Flappers and PhilosophersFitzgerald, F. Scott (Francis Scott)
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Flappers and Philosophers
Fitzgerald, F. Scott (Francis Scott)
Fiction; Short stories, American
"What there is of it--only a silly uncle and a sillier aunt. It
seems he got into some scandal with a red-haired woman name Mimi
something--it was frightfully exaggerated, he said, and men don't
lie to me--and anyway I didn't care what he'd done; it was the
future that counted. And I'd see to that. When a man's in love
with me he doesn't care for other amusements. I told him to drop
her like a hot cake, and he did."
"I feel rather jealous," said Carlyle, frowning--and then he
laughed. "I guess I'll just keep you along with us until we get
to Callao. Then I'll lend you enough money to get back to the
States. By that time you'll have had a chance to think that
gentleman over a little more."
"Don't talk to me like that!" fired up Ardita. "I won't tolerate
the parental attitude from anybody! Do you understand me?"
He chuckled and then stopped, rather abashed, as her cold anger
seemed to fold him about and chill him.
"I'm sorry," he offered uncertainly.
"Oh, don't apologize! I can't stand men who say 'I'm sorry' in
that manly, reserved tone. Just shut up!"
A pause ensued, a pause which Carlyle found rather awkward, but
which Ardita seemed not to notice at all as she sat contentedly
enjoying her cigarette and gazing out at the shining sea. After a
minute she crawled out on the rock and lay with her face over
the edge looking down. Carlyle, watching her, reflected how it
seemed impossible for her to assume an ungraceful attitude.
"Oh, look," she cried. "There's a lot of sort of ledges down
there. Wide ones of all different heights."
"He joined her and together they gazed down the dizzy height."
"We'll go swimming to-night!" she said excitedly. "By moonlight."
"Wouldn't you rather go in at the beach on the other end?"
"Not a chance. I like to dive. You can use my uncle's bathing
suit, only it'll fit you like a gunny sack, because he's a very
flabby man. I've got a one-piece that's shocked the natives all
along the Atlantic coast from Biddeford Pool to St. Augustine."
"I suppose you're a shark."
"Yes, I'm pretty good. And I look cute too. A sculptor up at Rye
last summer told me my calves are worth five hundred dollars."
There didn't seem to be any answer to this, so Carlyle was
silent, permitting himself only a discreet interior smile.
V
When the night crept down in shadowy blue and silver they
threaded the shimmering channel in the rowboat and, tying it to a
jutting rock, began climbing the cliff together. The first shelf
was ten feet up, wide, and furnishing a natural diving platform.
There they sat down in the bright moonlight and watched the
faint incessant surge of the waters almost stilled now as the
tide set seaward.
"Are you happy?" he asked suddenly.
She nodded.
"Always happy near the sea. You know," she went on, "I've been
thinking all day that you and I are somewhat alike. We're both
rebels--only for different reasons. Two years ago, when I was
just eighteen and you were---"
"Twenty-five."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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