon their journey. + +Now this same morning the Wicked Witch came to the door of her castle +and looked out with her one eye that could see far off. She saw all her +wolves lying dead, and the strangers still traveling through her +country. This made her angrier than before, and she blew her silver +whistle twice. + +Straightway a great flock of wild crows came flying toward her, enough +to darken the sky. + +And the Wicked Witch said to the King Crow, “Fly at once to the +strangers; peck out their eyes and tear them to pieces.” + +The wild crows flew in one great flock toward Dorothy and her +companions. When the little girl saw them coming she was afraid. + +But the Scarecrow said, “This is my battle, so lie down beside me and +you will not be harmed.” + +So they all lay upon the ground except the Scarecrow, and he stood up +and stretched out his arms. And when the crows saw him they were +frightened, as these birds always are by scarecrows, and did not dare +to come any nearer. But the King Crow said: + +“It is only a stuffed man. I will peck his eyes out.” + +The King Crow flew at the Scarecrow, who caught it by the head and +twisted its neck until it died. And then another crow flew at him, and +the Scarecrow twisted its neck also. There were forty crows, and forty +times the Scarecrow twisted a neck, until at last all were lying dead +beside him. Then he called to his companions to rise, and again they +went upon their journey. + +When the Wicked Witch looked out again and saw all her crows lying in a +heap, she got into a terrible rage, and blew three times upon her +silver whistle. + +Forthwith there was heard a great buzzing in the air, and a swarm of +black bees came flying toward her. + +“Go to the strangers and sting them to death!” commanded the Witch, and +the bees turned and flew rapidly until they came to where Dorothy and +her friends were walking. But the Woodman had seen them coming, and the +Scarecrow had decided what to do. + +“Take out my straw and scatter it over the little girl and the dog and +the Lion,” he said to the Woodman, “and the bees cannot sting them.” +This the Woodman did, and as Dorothy lay close beside the Lion and held +Toto in her arms, the straw covered them entirely. + +The bees came and found no one but the Woodman to sting, so they flew +at him and broke off all their stings against the tin, without hurting +the Woodman at all. And as bees cannot live when their stings are +broken that was the end of the black bees, and they lay scattered thick +about the Woodman, like little heaps of fine coal. + +Then Dorothy and the Lion got up, and the girl helped the Tin Woodman +put the straw back into the Scarecrow again, until he was as good as +ever. So they started upon their journey once more. + +The Wicked Witch was so angry when she saw her black bees in little +heaps like fine coal that she stamped her foot and tore her hair and +gnashed her teeth. And then she called a dozen of her slaves, who were +the Winkies, and gave them sharp spears, telling them to go to the +strangers and destroy them. + +The Winkies were not a brave people, but they had to do as they were +told. So they marched away until they came near to Dorothy. Then the +Lion gave a great roar and sprang towards them, and the poor Winkies +were so frightened that they ran back as fast as they could. + +When they returned to the castle the Wicked Witch beat them well with a +strap, and sent them back to their work, after which she sat down to +think what she should do next. She could not understand how all her +plans to destroy these strangers had failed; but she was a powerful +Witch, as well as a wicked one, and she soon made up her mind how to +act. + +There was, in her cupboard, a Golden Cap, with a circle of diamonds and +rubies running round it. This Golden Cap had a charm. Whoever owned it +could call three times upon the Winged Monkeys, who would obey any +order they were given. But no person could command these strange +creatures more than three times. Twice already the Wicked Witch had +used the charm of the Cap. Once was when she had made the Winkies her +slaves, and set herself to rule over their country. The Winged Monkeys +had helped her do this. The second time was when she had fought against +the Great Oz himself, and driven him out of the land of the West. The +Winged Monkeys had also helped her in doing this. Only once more could +she use this Golden Cap, for which reason she did not like to do so +until all her other powers were exhausted. But now that her fierce +wolves and her wild crows and her stinging bees were gone, and her +slaves had been scared away by the Cowardly Lion, she saw there was +only one way left to destroy Dorothy and her friends. + +So the Wicked Witch took the Golden Cap from her cupboard and placed it +upon her head. Then she stood upon her left foot and said slowly: + +“Ep-pe, pep-pe, kak-ke!” + +Next she stood upon her right foot and said: + +“Hil-lo, hol-lo, hel-lo!” + +After this she stood upon both feet and cried in a loud voice: + +“Ziz-zy, zuz-zy, zik!” + +Now the charm began to work. The sky was darkened, and a low rumbling +sound was heard in the air. There was a rushing of many wings, a great +chattering and laughing, and the sun came out of the dark sky to show +the Wicked Witch surrounded by a crowd of monkeys, each with a pair of +immense and powerful wings on his shoulders. + +One, much bigger than the others, seemed to be their leader. He flew +close to the Witch and said, “You have called us for the third and last +time. What do you command?” + +“Go to the strangers who are within my land and destroy them all except +the Lion,” said the Wicked Witch. “Bring that beast to me, for I have a +mind to harness him like a horse, and make him work.” + +“Your commands shall be obeyed,” said the leader. Then, with a great +deal of chattering and noise, the Winged Monkeys flew away to the place +where Dorothy and her friends were walking. + +Some of the Monkeys seized the Tin Woodman and carried him through the +air until they were over a country thickly covered with sharp rocks. +Here they dropped the poor Woodman, who fell a great distance to the +rocks, where he lay so battered and dented that he could neither move +nor groan. + +Others of the Monkeys caught the Scarecrow, and with their long fingers +pulled all of the straw out of his clothes and head. They made his hat +and boots and clothes into a small bundle and threw it into the top +branches of a tall tree. + +The remaining Monkeys threw pieces of stout rope around the Lion and +wound many coils about his body and head and legs, until he was unable +to bite or scratch or struggle in any way. Then they lifted him up and +flew away with him to the Witch’s castle, where he was placed in a +small yard with a high iron fence around it, so that he could not +escape. + +But Dorothy they did not harm at all. She stood, with Toto in her arms, +watching the sad fate of her comrades and thinking it would soon be her +turn. The leader of the Winged Monkeys flew up to her, his long, hairy +arms stretched out and his ugly face grinning terribly; but he saw the +mark of the Good Witch’s kiss upon her forehead and stopped short, +motioning the others not to touch her. + +“We dare not harm this little girl,” he said to them, “for she is +protected by the Power of Good, and that is greater than the Power of +Evil. All we can do is to carry her to the castle of the Wicked Witch +and leave her there.” + +So, carefully and gently, they lifted Dorothy in their arms and carried +her swiftly through the air until they came to the castle, where they +set her down upon the front doorstep. Then the leader said to the +Witch: + +“We have obeyed you as far as we were able. The Tin Woodman and the +Scarecrow are destroyed, and the Lion is tied up in your yard. The +little girl we dare not harm, nor the dog she carries in her arms. Your +power over our band is now ended, and you will never see us again.” + +Then all the Winged Monkeys, with much laughing and chattering and +noise, flew into the air and were soon out of sight. + +The Wicked Witch was both surprised and worried when she saw the mark +on Dorothy’s forehead, for she knew well that neither the Winged +Monkeys nor she, herself, dare hurt the girl in any way. She looked +down at Dorothy’s feet, and seeing the Silver Shoes, began to tremble +with fear, for she knew what a powerful charm belonged to them. At +first the Witch was tempted to run away from Dorothy; but she happened +to look into the child’s eyes and saw how simple the soul behind them +was, and that the little girl did not know of the wonderful power the +Silver Shoes gave her. So the Wicked Witch laughed to herself, and +thought, “I can still make her my slave, for she does not know how to +use her power.” Then she said to Dorothy, harshly and severely: + +“Come with me; and see that you mind everything I tell you, for if you +do not I will make an end of you, as I did of the Tin Woodman and the +Scarecrow.” + +Dorothy followed her through many of the beautiful rooms in her castle +until they came to the kitchen, where the Witch bade her clean the pots +and kettles and sweep the floor and keep the fire fed with wood. + +Dorothy went to work meekly, with her mind made up to work as hard as +she could; for she was glad the Wicked Witch had decided not to kill +her. + +With Dorothy hard at work, the Witch thought she would go into the +courtyard and harness the Cowardly Lion like a horse; it would amuse +her, she was sure, to make him draw her chariot whenever she wished to +go to drive. But as she opened the gate the Lion gave a loud roar and +bounded at her so fiercely that the Witch was afraid, and ran out and +shut the gate again. + +“If I cannot harness you,” said the Witch to the Lion, speaking through +the bars of the gate, “I can starve you. You shall have nothing to eat +until you do as I wish.” + +So after that she took no food to the imprisoned Lion; but every day +she came to the gate at noon and asked, “Are you ready to be harnessed +like a horse?” + +And the Lion would answer, “No. If you come in this yard, I will bite +you.” + +The reason the Lion did not have to do as the Witch wished was that +every night, while the woman was asleep, Dorothy carried him food from +the cupboard. After he had eaten he would lie down on his bed of straw, +and Dorothy would lie beside him and put her head on his soft, shaggy +mane, while they talked of their troubles and tried to plan some way to +escape. But they could find no way to get out of the castle, for it was +constantly guarded by the yellow Winkies, who were the slaves of the +Wicked Witch and too afraid of her not to do as she told them. + +The girl had to work hard during the day, and often the Witch +threatened to beat her with the same old umbrella she always carried in +her hand. But, in truth, she did not dare to strike Dorothy, because of +the mark upon her forehead. The child did not know this, and was full +of fear for herself and Toto. Once the Witch struck Toto a blow with +her umbrella and the brave little dog flew at her and bit her leg in +return. The Witch did not bleed where she was bitten, for she was so +wicked that the blood in her had dried up many years before. + +Dorothy’s life became very sad as she grew to understand that it would +be harder than ever to get back to Kansas and Aunt Em again. Sometimes +she would cry bitterly for hours, with Toto sitting at her feet and +looking into her face, whining dismally to show how sorry he was for +his little mistress. Toto did not really care whether he was in Kansas +or the Land of Oz so long as Dorothy was with him; but he knew the +little girl was unhappy, and that made him unhappy too. + +Now the Wicked Witch had a great longing to have for her own the Silver +Shoes which the girl always wore. Her bees and her crows and her wolves +were lying in heaps and drying up, and she had used up all the power of +the Golden Cap; but if she could only get hold of the Silver Shoes, +they would give her more power than all the other things she had lost. +She watched Dorothy carefully, to see if she ever took off her shoes, +thinking she might steal them. But the child was so proud of her pretty +shoes that she never took them off except at night and when she took +her bath. The Witch was too much afraid of the dark to dare go in +Dorothy’s room at night to take the shoes, and her dread of water was +greater than her fear of the dark, so she never came near when Dorothy +was bathing. Indeed, the old Witch never touched water, nor ever let +water touch her in any way. + +But the wicked creature was very cunning, and she finally thought of a +trick that would give her what she wanted. She placed a bar of iron in +the middle of the kitchen floor, and then by her magic arts made the +iron invisible to human eyes. So that when Dorothy walked across the +floor she stumbled over the bar, not being able to see it, and fell at +full length. She was not much hurt, but in her fall one of the Silver +Shoes came off; and before she could reach it, the Witch had snatched +it away and put it on her own skinny foot. + +The wicked woman was greatly pleased with the success of her trick, for +as long as she had one of the shoes she owned half the power of their +charm, and Dorothy could not use it against her, even had she known how +to do so. + +The little girl, seeing she had lost one of her pretty shoes, grew +angry, and said to the Witch, “Give me back my shoe!” + +“I will not,” retorted the Witch, “for it is now my shoe, and not +yours.” + +“You are a wicked creature!” cried Dorothy. “You have no right to take +my shoe from me.” + +“I shall keep it, just the same,” said the Witch, laughing at her, “and +someday I shall get the other one from you, too.” + +This made Dorothy so very angry that she picked up the bucket of water +that stood near and dashed it over the Witch, wetting her from head to +foot. + +Instantly the wicked woman gave a loud cry of fear, and then, as +Dorothy looked at her in wonder, the Witch began to shrink and fall +away. + +“See what you have done!” she screamed. “In a minute I shall melt +away.” + +“I’m very sorry, indeed,” said Dorothy, who was truly frightened to see +the Witch actually melting away like brown sugar before her very eyes. + +“Didn’t you know water would be the end of me?” asked the Witch, in a +wailing, despairing voice. + +“Of course not,” answered Dorothy. “How should I?” + +“Well, in a few minutes I shall be all melted, and you will have the +castle to yourself. I have been wicked in my day, but I never thought a +little girl like you would ever be able to melt me and end my wicked +deeds. Look out—here I go!” + +With these words the Witch fell down in a brown, melted, shapeless mass +and began to spread over the clean boards of the kitchen floor. Seeing +that she had really melted away to nothing, Dorothy drew another bucket +of water and threw it over the mess. She then swept it all out the +door. After picking out the silver shoe, which was all that was left of +the old woman, she cleaned and dried it with a cloth, and put it on her +foot again. Then, being at last free to do as she chose, she ran out to +the courtyard to tell the Lion that the Wicked Witch of the West had +come to an end, and that they were no longer prisoners in a strange +land. + + + + +Chapter XIII +The Rescue + + +The Cowardly Lion was much pleased to hear that the Wicked Witch had +been melted by a bucket of water, and Dorothy at once unlocked the gate +of his prison and set him free. They went in together to the castle, +where Dorothy’s first act was to call all the Winkies together and tell +them that they were no longer slaves. + +There was great rejoicing among the yellow Winkies, for they had been +made to work hard during many years for the Wicked Witch, who had +always treated them with great cruelty. They kept this day as a +holiday, then and ever after, and spent the time in feasting and +dancing. + +“If our friends, the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, were only with us,” +said the Lion, “I should be quite happy.” + +“Don’t you suppose we could rescue them?” asked the girl anxiously. + +“We can try,” answered the Lion. + +So they called the yellow Winkies and asked them if they would help to +rescue their friends, and the Winkies said that they would be delighted +to do all in their power for Dorothy, who had set them free from +bondage. So she chose a number of the Winkies who looked as if they +knew the most, and they all started away. They traveled that day and +part of the next until they came to the rocky plain where the Tin +Woodman lay, all battered and bent. His axe was near him, but the blade +was rusted and the handle broken off short. + +The Winkies lifted him tenderly in their arms, and carried him back to +the Yellow Castle again, Dorothy shedding a few tears by the way at the +sad plight of her old friend, and the Lion looking sober and sorry. +When they reached the castle Dorothy said to the Winkies: + +“Are any of your people tinsmiths?” + +“Oh, yes. Some of us are very good tinsmiths,” they told her. + +“Then bring them to me,” she said. And when the tinsmiths came, +bringing with them all their tools in baskets, she inquired, “Can you +straighten out those dents in the Tin Woodman, and bend him back into +shape again, and solder him together where he is broken?” + +The tinsmiths looked the Woodman over carefully and then answered that +they thought they could mend him so he would be as good as ever. So +they set to work in one of the big yellow rooms of the castle and +worked for three days and four nights, hammering and twisting and +bending and soldering and polishing and pounding at the legs and body +and head of the Tin Woodman, until at last he was straightened out into +his old form, and his joints worked as well as ever. To be sure, there +were several patches on him, but the tinsmiths did a good job, and as +the Woodman was not a vain man he did not mind the patches at all. + +When, at last, he walked into Dorothy’s room and thanked her for +rescuing him, he was so pleased that he wept tears of joy, and Dorothy +had to wipe every tear carefully from his face with her apron, so his +joints would not be rusted. At the same time her own tears fell thick +and fast at the joy of meeting her old friend again, and these tears +did not need to be wiped away. As for the Lion, he wiped his eyes so +often with the tip of his tail that it became quite wet, and he was +obliged to go out into the courtyard and hold it in the sun till it +dried. + +“If we only had the Scarecrow with us again,” said the Tin Woodman, +when Dorothy had finished telling him everything that had happened, “I +should be quite happy.” + +“We must try to find him,” said the girl. + +So she called the Winkies to help her, and they walked all that day and +part of the next until they came to the tall tree in the branches of +which the Winged Monkeys had tossed the Scarecrow’s clothes. + +It was a very tall tree, and the trunk was so smooth that no one could +climb it; but the Woodman said at once, “I’ll chop it down, and then we +can get the Scarecrow’s clothes.” + +Now while the tinsmiths had been at work mending the Woodman himself, +another of the Winkies, who was a goldsmith, had made an axe-handle of +solid gold and fitted it to the Woodman’s axe, instead of the old +broken handle. Others polished the blade until all the rust was removed +and it glistened like burnished silver. + +As soon as he had spoken, the Tin Woodman began to chop, and in a short +time the tree fell over with a crash, whereupon the Scarecrow’s clothes +fell out of the branches and rolled off on the ground. + +Dorothy picked them up and had the Winkies carry them back to the +castle, where they were stuffed with nice, clean straw; and behold! +here was the Scarecrow, as good as ever, thanking them over and over +again for saving him. + +Now that they were reunited, Dorothy and her friends spent a few happy +days at the Yellow Castle, where they found everything they needed to +make them comfortable. + +But one day the girl thought of Aunt Em, and said, “We must go back to +Oz, and claim his promise.” + +“Yes,” said the Woodman, “at last I shall get my heart.” + +“And I shall get my brains,” added the Scarecrow joyfully. + +“And I shall get my courage,” said the Lion thoughtfully. + +“And I shall get back to Kansas,” cried Dorothy, clapping her hands. +“Oh, let us start for the Emerald City tomorrow!” + +This they decided to do. The next day they called the Winkies together +and bade them good-bye. The Winkies were sorry to have them go, and +they had grown so fond of the Tin Woodman that they begged him to stay +and rule over them and the Yellow Land of the West. Finding they were +determined to go, the Winkies gave Toto and the Lion each a golden +collar; and to Dorothy they presented a beautiful bracelet studded with +diamonds; and to the Scarecrow they gave a gold-headed walking stick, +to keep him from stumbling; and to the Tin Woodman they offered a +silver oil-can, inlaid with gold and set with precious jewels. + +Every one of the travelers made the Winkies a pretty speech in return, +and all shook hands with them until their arms ached. + +Dorothy went to the Witch’s cupboard to fill her basket with food for +the journey, and there she saw the Golden Cap. She tried it on her own +head and found that it fitted her exactly. She did not know anything +about the charm of the Golden Cap, but she saw that it was pretty, so +she made up her mind to wear it and carry her sunbonnet in the basket. + +Then, being prepared for the journey, they all started for the Emerald +City; and the Winkies gave them three cheers and many good wishes to +carry with them. + + + + +Chapter XIV +The Winged Monkeys + + +You will remember there was no road—not even a pathway—between the +castle of the Wicked Witch and the Emerald City. When the four +travelers went in search of the Witch she had seen them coming, and so +sent the Winged Monkeys to bring them to her. It was much harder to +find their way back through the big fields of buttercups and yellow +daisies than it was being carried. They knew, of course, they must go +straight east, toward the rising sun; and they started off in the right +way. But at noon, when the sun was over their heads, they did not know +which was east and which was west, and that was the reason they were +lost in the great fields. They kept on walking, however, and at night +the moon came out and shone brightly. So they lay down among the sweet +smelling yellow flowers and slept soundly until morning—all but the +Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman. + +The next morning the sun was behind a cloud, but they started on, as if +they were quite sure which way they were going. + +“If we walk far enough,” said Dorothy, “I am sure we shall sometime +come to some place.” + +But day by day passed away, and they still saw nothing before them but +the scarlet fields. The Scarecrow began to grumble a bit. + +“We have surely lost our way,” he said, “and unless we find it again in +time to reach the Emerald City, I shall never get my brains.” + +“Nor I my heart,” declared the Tin Woodman. “It seems to me I can +scarcely wait till I get to Oz, and you must admit this is a very long +journey.” + +“You see,” said the Cowardly Lion, with a whimper, “I haven’t the +courage to keep tramping forever, without getting anywhere at all.” + +Then Dorothy lost heart. She sat down on the grass and looked at her +companions, and they sat down and looked at her, and Toto found that +for the first time in his life he was too tired to chase a butterfly +that flew past his head. So he put out his tongue and panted and looked +at Dorothy as if to ask what they should do next. + +“Suppose we call the field mice,” she suggested. “They could probably +tell us the way to the Emerald City.” + +“To be sure they could,” cried the Scarecrow. “Why didn’t we think of +that before?” + +Dorothy blew the little whistle she had always carried about her neck +since the Queen of the Mice had given it to her. In a few minutes they +heard the pattering of tiny feet, and many of the small gray mice came +running up to her. Among them was the Queen herself, who asked, in her +squeaky little voice: + +“What can I do for my friends?” + +“We have lost our way,” said Dorothy. “Can you tell us where the +Emerald City is?” + +“Certainly,” answered the Queen; “but it is a great way off, for you +have had it at your backs all this time.” Then she noticed Dorothy’s +Golden Cap, and said, “Why don’t you use the charm of the Cap, and call +the Winged Monkeys to you? They will carry you to the City of Oz in +less than an hour.” + +“I didn’t know there was a charm,” answered Dorothy, in surprise. “What +is it?” + +“It is written inside the Golden Cap,” replied the Queen of the Mice. +“But if you are going to call the Winged Monkeys we must run away, for +they are full of mischief and think it great fun to plague us.” + +“Won’t they hurt me?” asked the girl anxiously. + +“Oh, no. They must obey the wearer of the Cap. Good-bye!” And she +scampered out of sight, with all the mice hurrying after her. + +Dorothy looked inside the Golden Cap and saw some words written upon +the lining. These, she thought, must be the charm, so she read the +directions carefully and put the Cap upon her head. + +“Ep-pe, pep-pe, kak-ke!” she said, standing on her left foot. + +“What did you say?” asked the Scarecrow, who did not know what she was +doing. + +“Hil-lo, hol-lo, hel-lo!” Dorothy went on, standing this time on her +right foot. + +“Hello!” replied the Tin Woodman calmly. + +“Ziz-zy, zuz-zy, zik!” said Dorothy, who was now standing on both feet. +This ended the saying of the charm, and they heard a great chattering +and flapping of wings, as the band of Winged Monkeys flew up to them. + +The King bowed low before Dorothy, and asked, “What is your command?” + +“We wish to go to the Emerald City,” said the child, “and we have lost +our way.” + +“We will carry you,” replied the King, and no sooner had he spoken than +two of the Monkeys caught Dorothy in their arms and flew away with her. +Others took the Scarecrow and the Woodman and the Lion, and one little +Monkey seized Toto and flew after them, although the dog tried hard to +bite him. + +The Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman were rather frightened at first, for +they remembered how badly the Winged Monkeys had treated them before; +but they saw that no harm was intended, so they rode through the air +quite cheerfully, and had a fine time looking at the pretty gardens and +woods far below them. + +Dorothy found herself riding easily between two of the biggest Monkeys, +one of them the King himself. They had made a chair of their hands and +were careful not to hurt her. + +“Why do you have to obey the charm of the Golden Cap?” she asked. + +“That is a long story,” answered the King, with a winged laugh; “but as +we have a long journey before us, I will pass the time by telling you +about it, if you wish.” + +“I shall be glad to hear it,” she replied. + +“Once,” began the leader, “we were a free people, living happily in the +great forest, flying from tree to tree, eating nuts and fruit, and +doing just as we pleased without calling anybody master. Perhaps some +of us were rather too full of mischief at times, flying down to pull +the tails of the animals that had no wings, chasing birds, and throwing +nuts at the people who walked in the forest. But we were careless and +happy and full of fun, and enjoyed every minute of the day. This was +many years ago, long before Oz came out of the clouds to rule over this +land. + +“There lived here then, away at the North, a beautiful princess, who +was also a powerful sorceress. All her magic was used to help the +people, and she was never known to hurt anyone who was good. Her name +was Gayelette, and she lived in a handsome palace built from great +blocks of ruby. Everyone loved her, but her greatest sorrow was that +she could find no one to love in return, since all the men were much +too stupid and ugly to mate with one so beautiful and wise. At last, +however, she found a boy who was handsome and manly and wise beyond his +years. Gayelette made up her mind that when he grew to be a man she +would make him her husband, so she took him to her ruby palace and used +all her magic powers to make him as strong and good and lovely as any +woman could wish. When he grew to manhood, Quelala, as he was called, +was said to be the best and wisest man in all the land, while his manly +beauty was so great that Gayelette loved him dearly, and hastened to +make everything ready for the wedding. + +“My grandfather was at that time the King of the Winged Monkeys which +lived in the forest near Gayelette’s palace, and the old fellow loved a +joke better than a good dinner. One day, just before the wedding, my +grandfather was flying out with his band when he saw Quelala walking +beside the river. He was dressed in a rich costume of pink silk and +purple velvet, and my grandfather thought he would see what he could +do. At his word the band flew down and seized Quelala, carried him in +their arms until they were over the middle of the river, and then +dropped him into the water. + +“‘Swim out, my fine fellow,’ cried my grandfather, ‘and see if the +water has spotted your clothes.’ Quelala was much too wise not to swim, +and he was not in the least spoiled by all his good fortune. He +laughed, when he came to the top of the water, and swam in to shore. +But when Gayelette came running out to him she found his silks and +velvet all ruined by the river. + +“The princess was angry, and she knew, of course, who did it. She had +all the Winged Monkeys brought before her, and she said at first that +their wings should be tied and they should be treated as they had +treated Quelala, and dropped in the river. But my grandfather pleaded +hard, for he knew the Monkeys would drown in the river with their wings +tied, and Quelala said a kind word for them also; so that Gayelette +finally spared them, on condition that the Winged Monkeys should ever +after do three times the bidding of the owner of the Golden Cap. This +Cap had been made for a wedding present to Quelala, and it is said to +have cost the princess half her kingdom. Of course my grandfather and +all the other Monkeys at once agreed to the condition, and that is how +it happens that we are three times the slaves of the owner of the +Golden Cap, whosoever he may be.” + +“And what became of them?” asked Dorothy, who had been greatly +interested in the story. + +“Quelala being the first owner of the Golden Cap,” replied the Monkey, +“he was the first to lay his wishes upon us. As his bride could not +bear the sight of us, he called us all to him in the forest after he +had married her and ordered us always to keep where she could never +again set eyes on a Winged Monkey, which we were glad to do, for we +were all afraid of her. + +“This was all we ever had to do until the Golden Cap fell into the +hands of the Wicked Witch of the West, who made us enslave the Winkies, +and afterward drive Oz himself out of the Land of the West. Now the +Golden Cap is yours, and three times you have the right to lay your +wishes upon us.” + +As the Monkey King finished his story Dorothy looked down and saw the +green, shining walls of the Emerald City before them. She wondered at +the rapid flight of the Monkeys, but was glad the journey was over. The +strange creatures set the travelers down carefully before the gate of +the City, the King bowed low to Dorothy, and then flew swiftly away, +followed by all his band. + +“That was a good ride,” said the little girl. + +“Yes, and a quick way out of our troubles,” replied the Lion. “How +lucky it was you brought away that wonderful Cap!” + + + + +Chapter XV +The Discovery of Oz, the Terrible + + +The four travelers walked up to the great gate of Emerald City and rang +the bell. After ringing several times, it was opened by the same +Guardian of the Gates they had met before. + +“What! are you back again?” he asked, in surprise. + +“Do you not see us?” answered the Scarecrow. + +“But I thought you had gone to visit the Wicked Witch of the West.” + +“We did visit her,” said the Scarecrow. + +“And she let you go again?” asked the man, in wonder. + +“She could not help it, for she is melted,” explained the Scarecrow. + +“Melted! Well, that is good news, indeed,” said the man. “Who melted +her?” + +“It was Dorothy,” said the Lion gravely. + +“Good gracious!” exclaimed the man, and he bowed very low indeed before +her. + +Then he led them into his little room and locked the spectacles from +the great box on all their eyes, just as he had done before. Afterward +they passed on through the gate into the Emerald City. When the people +heard from the Guardian of the Gates that Dorothy had melted the Wicked +Witch of the West, they all gathered around the travelers and followed +them in a great crowd to the Palace of Oz. + +The soldier with the green whiskers was still on guard before the door, +but he let them in at once, and they were again met by the beautiful +green girl, who showed each of them to their old rooms at once, so they +might rest until the Great Oz was ready to receive them. + +The soldier had the news carried straight to Oz that Dorothy and the +other travelers had come back again, after destroying the Wicked Witch; +but Oz made no reply. They thought the Great Wizard would send for them +at once, but he did not. They had no word from him the next day, nor +the next, nor the next. The waiting was tiresome and wearing, and at +last they grew vexed that Oz should treat them in so poor a fashion, +after sending them to undergo hardships and slavery. So the Scarecrow +at last asked the green girl to take another message to Oz, saying if +he did not let them in to see him at once they would call the Winged +Monkeys to help them, and find out whether he kept his promises or not. +When the Wizard was given this message he was so frightened that he +sent word for them to come to the Throne Room at four minutes after +nine o’clock the next morning. He had once met the Winged Monkeys in +the Land of the West, and he did not wish to meet them again. + +The four travelers passed a sleepless night, each thinking of the gift +Oz had promised to bestow on him. Dorothy fell asleep only once, and +then she dreamed she was in Kansas, where Aunt Em was telling her how +glad she was to have her little girl at home again. + +Promptly at nine o’clock the next morning the green-whiskered soldier +came to them, and four minutes later they all went into the Throne Room +of the Great Oz. + +Of course each one of them expected to see the Wizard in the shape he +had taken before, and all were greatly surprised when they looked about +and saw no one at all in the room. They kept close to the door and +closer to one another, for the stillness of the empty room was more +dreadful than any of the forms they had seen Oz take. + +Presently they heard a solemn Voice, that seemed to come from somewhere +near the top of the great dome, and it said: + +“I am Oz, the Great and Terrible. Why do you seek me?” + +They looked again in every part of the room, and then, seeing no one, +Dorothy asked, “Where are you?” + +“I am everywhere,” answered the Voice, “but to the eyes of common +mortals I am invisible. I will now seat myself upon my throne, that you +may converse with me.” Indeed, the Voice seemed just then to come +straight from the throne itself; so they walked toward it and stood in +a row while Dorothy said: + +“We have come to claim our promise, O Oz.” + +“What promise?” asked Oz. + +“You promised to send me back to Kansas when the Wicked Witch was +destroyed,” said the girl. + +“And you promised to give me brains,” said the Scarecrow. + +“And you promised to give me a heart,” said the Tin Woodman. + +“And you promised to give me courage,” said the Cowardly Lion. + +“Is the Wicked Witch really destroyed?” asked the Voice, and Dorothy +thought it trembled a little. + +“Yes,” she answered, “I melted her with a bucket of water.” + +“Dear me,” said the Voice, “how sudden! Well, come to me tomorrow, for +I must have time to think it over.” + +“You’ve had plenty of time already,” said the Tin Woodman angrily. + +“We shan’t wait a day longer,” said the Scarecrow. + +“You must keep your promises to us!” exclaimed Dorothy. + +The Lion thought it might be as well to frighten the Wizard, so he gave +a large, loud roar, which was so fierce and dreadful that Toto jumped +away from him in alarm and tipped over the screen that stood in a +corner. As it fell with a crash they looked that way, and the next +moment all of them were filled with wonder. For they saw, standing in +just the spot the screen had hidden, a little old man, with a bald head +and a wrinkled face, who seemed to be as much surprised as they were. +The Tin Woodman, raising his axe, rushed toward the little man and +cried out, “Who are you?” + +“I am Oz, the Great and Terrible,” said the little man, in a trembling +voice. “But don’t strike me—please don’t—and I’ll do anything you want +me to.” + +Our friends looked at him in surprise and dismay. + +“I thought Oz was a great Head,” said Dorothy. + +“And I thought Oz was a lovely Lady,” said the Scarecrow. + +“And I thought Oz was a terrible Beast,” said the Tin Woodman. + +“And I thought Oz was a Ball of Fire,” exclaimed the Lion. + +“No, you are all wrong,” said the little man meekly. “I have been +making believe.” + +“Making believe!” cried Dorothy. “Are you not a Great Wizard?” + +“Hush, my dear,” he said. “Don’t speak so loud, or you will be +overheard—and I should be ruined. I’m supposed to be a Great Wizard.” + +“And aren’t you?” she asked. + +“Not a bit of it, my dear; I’m just a common man.” + +“You’re more than that,” said the Scarecrow, in a grieved tone; “you’re +a humbug.” + +“Exactly so!” declared the little man, rubbing his hands together as if +it pleased him. “I am a humbug.” + +“But this is terrible,” said the Tin Woodman. “How shall I ever get my +heart?” + +“Or I my courage?” asked the Lion. + +“Or I my brains?” wailed the Scarecrow, wiping the tears from his eyes +with his coat sleeve. + +“My dear friends,” said Oz, “I pray you not to speak of these little +things. Think of me, and the terrible trouble I’m in at being found +out.” + +“Doesn’t anyone else know you’re a humbug?” asked Dorothy. + +“No one knows it but you four—and myself,” replied Oz. “I have fooled +everyone so long that I thought I should never be found out. It was a +great mistake my ever letting you into the Throne Room. Usually I will +not see even my subjects, and so they believe I am something terrible.” + +“But, I don’t understand,” said Dorothy, in bewilderment. “How was it +that you appeared to me as a great Head?” + +“That was one of my tricks,” answered Oz. “Step this way, please, and I +will tell you all about it.” + +He led the way to a small chamber in the rear of the Throne Room, and +they all followed him. He pointed to one corner, in which lay the great +Head, made out of many thicknesses of paper, and with a carefully +painted face. + +“This I hung from the ceiling by a wire,” said Oz. “I stood behind the +screen and pulled a thread, to make the eyes move and the mouth open.” + +“But how about the voice?” she inquired. + +“Oh, I am a ventriloquist,” said the little man. “I can throw the sound +of my voice wherever I wish, so that you thought it was coming out of +the Head. Here are the other things I used to deceive you.” He showed +the Scarecrow the dress and the mask he had worn when he seemed to be +the lovely Lady. And the Tin Woodman saw that his terrible Beast was +nothing but a lot of skins, sewn together, with slats to keep their +sides out. As for the Ball of Fire, the false Wizard had hung that also +from the ceiling. It was really a ball of cotton, but when oil was +poured upon it the ball burned fiercely. + +“Really,” said the Scarecrow, “you ought to be ashamed of yourself for +being such a humbug.” + +“I am—I certainly am,” answered the little man sorrowfully; “but it was +the only thing I could do. Sit down, please, there are plenty of +chairs; and I will tell you my story.” + +So they sat down and listened while he told the following tale. + +“I was born in Omaha—” + +“Why, that isn’t very far from Kansas!” cried Dorothy. + +“No, but it’s farther from here,” he said, shaking his head at her +sadly. “When I grew up I became a ventriloquist, and at that I was very +well trained by a great master. I can imitate any kind of a bird or +beast.” Here he mewed so like a kitten that Toto pricked up his ears +and looked everywhere to see where she was. “After a time,” continued +Oz, “I tired of that, and became a balloonist.” + +“What is that?” asked Dorothy. + +“A man who goes up in a balloon on circus day, so as to draw a crowd of +people together and get them to pay to see the circus,” he explained. + +“Oh,” she said, “I know.” + +“Well, one day I went up in a balloon and the ropes got twisted, so +that I couldn’t come down again. It went way up above the clouds, so +far that a current of air struck it and carried it many, many miles +away. For a day and a night I traveled through the air, and on the +morning of the second day I awoke and found the balloon floating over a +strange and beautiful country. + +“It came down gradually, and I was not hurt a bit. But I found myself +in the midst of a strange people, who, seeing me come from the clouds, +thought I was a great Wizard. Of course I let them think so, because +they were afraid of me, and promised to do anything I wished them to. + +“Just to amuse myself, and keep the good people busy, I ordered them to +build this City, and my Palace; and they did it all willingly and well. +Then I thought, as the country was so green and beautiful, I would call +it the Emerald City; and to make the name fit better I put green +spectacles on all the people, so that everything they saw was green.” + +“But isn’t everything here green?” asked Dorothy. + +“No more than in any other city,” replied Oz; “but when you wear green +spectacles, why of course everything you see looks green to you. The +Emerald City was built a great many years ago, for I was a young man +when the balloon brought me here, and I am a very old man now. But my +people have worn green glasses on their eyes so long that most of them +think it really is an Emerald City, and it certainly is a beautiful +place, abounding in jewels and precious metals, and every good thing +that is needed to make one happy. I have been good to the people, and +they like me; but ever since this Palace was built, I have shut myself +up and would not see any of them. + +“One of my greatest fears was the Witches, for while I had no magical +powers at all I soon found out that the Witches were really able to do +wonderful things. There were four of them in this country, and they +ruled the people who live in the North and South and East and West. +Fortunately, the Witches of the North and South were good, and I knew +they would do me no harm; but the Witches of the East and West were +terribly wicked, and had they not thought I was more powerful than they +themselves, they would surely have destroyed me. As it was, I lived in +deadly fear of them for many years; so you can imagine how pleased I +was when I heard your house had fallen on the Wicked Witch of the East. +When you came to me, I was willing to promise anything if you would +only do away with the other Witch; but, now that you have melted her, I +am ashamed to say that I cannot keep my promises.” + +“I think you are a very bad man,” said Dorothy. + +“Oh, no, my dear; I’m really a very good man, but I’m a very bad +Wizard, I must admit.” + +“Can’t you give me brains?” asked the Scarecrow. + +“You don’t need them. You are learning something every day. A baby has +brains, but it doesn’t know much. Experience is the only thing that +brings knowledge, and the longer you are on earth the more experience +you are sure to get.” + +“That may all be true,” said the Scarecrow, “but I shall be very +unhappy unless you give me brains.” + +The false Wizard looked at him carefully. + +“Well,” he said with a sigh, “I’m not much of a magician, as I said; +but if you will come to me tomorrow morning, I will stuff your head +with brains. I cannot tell you how to use them, however; you must find +that out for yourself.” + +“Oh, thank you—thank you!” cried the Scarecrow. “I’ll find a way to use +them, never fear!” + +“But how about my courage?” asked the Lion anxiously. + +“You have plenty of courage, I am sure,” answered Oz. “All you need is +confidence in yourself. There is no living thing that is not afraid +when it faces danger. The True courage is in facing danger when you are +afraid, and that kind of courage you have in plenty.” + +“Perhaps I have, but I’m scared just the same,” said the Lion. “I shall +really be very unhappy unless you give me the sort of courage that +makes one forget he is afraid.” + +“Very well, I will give you that sort of courage tomorrow,” replied Oz. + +“How about my heart?” asked the Tin Woodman. + +“Why, as for that,” answered Oz, “I think you are wrong to want a +heart. It makes most people unhappy. If you only knew it, you are in +luck not to have a heart.” + +“That must be a matter of opinion,” said the Tin Woodman. “For my part, +I will bear all the unhappiness without a murmur, if you will give me +the heart.” + +“Very well,” answered Oz meekly. “Come to me tomorrow and you shall +have a heart. I have played Wizard for so many years that I may as well +continue the part a little longer.” + +“And now,” said Dorothy, “how am I to get back to Kansas?” + +“We shall have to think about that,” replied the little man. “Give me +two or three days to consider the matter and I’ll try to find a way to +carry you over the desert. In the meantime you shall all be treated as +my guests, and while you live in the Palace my people will wait upon +you and obey your slightest wish. There is only one thing I ask in +return for my help—such as it is. You must keep my secret and tell no +one I am a humbug.” + +They agreed to say nothing of what they had learned, and went back to +their rooms in high spirits. Even Dorothy had hope that “The Great and +Terrible Humbug,” as she called him, would find a way to send her back +to Kansas, and if he did she was willing to forgive him everything. + + + + +Chapter XVI +The Magic Art of the Great Humbug + + +Next morning the Scarecrow said to his friends: + +“Congratulate me. I am going to Oz to get my brains at last. When I +return I shall be as other men are.” + +“I have always liked you as you were,” said Dorothy simply. + +“It is kind of you to like a Scarecrow,” he replied. “But surely you +will think more of me when you hear the splendid thoughts my new brain +is going to turn out.” Then he said good-bye to them all in a cheerful +voice and went to the Throne Room, where he rapped upon the door. + +“Come in,” said Oz. + +The Scarecrow went in and found the little man sitting down by the +window, engaged in deep thought. + +“I have come for my brains,” remarked the Scarecrow, a little uneasily. + +“Oh, yes; sit down in that chair, please,” replied Oz. “You must excuse +me for taking your head off, but I shall have to do it in order to put +your brains in their proper place.” + +“That’s all right,” said the Scarecrow. “You are quite welcome to take +my head off, as long as it will be a better one when you put it on +again.” + +So the Wizard unfastened his head and emptied out the straw. Then he +entered the back room and took up a measure of bran, which he mixed +with a great many pins and needles. Having shaken them together +thoroughly, he filled the top of the Scarecrow’s head with the mixture +and stuffed the rest of the space with straw, to hold it in place. + +When he had fastened the Scarecrow’s head on his body again he said to +him, “Hereafter you will be a great man, for I have given you a lot of +bran-new brains.” + +The Scarecrow was both pleased and proud at the fulfillment of his +greatest wish, and having thanked Oz warmly he went back to his +friends. + +Dorothy looked at him curiously. His head was quite bulged out at the +top with brains. + +“How do you feel?” she asked. + +“I feel wise indeed,” he answered earnestly. “When I get used to my +brains I shall know everything.” + +“Why are those needles and pins sticking out of your head?” asked the +Tin Woodman. + +“That is proof that he is sharp,” remarked the Lion. + +“Well, I must go to Oz and get my heart,” said the Woodman. So he +walked to the Throne Room and knocked at the door. + +“Come in,” called Oz, and the Woodman entered and said, “I have come +for my heart.” + +“Very well,” answered the little man. “But I shall have to cut a hole +in your breast, so I can put your heart in the right place. I hope it +won’t hurt you.” + +“Oh, no,” answered the Woodman. “I shall not feel it at all.” + +So Oz brought a pair of tinsmith’s shears and cut a small, square hole +in the left side of the Tin Woodman’s breast. Then, going to a chest of +drawers, he took out a pretty heart, made entirely of silk and stuffed +with sawdust. + +“Isn’t it a beauty?” he asked. + +“It is, indeed!” replied the Woodman, who was greatly pleased. “But is +it a kind heart?” + +“Oh, very!” answered Oz. He put the heart in the Woodman’s breast and +then replaced the square of tin, soldering it neatly together where it +had been cut. + +“There,” said he; “now you have a heart that any man might be proud of. +I’m sorry I had to put a patch on your breast, but it really couldn’t +be helped.” + +“Never mind the patch,” exclaimed the happy Woodman. “I am very +grateful to you, and shall never forget your kindness.” + +“Don’t speak of it,” replied Oz. + +Then the Tin Woodman went back to his friends, who wished him every joy +on account of his good fortune. + +The Lion now walked to the Throne Room and knocked at the door. + +“Come in,” said Oz. + +“I have come for my courage,” announced the Lion, entering the room. + +“Very well,” answered the little man; “I will get it for you.” + +He went to a cupboard and reaching up to a high shelf took down a +square green bottle, the contents of which he poured into a green-gold +dish, beautifully carved. Placing this before the Cowardly Lion, who +sniffed at it as if he did not like it, the Wizard said: + +“Drink.” + +“What is it?” asked the Lion. + +“Well,” answered Oz, “if it were inside of you, it would be courage. +You know, of course, that courage is always inside one; so that this +really cannot be called courage until you have swallowed it. Therefore +I advise you to drink it as soon as possible.” + +The Lion hesitated no longer, but drank till the dish was empty. + +“How do you feel now?” asked Oz. + +“Full of courage,” replied the Lion, who went joyfully back to his +friends to tell them of his good fortune. + +Oz, left to himself, smiled to think of his success in giving the +Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman and the Lion exactly what they thought +they wanted. “How can I help being a humbug,” he said, “when all these +people make me do things that everybody knows can’t be done? It was +easy to make the Scarecrow and the Lion and the Woodman happy, because +they imagined I could do anything. But it will take more than +imagination to carry Dorothy back to Kansas, and I’m sure I don’t know +how it can be done.” + + + + +Chapter XVII +How the Balloon Was Launched + + +For three days Dorothy heard nothing from Oz. These were sad days for +the little girl, although her friends were all quite happy and +contented. The Scarecrow told them there were wonderful thoughts in his +head; but he would not say what they were because he knew no one could +understand them but himself. When the Tin Woodman walked about he felt +his heart rattling around in his breast; and he told Dorothy he had +discovered it to be a kinder and more tender heart than the one he had +owned when he was made of flesh. The Lion declared he was afraid of +nothing on earth, and would gladly face an army or a dozen of the +fierce Kalidahs. + +Thus each of the little party was satisfied except Dorothy, who longed +more than ever to get back to Kansas. + +On the fourth day, to her great joy, Oz sent for her, and when she +entered the Throne Room he greeted her pleasantly: + +“Sit down, my dear; I think I have found the way to get you out of this +country.” + +“And back to Kansas?” she asked eagerly. + +“Well, I’m not sure about Kansas,” said Oz, “for I haven’t the faintest +notion which way it lies. But the first thing to do is to cross the +desert, and then it should be easy to find your way home.” + +“How can I cross the desert?” she inquired. + +“Well, I’ll tell you what I think,” said the little man. “You see, when +I came to this country it was in a balloon. You also came through the +air, being carried by a cyclone. So I believe the best way to get +across the desert will be through the air. Now, it is quite beyond my +powers to make a cyclone; but I’ve been thinking the matter over, and I +believe I can make a balloon.” + +“How?” asked Dorothy. + +“A balloon,” said Oz, “is made of silk, which is coated with glue to +keep the gas in it. I have plenty of silk in the Palace, so it will be +no trouble to make the balloon. But in all this country there is no gas +to fill the balloon with, to make it float.” + +“If it won’t float,” remarked Dorothy, “it will be of no use to us.” + +“True,” answered Oz. “But there is another way to make it float, which +is to fill it with hot air. Hot air isn’t as good as gas, for if the +air should get cold the balloon would come down in the desert, and we +should be lost.” + +“We!” exclaimed the girl. “Are you going with me?” + +“Yes, of course,” replied Oz. “I am tired of being such a humbug. If I +should go out of this Palace my people would soon discover I am not a +Wizard, and then they would be vexed with me for having deceived them. +So I have to stay shut up in these rooms all day, and it gets tiresome. +I’d much rather go back to Kansas with you and be in a circus again.” + +“I shall be glad to have your company,” said Dorothy. + +“Thank you,” he answered. “Now, if you will help me sew the silk +together, we will begin to work on our balloon.” + +So Dorothy took a needle and thread, and as fast as Oz cut the strips +of silk into proper shape the girl sewed them neatly together. First +there was a strip of light green silk, then a strip of dark green and +then a strip of emerald green; for Oz had a fancy to make the balloon +in different shades of the color about them. It took three days to sew +all the strips together, but when it was finished they had a big bag of +green silk more than twenty feet long. + +Then Oz painted it on the inside with a coat of thin glue, to make it +airtight, after which he announced that the balloon was ready. + +“But we must have a basket to ride in,” he said. So he sent the soldier +with the green whiskers for a big clothes basket, which he fastened +with many ropes to the bottom of the balloon. + +When it was all ready, Oz sent word to his people that he was going to +make a visit to a great brother Wizard who lived in the clouds. The +news spread rapidly throughout the city and everyone came to see the +wonderful sight. + +Oz ordered the balloon carried out in front of the Palace, and the +people gazed upon it with much curiosity. The Tin Woodman had chopped a +big pile of wood, and now he made a fire of it, and Oz held the bottom +of the balloon over the fire so that the hot air that arose from it +would be caught in the silken bag. Gradually the balloon swelled out +and rose into the air, until finally the basket just touched the +ground. + +Then Oz got into the basket and said to all the people in a loud voice: + +“I am now going away to make a visit. While I am gone the Scarecrow +will rule over you. I command you to obey him as you would me.” + +The balloon was by this time tugging hard at the rope that held it to +the ground, for the air within it was hot, and this made it so much +lighter in weight than the air without that it pulled hard to rise into +the sky. + +“Come, Dorothy!” cried the Wizard. “Hurry up, or the balloon will fly +away.” + +“I can’t find Toto anywhere,” replied Dorothy, who did not wish to +leave her little dog behind. Toto had run into the crowd to bark at a +kitten, and Dorothy at last found him. She picked him up and ran +towards the balloon. + +She was within a few steps of it, and Oz was holding out his hands to +help her into the basket, when, crack! went the ropes, and the balloon +rose into the air without her. + +“Come back!” she screamed. “I want to go, too!” + +“I can’t come back, my dear,” called Oz from the basket. “Good-bye!” + +“Good-bye!” shouted everyone, and all eyes were turned upward to where +the Wizard was riding in the basket, rising every moment farther and +farther into the sky. + +And that was the last any of them ever saw of Oz, the Wonderful Wizard, +though he may have reached Omaha safely, and be there now, for all we +know. But the people remembered him lovingly, and said to one another: + +“Oz was always our friend. When he was here he built for us this +beautiful Emerald City, and now he is gone he has left the Wise +Scarecrow to rule over us.” + +Still, for many days they grieved over the loss of the Wonderful +Wizard, and would not be comforted. + + + + +Chapter XVIII +Away to the South + + +Dorothy wept bitterly at the passing of her hope to get home to Kansas +again; but when she thought it all over she was glad she had not gone +up in a balloon. And she also felt sorry at losing Oz, and so did her +companions. + +The Tin Woodman came to her and said: + +“Truly I should be ungrateful if I failed to mourn for the man who gave +me my lovely heart. I should like to cry a little because Oz is gone, +if you will kindly wipe away my tears, so that I shall not rust.” + +“With pleasure,” she answered, and brought a towel at once. Then the +Tin Woodman wept for several minutes, and she watched the tears +carefully and wiped them away with the towel. When he had finished, he +thanked her kindly and oiled himself thoroughly with his jeweled +oil-can, to guard against mishap. + +The Scarecrow was now the ruler of the Emerald City, and although he +was not a Wizard the people were proud of him. “For,” they said, “there +is not another city in all the world that is ruled by a stuffed man.” +And, so far as they knew, they were quite right. + +The morning after the balloon had gone up with Oz, the four travelers +met in the Throne Room and talked matters over. The Scarecrow sat in +the big throne and the others stood respectfully before him. + +“We are not so unlucky,” said the new ruler, “for this Palace and the +Emerald City belong to us, and we can do just as we please. When I +remember that a short time ago I was up on a pole in a farmer’s +cornfield, and that now I am the ruler of this beautiful City, I am +quite satisfied with my lot.” + +“I also,” said the Tin Woodman, “am well-pleased with my new heart; +and, really, that was the only thing I wished in all the world.” + +“For my part, I am content in knowing I am as brave as any beast that +ever lived, if not braver,” said the Lion modestly. + +“If Dorothy would only be contented to live in the Emerald City,” +continued the Scarecrow, “we might all be happy together.” + +“But I don’t want to live here,” cried Dorothy. “I want to go to +Kansas, and live with Aunt Em and Uncle Henry.” + +“Well, then, what can be done?” inquired the Woodman. + +The Scarecrow decided to think, and he thought so hard that the pins +and needles began to stick out of his brains. Finally he said: + +“Why not call the Winged Monkeys, and ask them to carry you over the +desert?” + +“I never thought of that!” said Dorothy joyfully. “It’s just the thing. +I’ll go at once for the Golden Cap.” + +When she brought it into the Throne Room she spoke the magic words, and +soon the band of Winged Monkeys flew in through the open window and +stood beside her. + +“This is the second time you have called us,” said the Monkey King, +bowing before the little girl. “What do you wish?” + +“I want you to fly with me to Kansas,” said Dorothy. + +But the Monkey King shook his head. + +“That cannot be done,” he said. “We belong to this country alone, and +cannot leave it. There has never been a Winged Monkey in Kansas yet, +and I suppose there never will be, for they don’t belong there. We +shall be glad to serve you in any way in our power, but we cannot cross +the desert. Good-bye.” + +And with another bow, the Monkey King spread his wings and flew away +through the window, followed by all his band. + +Dorothy was ready to cry with disappointment. “I have wasted the charm +of the Golden Cap to no purpose,” she said, “for the Winged Monkeys +cannot help me.” + +“It is certainly too bad!” said the tender-hearted Woodman. + +The Scarecrow was thinking again, and his head bulged out so horribly +that Dorothy feared it would burst. + +“Let us call in the soldier with the green whiskers,” he said, “and ask +his advice.” + +So the soldier was summoned and entered the Throne Room timidly, for +while Oz was alive he never was allowed to come farther than the door. + +“This little girl,” said the Scarecrow to the soldier, “wishes to cross +the desert. How can she do so?” + +“I cannot tell,” answered the soldier, “for nobody has ever crossed the +desert, unless it is Oz himself.” + +“Is there no one who can help me?” asked Dorothy earnestly. + +“Glinda might,” he suggested. + +“Who is Glinda?” inquired the Scarecrow. + +“The Witch of the South. She is the most powerful of all the Witches, +and rules over the Quadlings. Besides, her castle stands on the edge of +the desert, so she may know a way to cross it.” + +“Glinda is a Good Witch, isn’t she?” asked the child. + +“The Quadlings think she is good,” said the soldier, “and she is kind +to everyone. I have heard that Glinda is a beautiful woman, who knows +how to keep young in spite of the many years she has lived.” + +“How can I get to her castle?” asked Dorothy. + +“The road is straight to the South,” he answered, “but it is said to be +full of dangers to travelers. There are wild beasts in the woods, and a +race of queer men who do not like strangers to cross their country. For +this reason none of the Quadlings ever come to the Emerald City.” + +The soldier then left them and the Scarecrow said: + +“It seems, in spite of dangers, that the best thing Dorothy can do is +to travel to the Land of the South and ask Glinda to help her. For, of +course, if Dorothy stays here she will never get back to Kansas.” + +“You must have been thinking again,” remarked the Tin Woodman. + +“I have,” said the Scarecrow. + +“I shall go with Dorothy,” declared the Lion, “for I am tired of your +city and long for the woods and the country again. I am really a wild +beast, you know. Besides, Dorothy will need someone to protect her.” + +“That is true,” agreed the Woodman. “My axe may be of service to her; +so I also will go with her to the Land of the South.” + +“When shall we start?” asked the Scarecrow. + +“Are you going?” they asked, in surprise. + +“Certainly. If it wasn’t for Dorothy I should never have had brains. +She lifted me from the pole in the cornfield and brought me to the +Emerald City. So my good luck is all due to her, and I shall never +leave her until she starts back to Kansas for good and all.” + +“Thank you,” said Dorothy gratefully. “You are all very kind to me. But +I should like to start as soon as possible.” + +“We shall go tomorrow morning,” returned the Scarecrow. “So now let us +all get ready, for it will be a long journey.” + + + + +Chapter XIX +Attacked by the Fighting Trees + + +The next morning Dorothy kissed the pretty green girl good-bye, and +they all shook hands with the soldier with the green whiskers, who had +walked with them as far as the gate. When the Guardian of the Gate saw +them again he wondered greatly that they could leave the beautiful City +to get into new trouble. But he at once unlocked their spectacles, +which he put back into the green box, and gave them many good wishes to +carry with them. + +“You are now our ruler,” he said to the Scarecrow; “so you must come +back to us as soon as possible.” + +“I certainly shall if I am able,” the Scarecrow replied; “but I must +help Dorothy to get home, first.” + +As Dorothy bade the good-natured Guardian a last farewell she said: + +“I have been very kindly treated in your lovely City, and everyone has +been good to me. I cannot tell you how grateful I am.” + +“Don’t try, my dear,” he answered. “We should like to keep you with us, +but if it is your wish to return to Kansas, I hope you will find a +way.” He then opened the gate of the outer wall, and they walked forth +and started upon their journey. + +The sun shone brightly as our friends turned their faces toward the +Land of the South. They were all in the best of spirits, and laughed +and chatted together. Dorothy was once more filled with the hope of +getting home, and the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman were glad to be of +use to her. As for the Lion, he sniffed the fresh air with delight and +whisked his tail from side to side in pure joy at being in the country +again, while Toto ran around them and chased the moths and butterflies, +barking merrily all the time. + +“City life does not agree with me at all,” remarked the Lion, as they +walked along at a brisk pace. “I have lost much flesh since I lived +there, and now I am anxious for a chance to show the other beasts how +courageous I have grown.” + +They now turned and took a last look at the Emerald City. All they +could see was a mass of towers and steeples behind the green walls, and +high up above everything the spires and dome of the Palace of Oz. + +“Oz was not such a bad Wizard, after all,” said the Tin Woodman, as he +felt his heart rattling around in his breast. + +“He knew how to give me brains, and very good brains, too,” said the +Scarecrow. + +“If Oz had taken a dose of the same courage he gave me,” added the +Lion, “he would have been a brave man.” + +Dorothy said nothing. Oz had not kept the promise he made her, but he +had done his best, so she forgave him. As he said, he was a good man, +even if he was a bad Wizard. + +The first day’s journey was through the green fields and bright flowers +that stretched about the Emerald City on every side. They slept that +night on the grass, with nothing but the stars over them; and they +rested very well indeed. + +In the morning they traveled on until they came to a thick wood. There +was no way of going around it, for it seemed to extend to the right and +left as far as they could see; and, besides, they did not dare change +the direction of their journey for fear of getting lost. So they looked +for the place where it would be easiest to get into the forest. + +The Scarecrow, who was in the lead, finally discovered a big tree with +such wide-spreading branches that there was room for the party to pass +underneath. So he walked forward to the tree, but just as he came under +the first branches they bent down and twined around him, and the next +minute he was raised from the ground and flung headlong among his +fellow travelers. + +This did not hurt the Scarecrow, but it surprised him, and he looked +rather dizzy when Dorothy picked him up. + +“Here is another space between the trees,” called the Lion. + +“Let me try it first,” said the Scarecrow, “for it doesn’t hurt me to +get thrown about.” He walked up to another tree, as he spoke, but its +branches immediately seized him and tossed him back again. + +“This is strange,” exclaimed Dorothy. “What shall we do?” + +“The trees seem to have made up their minds to fight us, and stop our +journey,” remarked the Lion. + +“I believe I will try it myself,” said the Woodman, and shouldering his +axe, he marched up to the first tree that had handled the Scarecrow so +roughly. When a big branch bent down to seize him the Woodman chopped +at it so fiercely that he cut it in two. At once the tree began shaking +all its branches as if in pain, and the Tin Woodman passed safely under +it. + +“Come on!” he shouted to the others. “Be quick!” They all ran forward +and passed under the tree without injury, except Toto, who was caught +by a small branch and shaken until he howled. But the Woodman promptly +chopped off the branch and set the little dog free. + +The other trees of the forest did nothing to keep them back, so they +made up their minds that only the first row of trees could bend down +their branches, and that probably these were the policemen of the +forest, and given this wonderful power in order to keep strangers out +of it. + +The four travelers walked with ease through the trees until they came +to the farther edge of the wood. Then, to their surprise, they found +before them a high wall which seemed to be made of white china. It was +smooth, like the surface of a dish, and higher than their heads. + +“What shall we do now?” asked Dorothy. + +“I will make a ladder,” said the Tin Woodman, “for we certainly must +climb over the wall.” + + + + +Chapter XX +The Dainty China Country + + +While the Woodman was making a ladder from wood which he found in the +forest Dorothy lay down and slept, for she was tired by the long walk. +The Lion also curled himself up to sleep and Toto lay beside him. + +The Scarecrow watched the Woodman while he worked, and said to him: + +“I cannot think why this wall is here, nor what it is made of.” + +“Rest your brains and do not worry about the wall,” replied the +Woodman. “When we have climbed over it, we shall know what is on the +other side.” + +After a time the ladder was finished. It looked clumsy, but the Tin +Woodman was sure it was strong and would answer their purpose. The +Scarecrow waked Dorothy and the Lion and Toto, and told them that the +ladder was ready. The Scarecrow climbed up the ladder first, but he was +so awkward that Dorothy had to follow close behind and keep him from +falling off. When he got his head over the top of the wall the +Scarecrow said, “Oh, my!” + +“Go on,” exclaimed Dorothy. + +So the Scarecrow climbed farther up and sat down on the top of the +wall, and Dorothy put her head over and cried, “Oh, my!” just as the +Scarecrow had done. + +Then Toto came up, and immediately began to bark, but Dorothy made him +be still. + +The Lion climbed the ladder next, and the Tin Woodman came last; but +both of them cried, “Oh, my!” as soon as they looked over the wall. +When they were all sitting in a row on the top of the wall, they looked +down and saw a strange sight. + +Before them was a great stretch of country having a floor as smooth and +shining and white as the bottom of a big platter. Scattered around were +many houses made entirely of china and painted in the brightest colors. +These houses were quite small, the biggest of them reaching only as +high as Dorothy’s waist. There were also pretty little barns, with +china fences around them; and many cows and sheep and horses and pigs +and chickens, all made of china, were standing about in groups. + +But the strangest of all were the people who lived in this queer +country. There were milkmaids and shepherdesses, with brightly colored +bodices and golden spots all over their gowns; and princesses with most +gorgeous frocks of silver and gold and purple; and shepherds dressed in +knee breeches with pink and yellow and blue stripes down them, and +golden buckles on their shoes; and princes with jeweled crowns upon +their heads, wearing ermine robes and satin doublets; and funny clowns +in ruffled gowns, with round red spots upon their cheeks and tall, +pointed caps. And, strangest of all, these people were all made of +china, even to their clothes, and were so small that the tallest of +them was no higher than Dorothy’s knee. + +No one did so much as look at the travelers at first, except one little +purple china dog with an extra-large head, which came to the wall and +barked at them in a tiny voice, afterwards running away again. + +“How shall we get down?” asked Dorothy. + +They found the ladder so heavy they could not pull it up, so the +Scarecrow fell off the wall and the others jumped down upon him so that +the hard floor would not hurt their feet. Of course they took pains not +to light on his head and get the pins in their feet. When all were +safely down they picked up the Scarecrow, whose body was quite +flattened out, and patted his straw into shape again. + +“We must cross this strange place in order to get to the other side,” +said Dorothy, “for it would be unwise for us to go any other way except +due South.” + +They began walking through the country of the china people, and the +first thing they came to was a china milkmaid milking a china cow. As +they drew near, the cow suddenly gave a kick and kicked over the stool, +the pail, and even the milkmaid herself, and all fell on the china +ground with a great clatter. + +Dorothy was shocked to see that the cow had broken her leg off, and +that the pail was lying in several small pieces, while the poor +milkmaid had a nick in her left elbow. + +“There!” cried the milkmaid angrily. “See what you have done! My cow +has broken her leg, and I must take her to the mender’s shop and have +it glued on again. What do you mean by coming here and frightening my +cow?” + +“I’m very sorry,” returned Dorothy. “Please forgive us.” + +But the pretty milkmaid was much too vexed to make any answer. She +picked up the leg sulkily and led her cow away, the poor animal limping +on three legs. As she left them the milkmaid cast many reproachful +glances over her shoulder at the clumsy strangers, holding her nicked +elbow close to her side. + +Dorothy was quite grieved at this mishap. + +“We must be very careful here,” said the kind-hearted Woodman, “or we +may hurt these pretty little people so they will never get over it.” + +A little farther on Dorothy met a most beautifully dressed young +Princess, who stopped short as she saw the strangers and started to run +away. + +Dorothy wanted to see more of the Princess, so she ran after her. But +the china girl cried out: + +“Don’t chase me! Don’t chase me!” + +She had such a frightened little voice that Dorothy stopped and said, +“Why not?” + +“Because,” answered the Princess, also stopping, a safe distance away, +“if I run I may fall down and break myself.” + +“But could you not be mended?” asked the girl. + +“Oh, yes; but one is never so pretty after being mended, you know,” +replied the Princess. + +“I suppose not,” said Dorothy. + +“Now there is Mr. Joker, one of our clowns,” continued the china lady, +“who is always trying to stand upon his head. He has broken himself so +often that he is mended in a hundred places, and doesn’t look at all +pretty. Here he comes now, so you can see for yourself.” + +Indeed, a jolly little clown came walking toward them, and Dorothy +could see that in spite of his pretty clothes of red and yellow and +green he was completely covered with cracks, running every which way +and showing plainly that he had been mended in many places. + +The Clown put his hands in his pockets, and after puffing out his +cheeks and nodding his head at them saucily, he said: + + “My lady fair, + Why do you stare +At poor old Mr. Joker? + You’re quite as stiff + And prim as if +You’d eaten up a poker!” + + +“Be quiet, sir!” said the Princess. “Can’t you see these are strangers, +and should be treated with respect?” + +“Well, that’s respect, I expect,” declared the Clown, and immediately +stood upon his head. + +“Don’t mind Mr. Joker,” said the Princess to Dorothy. “He is +considerably cracked in his head, and that makes him foolish.” + +“Oh, I don’t mind him a bit,” said Dorothy. “But you are so beautiful,” +she continued, “that I am sure I could love you dearly. Won’t you let +me carry you back to Kansas, and stand you on Aunt Em’s mantel? I could +carry you in my basket.” + +“That would make me very unhappy,” answered the china Princess. “You +see, here in our country we live contentedly, and can talk and move +around as we please. But whenever any of us are taken away our joints +at once stiffen, and we can only stand straight and look pretty. Of +course that is all that is expected of us when we are on mantels and +cabinets and drawing-room tables, but our lives are much pleasanter +here in our own country.” + +“I would not make you unhappy for all the world!” exclaimed Dorothy. +“So I’ll just say good-bye.” + +“Good-bye,” replied the Princess. + +They walked carefully through the china country. The little animals and +all the people scampered out of their way, fearing the strangers would +break them, and after an hour or so the travelers reached the other +side of the country and came to another china wall. + +It was not so high as the first, however, and by standing upon the +Lion’s back they all managed to scramble to the top. Then the Lion +gathered his legs under him and jumped on the wall; but just as he +jumped, he upset a china church with his tail and smashed it all to +pieces. + +“That was too bad,” said Dorothy, “but really I think we were lucky in +not doing these little people more harm than breaking a cow’s leg and a +church. They are all so brittle!” + +“They are, indeed,” said the Scarecrow, “and I am thankful I am made of +straw and cannot be easily damaged. There are worse things in the world +than being a Scarecrow.” + + + + +Chapter XXI +The Lion Becomes the King of Beasts + + +After climbing down from the china wall the travelers found themselves +in a disagreeable country, full of bogs and marshes and covered with +tall, rank grass. It was difficult to walk without falling into muddy +holes, for the grass was so thick that it hid them from sight. However, +by carefully picking their way, they got safely along until they +reached solid ground. But here the country seemed wilder than ever, and +after a long and tiresome walk through the underbrush they entered +another forest, where the trees were bigger and older than any they had +ever seen. + +“This forest is perfectly delightful,” declared the Lion, looking +around him with joy. “Never have I seen a more beautiful place.” + +“It seems gloomy,” said the Scarecrow. + +“Not a bit of it,” answered the Lion. “I should like to live here all +my life. See how soft the dried leaves are under your feet and how rich +and green the moss is that clings to these old trees. Surely no wild +beast could wish a pleasanter home.” + +“Perhaps there are wild beasts in the forest now,” said Dorothy. + +“I suppose there are,” returned the Lion, “but I do not see any of them +about.” + +They walked through the forest until it became too dark to go any +farther. Dorothy and Toto and the Lion lay down to sleep, while the +Woodman and the Scarecrow kept watch over them as usual. + +When morning came, they started again. Before they had gone far they +heard a low rumble, as of the growling of many wild animals. Toto +whimpered a little, but none of the others was frightened, and they +kept along the well-trodden path until they came to an opening in the +wood, in which were gathered hundreds of beasts of every variety. There +were tigers and elephants and bears and wolves and foxes and all the +others in the natural history, and for a moment Dorothy was afraid. But +the Lion explained that the animals were holding a meeting, and he +judged by their snarling and growling that they were in great trouble. + +As he spoke several of the beasts caught sight of him, and at once the +great assemblage hushed as if by magic. The biggest of the tigers came +up to the Lion and bowed, saying: + +“Welcome, O King of Beasts! You have come in good time to fight our +enemy and bring peace to all the animals of the forest once more.” + +“What is your trouble?” asked the Lion quietly. + +“We are all threatened,” answered the tiger, “by a fierce enemy which +has lately come into this forest. It is a most tremendous monster, like +a great spider, with a body as big as an elephant and legs as long as a +tree trunk. It has eight of these long legs, and as the monster crawls +through the forest he seizes an animal with a leg and drags it to his +mouth, where he eats it as a spider does a fly. Not one of us is safe +while this fierce creature is alive, and we had called a meeting to +decide how to take care of ourselves when you came among us.” + +The Lion thought for a moment. + +“Are there any other lions in this forest?” he asked. + +“No; there were some, but the monster has eaten them all. And, besides, +they were none of them nearly so large and brave as you.” + +“If I put an end to your enemy, will you bow down to me and obey me as +King of the Forest?” inquired the Lion. + +“We will do that gladly,” returned the tiger; and all the other beasts +roared with a mighty roar: “We will!” + +“Where is this great spider of yours now?” asked the Lion. + +“Yonder, among the oak trees,” said the tiger, pointing with his +forefoot. + +“Take good care of these friends of mine,” said the Lion, “and I will +go at once to fight the monster.” + +He bade his comrades good-bye and marched proudly away to do battle +with the enemy. + +The great spider was lying asleep when the Lion found him, and it +looked so ugly that its foe turned up his nose in disgust. Its legs +were quite as long as the tiger had said, and its body covered with +coarse black hair. It had a great mouth, with a row of sharp teeth a +foot long; but its head was joined to the pudgy body by a neck as +slender as a wasp’s waist. This gave the Lion a hint of the best way to +attack the creature, and as he knew it was easier to fight it asleep +than awake, he gave a great spring and landed directly upon the +monster’s back. Then, with one blow of his heavy paw, all armed with +sharp claws, he knocked the spider’s head from its body. Jumping down, +he watched it until the long legs stopped wiggling, when he knew it was +quite dead. + +The Lion went back to the opening where the beasts of the forest were +waiting for him and said proudly: + +“You need fear your enemy no longer.” + +Then the beasts bowed down to the Lion as their King, and he promised +to come back and rule over them as soon as Dorothy was safely on her +way to Kansas. + + + + +Chapter XXII +The Country of the Quadlings + + +The four travelers passed through the rest of the forest in safety, and +when they came out from its gloom saw before them a steep hill, covered +from top to bottom with great pieces of rock. + +“That will be a hard climb,” said the Scarecrow, “but we must get over +the hill, nevertheless.” + +So he led the way and the others followed. They had nearly reached the +first rock when they heard a rough voice cry out, “Keep back!” + +“Who are you?” asked the Scarecrow. + +Then a head showed itself over the rock and the same voice said, “This +hill belongs to us, and we don’t allow anyone to cross it.” + +“But we must cross it,” said the Scarecrow. “We’re going to the country +of the Quadlings.” + +“But you shall not!” replied the voice, and there stepped from behind +the rock the strangest man the travelers had ever seen. + +He was quite short and stout and had a big head, which was flat at the +top and supported by a thick neck full of wrinkles. But he had no arms +at all, and, seeing this, the Scarecrow did not fear that so helpless a +creature could prevent them from climbing the hill. So he said, “I’m +sorry not to do as you wish, but we must pass over your hill whether +you like it or not,” and he walked boldly forward. + +As quick as lightning the man’s head shot forward and his neck +stretched out until the top of the head, where it was flat, struck the +Scarecrow in the middle and sent him tumbling, over and over, down the +hill. Almost as quickly as it came the head went back to the body, and +the man laughed harshly as he said, “It isn’t as easy as you think!” + +A chorus of boisterous laughter came from the other rocks, and Dorothy +saw hundreds of the armless Hammer-Heads upon the hillside, one behind +every rock. + +The Lion became quite angry at the laughter caused by the Scarecrow’s +mishap, and giving a loud roar that echoed like thunder, he dashed up +the hill. + +Again a head shot swiftly out, and the great Lion went rolling down the +hill as if he had been struck by a cannon ball. + +Dorothy ran down and helped the Scarecrow to his feet, and the Lion +came up to her, feeling rather bruised and sore, and said, “It is +useless to fight people with shooting heads; no one can withstand +them.” + +“What can we do, then?” she asked. + +“Call the Winged Monkeys,” suggested the Tin Woodman. “You have still +the right to command them once more.” + +“Very well,” she answered, and putting on the Golden Cap she uttered +the magic words. The Monkeys were as prompt as ever, and in a few +moments the entire band stood before her. + +“What are your commands?” inquired the King of the Monkeys, bowing low. + +“Carry us over the hill to the country of the Quadlings,” answered the +girl. + +“It shall be done,” said the King, and at once the Winged Monkeys +caught the four travelers and Toto up in their arms and flew away with +them. As they passed over the hill the Hammer-Heads yelled with +vexation, and shot their heads high in the air, but they could not +reach the Winged Monkeys, which carried Dorothy and her comrades safely +over the hill and set them down in the beautiful country of the +Quadlings. + +“This is the last time you can summon us,” said the leader to Dorothy; +“so good-bye and good luck to you.” + +“Good-bye, and thank you very much,” returned the girl; and the Monkeys +rose into the air and were out of sight in a twinkling. + +The country of the Quadlings seemed rich and happy. There was field +upon field of ripening grain, with well-paved roads running between, +and pretty rippling brooks with strong bridges across them. The fences +and houses and bridges were all painted bright red, just as they had +been painted yellow in the country of the Winkies and blue in the +country of the Munchkins. The Quadlings themselves, who were short and +fat and looked chubby and good-natured, were dressed all in red, which +showed bright against the green grass and the yellowing grain. + +The Monkeys had set them down near a farmhouse, and the four travelers +walked up to it and knocked at the door. It was opened by the farmer’s +wife, and when Dorothy asked for something to eat the woman gave them +all a good dinner, with three kinds of cake and four kinds of cookies, +and a bowl of milk for Toto. + +“How far is it to the Castle of Glinda?” asked the child. + +“It is not a great way,” answered the farmer’s wife. “Take the road to +the South and you will soon reach it.” + +Thanking the good woman, they started afresh and walked by the fields +and across the pretty bridges until they saw before them a very +beautiful Castle. Before the gates were three young girls, dressed in +handsome red uniforms trimmed with gold braid; and as Dorothy +approached, one of them said to her: + +“Why have you come to the South Country?” + +“To see the Good Witch who rules here,” she answered. “Will you take me +to her?” + +“Let me have your name, and I will ask Glinda if she will receive you.” +They told who they were, and the girl soldier went into the Castle. +After a few moments she came back to say that Dorothy and the others +were to be admitted at once. + + + + +Chapter XXIII +Glinda The Good Witch Grants Dorothy’s Wish + + +Before they went to see Glinda, however, they were taken to a room of +the Castle, where Dorothy washed her face and combed her hair, and the +Lion shook the dust out of his mane, and the Scarecrow patted himself +into his best shape, and the Woodman polished his tin and oiled his +joints. + +When they were all quite presentable they followed the soldier girl +into a big room where the Witch Glinda sat upon a throne of rubies. + +She was both beautiful and young to their eyes. Her hair was a rich red +in color and fell in flowing ringlets over her shoulders. Her dress was +pure white but her eyes were blue, and they looked kindly upon the +little girl. + +“What can I do for you, my child?” she asked. + +Dorothy told the Witch all her story: how the cyclone had brought her +to the Land of Oz, how she had found her companions, and of the +wonderful adventures they had met with. + +“My greatest wish now,” she added, “is to get back to Kansas, for Aunt +Em will surely think something dreadful has happened to me, and that +will make her put on mourning; and unless the crops are better this +year than they were last, I am sure Uncle Henry cannot afford it.” + +Glinda leaned forward and kissed the sweet, upturned face of the loving +little girl. + +“Bless your dear heart,” she said, “I am sure I can tell you of a way +to get back to Kansas.” Then she added, “But, if I do, you must give me +the Golden Cap.” + +“Willingly!” exclaimed Dorothy; “indeed, it is of no use to me now, and +when you have it you can command the Winged Monkeys three times.” + +“And I think I shall need their service just those three times,” +answered Glinda, smiling. + +Dorothy then gave her the Golden Cap, and the Witch said to the +Scarecrow, “What will you do when Dorothy has left us?” + +“I will return to the Emerald City,” he replied, “for Oz has made me +its ruler and the people like me. The only thing that worries me is how +to cross the hill of the Hammer-Heads.” + +“By means of the Golden Cap I shall command the Winged Monkeys to carry +you to the gates of the Emerald City,” said Glinda, “for it would be a +shame to deprive the people of so wonderful a ruler.” + +“Am I really wonderful?” asked the Scarecrow. + +“You are unusual,” replied Glinda. + +Turning to the Tin Woodman, she asked, “What will become of you when +Dorothy leaves this country?” + +He leaned on his axe and thought a moment. Then he said, “The Winkies +were very kind to me, and wanted me to rule over them after the Wicked +Witch died. I am fond of the Winkies, and if I could get back again to +the Country of the West, I should like nothing better than to rule over +them forever.” + +“My second command to the Winged Monkeys,” said Glinda “will be that +they carry you safely to the land of the Winkies. Your brain may not be +so large to look at as those of the Scarecrow, but you are really +brighter than he is—when you are well polished—and I am sure you will +rule the Winkies wisely and well.” + +Then the Witch looked at the big, shaggy Lion and asked, “When Dorothy +has returned to her own home, what will become of you?” + +“Over the hill of the Hammer-Heads,” he answered, “lies a grand old +forest, and all the beasts that live there have made me their King. If +I could only get back to this forest, I would pass my life very happily +there.” + +“My third command to the Winged Monkeys,” said Glinda, “shall be to +carry you to your forest. Then, having used up the powers of the Golden +Cap, I shall give it to the King of the Monkeys, that he and his band +may thereafter be free for evermore.” + +The Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman and the Lion now thanked the Good +Witch earnestly for her kindness; and Dorothy exclaimed: + +“You are certainly as good as you are beautiful! But you have not yet +told me how to get back to Kansas.” + +“Your Silver Shoes will carry you over the desert,” replied Glinda. “If +you had known their power you could have gone back to your Aunt Em the +very first day you came to this country.” + +“But then I should not have had my wonderful brains!” cried the +Scarecrow. “I might have passed my whole life in the farmer’s +cornfield.” + +“And I should not have had my lovely heart,” said the Tin Woodman. “I +might have stood and rusted in the forest till the end of the world.” + +“And I should have lived a coward forever,” declared the Lion, “and no +beast in all the forest would have had a good word to say to me.” + +“This is all true,” said Dorothy, “and I am glad I was of use to these +good friends. But now that each of them has had what he most desired, +and each is happy in having a kingdom to rule besides, I think I should +like to go back to Kansas.” + +“The Silver Shoes,” said the Good Witch, “have wonderful powers. And +one of the most curious things about them is that they can carry you to +any place in the world in three steps, and each step will be made in +the wink of an eye. All you have to do is to knock the heels together +three times and command the shoes to carry you wherever you wish to +go.” + +“If that is so,” said the child joyfully, “I will ask them to carry me +back to Kansas at once.” + +She threw her arms around the Lion’s neck and kissed him, patting his +big head tenderly. Then she kissed the Tin Woodman, who was weeping in +a way most dangerous to his joints. But she hugged the soft, stuffed +body of the Scarecrow in her arms instead of kissing his painted face, +and found she was crying herself at this sorrowful parting from her +loving comrades. + +Glinda the Good stepped down from her ruby throne to give the little +girl a good-bye kiss, and Dorothy thanked her for all the kindness she +had shown to her friends and herself. + +Dorothy now took Toto up solemnly in her arms, and having said one last +good-bye she clapped the heels of her shoes together three times, +saying: + +“Take me home to Aunt Em!” + + +Instantly she was whirling through the air, so swiftly that all she +could see or feel was the wind whistling past her ears. + +The Silver Shoes took but three steps, and then she stopped so suddenly +that she rolled over upon the grass several times before she knew where +she was. + +At length, however, she sat up and looked about her. + +“Good gracious!” she cried. + +For she was sitting on the broad Kansas prairie, and just before her +was the new farmhouse Uncle Henry built after the cyclone had carried +away the old one. Uncle Henry was milking the cows in the barnyard, and +Toto had jumped out of her arms and was running toward the barn, +barking furiously. + +Dorothy stood up and found she was in her stocking-feet. For the Silver +Shoes had fallen off in her flight through the air, and were lost +forever in the desert. + + + + +Chapter XXIV +Home Again + + +Aunt Em had just come out of the house to water the cabbages when she +looked up and saw Dorothy running toward her. + +“My darling child!” she cried, folding the little girl in her arms and +covering her face with kisses. “Where in the world did you come from?” + +“From the Land of Oz,” said Dorothy gravely. “And here is Toto, too. +And oh, Aunt Em! I’m so glad to be at home again!” + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WONDERFUL WIZARD OF OZ *** + +***** This file should be named 55-0.txt or 55-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/5/55/ + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. 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