Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald UK (Illustrated)

by F. Scott Fitzgerald

  With that the major and Miss Willie went upstairs.

  *****

  Dolly had left her bag behind in that awful house, and the fact haunted her at school next day. She was even more worried when, after her first class, she was summoned to Miss Terhune’s study.

  “Sit down, Dolly.” The teacher leaned forward over her desk and said, “Tell me: Was there any trouble at your uncle’s last night? My nephew won’t tell me a thing.”

  “All I want to do is get my bag, Miss Terhune. I left it there, you know. Then I’m going back to the Appletons’. But I certainly appreciate your taking me in last night.”

  Miss Terhune shifted in her chair. “Dolly, a telegram has just come from your father. He is on his way to Baltimore. And until he arrives you’d better stay right with me. This afternoon I’ll have Clarke go with you to get your bag. And if your uncle is there, tell him I’d like to see him.”

  The door of 2008 was open when they got there, and the front blinds were up. Dolly peered in cautiously. Then she turned to Clarke and said, “There’s three men inside. Will you go in with me?”

  They were jostled suddenly by an expressman who had been trundling a small truck in the street. “Who you looking for?” he demanded.

  “I happen to have left a small suitcase here,” said Dolly.

  “Well, talk to the man that owns the place.”

  The children hesitated, but were swept almost literally into the hall ahead of the expressman and his trunk. “Even before they were well inside, a man collared Clarke and marched him toward two other men within. The first was a quiet gray-haired man of fifty in the act of pulling a piece of cloth from a painting; the second was a grim-faced six-footer with a pad in his hand.

  “That’s not the pair,” said the gray-haired man. “Why, these are just kids. What do you want here?”

  “They might be working for the couple — “ began the tall detective.

  But the gray-haired man was looking at Dolly, “Open that other window,” he said. She returned his gaze without fear, for he seemed like her own sort at last. And as the light came in he said, “You’re Morton Haines’ child.”

  “Are you Uncle Charlie?” Dolly demanded.

  The man with the notebook was also surveying Dolly closely. In a low voice he said,” Be careful, Mr. Craig.”

  “It’s all right,” said Uncle Charlie. “This is my niece.”

  Dolly made one of those lightning decisions that sometimes got her in trouble, sometimes stood her in good stead. She would never say anything about what had occurred — never anything at all.

  Catching the negative headshake by which she signaled this decision to Clarke, the detective frowned.

  But Charlie Craig continued, “It’s all right. I’d vouch for her anywhere, with her father’s eyes and nose.”

  “Well, if you’re sure, sir.”

  “Of course I’m sure. I know my kin.” He turned to Dolly. “You might introduce your friend.”

  “This is Clarke Cresswell. He’s a nephew of Miss Grace Terhune.”

  Mr. Craig turned to the detective. “That clinches it. I’ve known Miss Terhune since she was a foot high. You’re my guest here, young lady. I wrote your father I’d be glad to put you up. Where are your things?”

  “I brought my suitcase over,” said Dolly, lying promptly.

  He came close and took her hand. “I want to know you,” he said.

  *****

  “So that’s that,” the detective said to Mr. Craig. “The man is known as Dodo Gilbert, but he calls himself Lord Dana or George Whilomville or sometimes Major Redfern. And the woman named Birdie or Willie Lukas is an old hand at shoplifting.”

  “I haven’t missed anything here so far. But I’m glad my niece didn’t come into this house three days ago!”

  They heard the phone ring and Dolly answering it.

  “Just a minute,” she said; “you want my uncle.” She raised her voice: “Somebody wants you, Uncle Charlie.” And then, “What? Oh, daddy! When did you get here?”

  After she rang off, she gazed at the hall, glowing from newly opened windows. Clarke did not know what the new light in Dolly’s eyes was, but it meant she was home at last.

  INSIDE THE HOUSE

  When Bryan Bowers came home in the late afternoon, three boys were helping Gwen to decorate the tree. He was glad, for she had bought too big a tree to climb around herself, and he had not relished the prospect of crawling over the ceiling.

  The boys stood up as he came in, and Gwen introduced them:

  “Jim Bennett, daddy, and Satterly Brown you know, and Jason Crawford you know.”

  He was glad she had said the names. So many boys had been there throughout the holidays that it had become somewhat confusing.

  He sat down for a moment.

  “Don’t let me interrupt. I’ll be leaving you shortly.”

  It struck him that the three boys looked old, or certainly large, beside Gwen, though none was over sixteen. She was fourteen, almost beautiful, he thought — would be beautiful, if she had looked a little more like her mother. But she had such a pleasant profile and so much animation that she had become rather too popular at too early an age.

  “Are you at school here in the city?” he asked the new young man.

  “No, sir. I’m at S’n Regis; just home for the holidays.”

  Jason Crawford, the boy with the wavy yellow pompadour and horn-rimmed glasses, said, with an easy laugh:

  “He couldn’t take it here, Mr. Bowers.”

  Bryan continued to address the new boy:

  “Those little lights you’re working at are the biggest nuisance about a Christmas tree. One bulb always misses and then it takes forever to find which one it is.”

  “That’s just what happened now.”

  “You said it, Mr. Bowers,” said Jason.

  Bryan looked up at his daughter, balanced on a stepladder.

  “Aren’t you glad I told you to put these men to work?” he asked. “Think of old daddy having to do this.”

  Gwen agreed from her precarious perch: “It would have been hard on you, daddy. But wait till I get this tinsel thing on.”

  “You aren’t old, Mr. Bowers,” Jason offered.

  “I feel old.”

  Jason laughed, as if Bryan had said something witty.

  Bryan addressed Satterly:

  “How do things go with you, Satterly? Make the first hockey team?”

  “No, sir. Never really expected to.”

  “He gets in all the games,” Jason supplied.

  Bryan got up.

  “Gwen, why don’t you hang these boys on the tree?” he suggested. “Don’t you think a Christmas tree covered with boys would be original?”

  “I think — — “ began Jason, but Bryan continued:

  “I’m sure none of them would be missed at home. You could call up their families and explain that they were only being used as ornaments till after the holidays.”

  He was tired, and that was his best effort. With a general wave, he went toward his study.

  Jason’s voice followed him:

  “You’d get tired seeing us hanging around, Mr. Bowers. Better change your mind about letting Gwen have dates.”

  Bryan turned around sharply. “What do you mean about ‘dates’?”

  Gwen peeked over the top of the Christmas tree. “He just means about dates, daddy. Don’t you know what a date is?”

  “Well now, will one of you tell me just exactly what a date is?”

  All the boys seemed to begin to talk at once.

  “Why, a date is — — “

  “Why, Mr. Bowers — — “

  “A date — — “

  He cut through their remarks:

  “Is a ‘date’ anything like what we used to call an engagement?”

  Again the cacophony commenced.

  “ — — No, a date is — — “

  “ — — An engagement is — — “

  “ — —
It’s sort of more — — “

  Bryan looked up at the Christmas tree from which Gwen’s face stared out from the tinsel somewhat like the Cheshire cat in Alice in Wonderland.

  “Heaven’s sakes, don’t fall out of the tree about it,” he said.

  “Daddy, you don’t mean to say that you don’t know what a date is?”

  “A date is something you can have at home,” said Bryan. He started to go to his study but Jason supplied: “Mr. Bowers, I can explain to you why Gwen won’t fall out of the tree — — “

  Bryan closed his door on the remark and stood near it.

  “That young man is extremely fresh,” he thought.

  Stretched out on his divan for half an hour, he let the worries of the day slip from his shoulders. At the end of that time there was a knock, and he sat up, saying:

  “Come in… Oh, hello, Gwen.” He stretched and yawned.

  “How’s your metabolism?”

  “What’s metabolism? You asked me that one other afternoon.”

  “I think it’s something everybody has. Like a liver.”

  She had a question to ask him and did not pursue the subject further:

  “Daddy, did you like them? Those boys?”

  “Sure.”

  “How do you like Jason?”

  He pretended to be obtuse.

  “Which one was he?”

  “You know very well. Once you said he was fresh. But he wasn’t this afternoon, did you think?”

  “The boy with all the yellow fuzz?”

  “Daddy, you know very well which one he was.”

  “I wasn’t sure. Because you told me if I didn’t let you go out alone at night, Jason wouldn’t come to see you again. So I thought this must be some boy who looked like him.”

  She shook off his teasing.

  “I do know this, daddy: That if I’m not allowed to have dates, nobody’s going to invite me to the dance.”

  “What do you call this but a date? Three boys. If you think I’m going to let you race around town at night with some kid, you’re fooling yourself. He can come here any night except a school night.”

  “It isn’t the same,” she said mournfully.

  “Let’s not go over that. You told me that all the girls you knew had these dates, but when I asked you to name even one — — “

  “All right, daddy. The way you talk you’d think it was something awful we were going to do. We just want to go to the movies.”

  “To see Peppy Velance again.”

  She admitted that was their destination.

  “I’ve heard nothing but Peppy Velance for two months. Dinner’s one long movie magazine. If that girl is your ideal, why don’t you be practical about it and learn to tap like her? If you just want to be a belle — — “

  “What’s a belle?”

  “A belle?” Bryan was momentarily unable to understand that the term needed definition. “A belle? Why, it’s what your mother was. Very popular — that sort of thing.”

  “Oh. You mean the nerts.”

  “What?”

  “Being the nerts — having everybody nerts about you.”

  “What?” he repeated incredulously.

  “Oh, now, don’t get angry, daddy. Call it a belle then.”

  He laughed, but as she stood beside his couch, silent and a little resentful, a wave of contrition went over him as he remembered that she was motherless. Before he could speak, Gwen said in a tight little voice:

  “I don’t think your friends are so interesting! What am I supposed to do — get excited about some lawyers and doctors?”

  “We won’t discuss that. You have the day with your friends. When you’re home in the evening, you’ve got to be a little grown up. There’s a lawyer coming here tonight to dinner, and I’d like you to make a good impression on him.”

  “Then I can’t go to the movies?”

  “No.”

  Silent and expressionless, save for the faint lift of her chin, Gwen stood a moment. Then she turned abruptly and left the room.

  II

  Mr. Edward Harrison was pleased to find his friend’s little girl so polite and so pleasant to look at. Bryan, wanting to atone for his harshness of the afternoon, introduced him as the author of “The Music Goes Round and Round.”

  For a moment, Gwen looked at Mr. Harrison, startled. Then they laughed together.

  During dinner, the lawyer tried to draw her out:

  “Do you plan to marry? Or to take up a career?”

  “I think that I’d like to be a debutante.” She looked at her father reproachfully, “And maybe have dates on the side. I haven’t got any talents for a career that I know about.”

  Her father interrupted her:

  “She has though. She ought to make a good biologist — or else she could be a chemist making funny artificial fingernails.” He changed his tone: “Gwen and I had a little run-in on the subject of careers this afternoon. She’s stage-struck, and I’d rather have her do something about it than just talk.”

  Mr. Harrison turned to Gwen. “Why don’t you?” he asked. “I can give you some tips. I do a lot of theatrical business. Probably know some of your favorites.”

  “Do you know Peppy Velance?”

  “She’s a client of mine.”

  Gwen was thrilled.

  “Is she nice?”

  “Yes. But I’m more interested in you. Why not go in for a career if your father thinks you have the necessary stuff?”

  How could Gwen tell him it was because she was happy the way things were? How could she explain to him what she hardly knew herself — that her feeling for Peppy Velance only stood for loveliness — enchanted gardens, ballrooms through which to walk with enchanted lovers? Starlight and tunes.

  The stage! The very word frightened her. That was work, like school. But somewhere there must exist a world of which Peppy Velance’s pictures were only an echo, and this world seemed to lie just ahead — proms and parties of people at gay resorts. She could not cry out to Mr. Harrison, “I don’t want a career, because I’m a romantic little snob. Because I want to be a belle, a belle, a belle” — the word ringing like a carillon inside her.

  So she only said:

  “Please tell me about Peppy Velance.”

  “Peppy Velance? Let’s see.”

  He thought for a moment. “She’s a kid from New Mexico. Her name’s really Schwartze. Sweet. About as much brains as the silver peacock on your buffet. Has to be coached before every scene, so she can talk English. And she’s having a wonderful time with her success. Is that satisfactory?”.

  It was far from being satisfactory to Gwen. But she didn’t believe him.

  He was an old man, about forty, like her father, and Peppy Velance had probably never looked at him romantically.

  The important thing was that Jason would arrive presently, and maybe two other boys and a girl. They would have some sort of time — in spite of the fact that a sortie into the world of night was forbidden.

  “One girl at school knows Clark Gable,” she said, switching the subject. “Do you know him, Mr. Harrison?”

  “No,” Mr. Harrison said in such a funny way that both father and daughter looked at him. His face had turned gray.

  “I wonder if I could ask for a cup of coffee.”

  The host stepped on the bell.

  “Do you want to lie down, Ed?”

  “No, thanks. I brought a brief case of work to do on the train and the strain on the eyes always seems to affect the old pump.”

  Being one of those who had made an unwelcome breakfast of chlorine gas eighteen years before, Bryan understood that Mr. Harrison could never be quite sure. As the other man drank his coffee, the world was still swimming and he felt the need of telling this pretty little girl something — before the tablecloth got darker.

  “Were you offended at what I said about Peppy Velance? You were. I saw you wondering how an old man like me would dare even talk about her.”

  “Honestly
— — “

  He waved her silent with a feeling that his own time was short.

  “I didn’t want to give you the idea that all actresses are as superficial as Peppy. It’s a fine career. Lots of intelligent women go into it now.”

  What was it that he wanted to tell her? There was something in that eager little face that he longed to help.

  He shook his head from side to side when Bryan asked him once more if he would like to lie down.

  “Of course, it’s better to do things than to talk about them,” he said, catching his breath with an effort.

  He choked on the coffee. “Nobody wants a lot of bad actresses. But it would be nice if all girls were to do something.”

  As his weakness increased he felt that, perhaps, it was this pretty little girl’s face he was fighting. Then he fainted.

  Afterwards he was on his feet with Bryan’s arm supporting him.

  “No… Here on Gwen’s sofa … till I can get the doctor… Gently… There you are… Gwen, I want you to stay in the room a minute.”

  She was thinking:

  “Jason will be here any time now.” She wished her father would hurry at the phone. Growing up during her mother’s illness had inevitably made her callous about such things.

  Their doctor lived almost across the street. When he arrived, she and her father retired to his study.

  “What do you think, daddy? Will Mr. Harrison have to go to a hospital?”

  “I don’t know whether they’ll want to move him.”

  “What about Jason then?”

  Abstracted, he only half heard her. “I hope it’s nothing serious about Mr. Harrison, but did you notice the color of his face?”

  The doctor came into the study and held a quiet conversation with him, from which Gwen caught the words “trained nurse,” and “I’ll call the drugstore.”

  As Bryan started into the other room, she said:

  “Daddy, if Jason and I went out — — “

  She broke off as he turned.

  “You and Jason aren’t going out. I told you that.”

  “But if Mr. Harrison’s got to stay in the guest room right next door, where you can hear every word — — “