I was still with Jordan Baker. We were sitting at a table witha man of about my age and a rowdy little girl, who gave wayupon the slightest provocation to uncontrollable laughter. Iwas enjoying myself now. I had taken two finger-bowls ofchampagne, and the scene had changed before my eyes intosomething significant, elemental, and profound.
“Want to go with me, old sport? Just near the shore along theSound.”
"I'm Gatsby btw."
"Okie Dokie!" (Hmm.. I should ask him his name)
A celebrated tenor had sung in Italian,and a nward the summer sky.A pair of stage twins, who turned out to be the girls in yellow,did a baby act in costume, and champagne was served inglasses bigger than finger-bowls. The moon had risen higher,
A man in a long duster had dismounted from the wreck andnow stood in the middle of the road, looking from the car to thetire and from the tire to the observers in a pleasant, puzzledway.
Bro your tire is OFF the car
Nuh uh
A stout, middle-aged man, with enormous owl-eyed spec-tacles, was sitting somewhat drunk on the edge of a greattable, staring with unsteady concentration at the shelves ofbooks. As we entered he wheeled excitedly around and ex-amined Jordan from head to foot.