[86832] in Discussion of MIT-community interests
The Case & Keyboard That Revolutionizes The iPad
daemon@ATHENA.MIT.EDU (Touchfire)
Mon Aug 15 04:49:30 2016
Date: Mon, 15 Aug 2016 04:49:30 -0400
To: mit-talk-mtg@charon.mit.edu
From: Touchfire <touchfire@keydog.top>
Reply-to: Touchfire <touchfire@keydog.top>
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<p align="right">His tone made me suspicious. “Of course you’ll be there yourself.” “Well, I’ll certainly try. What I called up about is ——” “Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “How about saying you’ll </p>
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come?” “Well, the fact is — the truth<I>of the matter is that I’m staying with some people up here in Greenwich, and they rather expect me to be with</I></p>
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them to-morrow. In fact,there’s a sort of picnic or something. Of course I’ll do my very best to get away.” i hid an unrestrained “huh!” and he must have </p>
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heard me, for he went on nervously: “What I called up about was a pair of shoes I left there. I wonder if it’d be too much trouble to have the butler send them on. You see, they’re </p>
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tennis shoes, and I’m sort of helpless without them. My address is care of B. F. ——” I didn’t hear the rest of the name, because I hung up the </p>
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receiver. After that I felt a certain shame for Gatsby — one gentleman to whom I telephoned implied that he had got what he deserved. However, that </p>
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was my fault, for he was one of those who used to sneer most bitterly at Gatsby on the courage of Gatsby’s liquor, and I should have known better than to call him. </p>
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The morning of the funeral I went up to New York to see Meyer Wolfsheim; I couldn’t seem to reach him any other way. The door that I pushed open,
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on the advice of an elevator boy, was marked “The Swastika Holding Company, ” and at first there didn’t seem to be any one inside. But when I’d shouted “hello” several times in </p>
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vain, an argument broke out behind a partition, and presently a lovely Jewess appeared at an interior door and scrutinized me with black hostile eyes. </p>
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“Nobody’s in, ” she said. “Mr. Wolfsheim’s gone to Chicago.” The first part of this was obviously untrue, for someone had begun to whistle “The </p>
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<p>Rosary,” tunelessly, inside. “Please say that Mr. Carraway wants to see him. ” “I can’t get him back from Chicago, can I?” </p>
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<p align="left" style="font: 15px;">At this moment a voice, unmistakably Wolfsheim’s, called “Stella!” from the other side of the door.“Leave your name on the desk, ” she said quickly. “I’ll </p>
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<p align="left">give it to him when he gets back.” “But I know he’s there.” She took a step toward me and began to slide her hands indignantly up and down her hips.
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<p align="left" style="font: 15px;">“You young men think you can force your way in here any time,” she scolded. “We’re getting sickantired of it. When I say he’s in Chicago, </p>
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<p align="right">he’s in Chicago.” I mentioned Gatsby. “Oh — h!” She looked at me over again. “Will you just — What was your name?” She vanished. In a moment Meyer Wolfsheim stood solemnly </p>
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in the doorway, holding out both hands. He drew me into his office, remarking in a reverent voice that it was a sad time for all of us, and offered me a cigar. </p>
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“My memory goes back to when<u>I first met him, ” he said. “A young major just out of the army and covered over with medals he got in the </u>war. He </p>
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was so hard up he had to keep on wearing his uniform because he couldn’t buy some regular clothes. First time I saw him was when he come into Winebrenner’s poolroom at .</p>
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