Сборник лучших произведений американской классической литературы. Уровень 4. Джек Лондон

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      “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.”

      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. I couldn't believe that they would choose this occasion for a scene[55].

      The next day I stood before the Buchanans' house.

      “Madame expects you in the salon!” cried the servant.

      Gatsby stood in the center of the crimson carpet and gazed around with fascinated eyes. Daisy watched him and laughed, her sweet, exciting laugh.

      We were silent. Tom opened the door, blocked out its space for a moment with his thick body, and hurried into the room.

      “Mr. Gatsby! 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. “I don't care!”

      Daisy sat back upon the couch.

      “It's so hot,” said Daisy. “Let's all go to town! Who wants to go to town?”

      “Let's go! Come on, come on!” said Tom.

      “I can't say anything in his house, old sport,” said Gatsby to me. “Her voice is full of money,” he said suddenly.

      That was it. I'd never understood before. It was full of money.

      “Shall we all go in my car?” suggested Gatsby.

      “Well, you take mine and let me drive your car to town,” offered Tom.

      “I don't think there's much gas,” said Gatsby.

      Daisy walked close to Gatsby, touching his coat with her hand. Jordan and Tom and I got into the front seat of Gatsby's car.

      “You think I'm pretty dumb, don't you?” suggested Tom. “Perhaps I am, but I have a – almost a second sight, sometimes. I've made a small investigation of this fellow,” he continued. “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![56]”

      “Listen, Tom. Why did you invite him to lunch?” demanded Jordan.

      “Daisy invited him; she knew him before we were married!”

      The car began to make strange sounds. I remembered Gatsby's caution about gasoline.

      “There's a garage right here,” objected Jordan.

      Tom threw on both brakes impatiently and we came to a dusty stop under Wilson's sign.

      “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. “I've been sick all day.”

      “Well, shall I help myself?” Tom demanded.

      With an effort Wilson left the shade and unscrewed the cap of the tank. In the sunlight his face was green.

      “I've been here too long. I want to get away. My wife and I want to go west.”

      “Your wife does!” exclaimed Tom.

      “She's been talking about it for ten years. I'm going to get her away. I learned something,” remarked Wilson. “That's why I want to get away.”

      Tom was feeling the hot whips of panic. His wife and his mistress were slipping from his control.

      “You follow me to the south side of Central Park, in front of the Plaza,” said he.

      Several times he turned his head and looked back for their car. I think he was afraid they would dart down a side street and out of his life forever.

      We all decided to take the suite in the Plaza Hotel.

      The room was large and stifling. Daisy went to the mirror and stood with her back to us, fixing her hair.

      “It's a great suite,” whispered Jordan respectfully and every one laughed.

      “Open another window,” commanded Daisy, without turning around.

      “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 whiskey 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.

      “Where'd you pick that up – this 'old sport'?”

      “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.”

      “By the way, Mr. Gatsby, I understand you're an Oxford man.”

      “Not exactly.”

      “Oh, yes. It was in nineteen-nineteen, I only stayed five months. That's why I can't really call myself an Oxford man.”

      Daisy rose, smiling faintly, and went to the table.

      “Open the whiskey, Tom,” she ordered. “Then you won't seem so stupid to yourself.”

      “Wait a minute,” said Tom, “I want to said Mr. Gatsby some words.”

      “Go on,” Gatsby said politely.

      “I suppose the latest thing is to sit back and let Mr. Nobody from Nowhere[57] make love to your wife!” “I know I'm not very popular. I don't give big parties.”

      Angry as I was[58], I was tempted to laugh whenever he opened his mouth.

      “I've got something to tell YOU, old sport, – ” began Gatsby. But Daisy interrupted helplessly.

      “Please don't! 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 СКАЧАТЬ