Читать книгу Великий Гэтсби / The Great Gatsby онлайн на КулЛиб

It was a photograph of young men. There was Gatsby, looking a little, not much, younger – with a cricket bat in his hand.

Then it was all true.

“I'm going to make a big request of you today,” he said, “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 thing that happened to me.” He hesitated.

“You'll hear about it this afternoon.”

“At lunch?”

“No, this afternoon. I know 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.

He did not say another word. His correctness grew on him as we neared the city. We passed Port Roosevelt, and sped along the suburbs. I heard the familiar sound of the motorcycle, and a frantic policeman stood before us.

“All right, old sport,” said Gatsby. We slowed down. Taking a white card from his wallet he waved it before the policeman's eyes.

“All right,” agreed the policeman. “I'll know your automobile next time, Mr. Gatsby. Excuse me!”

“What was that?” I inquired. “The picture of Oxford?”

“I did the commissioner a favor once, and he sends me a Christmas card every year.”

The city seen from the Queensboro Bridge is always the city seen for the first time, it shows its wild mystery and beauty.