Tales of the Jazz AgeFitzgerald, F. Scott (Francis Scott)
General
Tales of the Jazz Age
Fitzgerald, F. Scott (Francis Scott)
Short stories; United States -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction
Perry tentatively gathered up the body and legs and wrapped them about
him, tying the hind legs as a girdle round his waist. The effect on
the whole was bad. It was even irreverent--like one of those mediaeval
pictures of a monk changed into a beast by the ministrations of Satan.
At the very best the ensemble resembled a humpbacked cow sitting on
her haunches among blankets.
“Don’t look like anything at all,” objected Perry gloomily.
“No,” said Mrs. Nolak; “you see you got to have two people.”
A solution flashed upon Perry.
“You got a date to-night?”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly----”
“Oh, come on,” said Perry encouragingly. “Sure you can! Here! Be good
sport, and climb into these hind legs.”
With difficulty he located them, and extended their yawning depths
ingratiatingly. But Mrs. Nolak seemed loath. She backed perversely
away.
“Oh, no----”
“C’m on! You can be the front if you want to. Or we’ll flip a coin.”
“Oh, no----”
“Make it worth your while.”
Mrs. Nolak set her lips firmly together.
“Now you just stop!” she said with no coyness implied. “None of the
gentlemen ever acted up this way before. My husband----”
“You got a husband?” demanded Perry. “Where is he?”
“He’s home.”
“Wha’s telephone number?”
After considerable parley he obtained the telephone number pertaining
to the Nolak penates and got into communication with that small, weary
voice he had heard once before that day. But Mr. Nolak, though taken
off his guard and somewhat confused by Perry’s brilliant flow of
logic, stuck staunchly to his point. He refused firmly, but with
dignity, to help out Mr. Parkhurst in the capacity of back part of a
camel.
Having rung off, or rather having been rung off on, Perry sat down on
a three-legged stool to think it over. He named over to himself those
friends on whom he might call, and then his mind paused as Betty
Medill’s name hazily and sorrowfully occurred to him. He had a
sentimental thought. He would ask her. Their love affair was over, but
she could not refuse this last request. Surely it was not much to
ask--to help him keep up his end of social obligation for one short
night. And if she insisted, she could be the front part of the camel
and he would go as the back. His magnanimity pleased him. His mind
even turned to rosy-colored dreams of a tender reconciliation inside
the camel--there hidden away from all the world....
“Now you’d better decide right off.”
The bourgeois voice of Mrs. Nolak broke in upon his mellow fancies and
roused him to action. He went to the phone and called up the Medill
house. Miss Betty was out; had gone out to dinner.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account