This Side of Paradise F. Scott Fitzgerald (mini ebook reader .txt) đ
- Author: F. Scott Fitzgerald
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âI tell you,â Amory declared to Tom, âheâs the first contemporary Iâve ever met whom Iâll admit is my superior in mental capacity.â
âItâs a bad time to admit itâ âpeople are beginning to think heâs odd.â
âHeâs way over their headsâ âyou know you think so yourself when you talk to himâ âGood Lord, Tom, you used to stand out against âpeople.â Success has completely conventionalized you.â
Tom grew rather annoyed.
âWhatâs he trying to doâ âbe excessively holy?â
âNo! not like anybody youâve ever seen. Never enters the Philadelphian Society. He has no faith in that rot. He doesnât believe that public swimming-pools and a kind word in time will right the wrongs of the world; moreover, he takes a drink whenever he feels like it.â
âHe certainly is getting in wrong.â
âHave you talked to him lately?â
âNo.â
âThen you havenât any conception of him.â
The argument ended nowhere, but Amory noticed more than ever how the sentiment toward Burne had changed on the campus.
âItâs odd,â Amory said to Tom one night when they had grown more amicable on the subject, âthat the people who violently disapprove of Burneâs radicalism are distinctly the Pharisee classâ âI mean theyâre the best-educated men in collegeâ âthe editors of the papers, like yourself and Ferrenby, the younger professors.â ââ ⊠The illiterate athletes like Langueduc think heâs getting eccentric, but they just say, âGood old Burne has got some queer ideas in his head,â and pass onâ âthe Pharisee classâ âGee! they ridicule him unmercifully.â
The next morning he met Burne hurrying along McCosh walk after a recitation.
âWhither bound, Tsar?â
âOver to the Prince office to see Ferrenby,â he waved a copy of the morningâs Princetonian at Amory. âHe wrote this editorial.â
âGoing to flay him alive?â
âNoâ âbut heâs got me all balled up. Either Iâve misjudged him or heâs suddenly become the worldâs worst radical.â
Burne hurried on, and it was several days before Amory heard an account of the ensuing conversation. Burne had come into the editorâs sanctum displaying the paper cheerfully.
âHello, Jesse.â
âHello there, Savonarola.â
âI just read your editorial.â
âGood boyâ âdidnât know you stooped that low.â
âJesse, you startled me.â
âHow so?â
âArenât you afraid the facultyâll get after you if you pull this irreligious stuff?â
âWhat?â
âLike this morning.â
âWhat the devilâ âthat editorial was on the coaching system.â
âYes, but that quotationâ ââ
Jesse sat up.
âWhat quotation?â
âYou know: âHe who is not with me is against me.âââ
âWellâ âwhat about it?â
Jesse was puzzled but not alarmed.
âWell, you say hereâ âlet me see.â Burne opened the paper and read: âââHe who is not with me is against me, as that gentleman said who was notoriously capable of only coarse distinctions and puerile generalities.âââ
âWhat of it?â Ferrenby began to look alarmed. âOliver Cromwell said it, didnât he? or was it Washington, or one of the saints? Good Lord, Iâve forgotten.â
Burne roared with laughter.
âOh, Jesse, oh, good, kind Jesse.â
âWho said it, for Peteâs sake?â
âWell,â said Burne, recovering his voice, âSt. Matthew attributes it to Christ.â
âMy God!â cried Jesse, and collapsed backward into the wastebasket.
Amory Writes a Poem
The weeks tore by. Amory wandered occasionally to New York on the chance of finding a new shining green autobus, that its stick-of-candy glamour might penetrate his disposition. One day he ventured into a stock-company revival of a play whose name was faintly familiar. The curtain roseâ âhe watched casually as a girl entered. A few phrases rang in his ear and touched a faint chord of memory. Whereâ â? Whenâ â?
Then he seemed to hear a voice whispering beside him, a very soft, vibrant voice: âOh, Iâm such a poor little fool; do tell me when I do wrong.â
The solution came in a flash and he had a quick, glad memory of Isabelle.
He found a blank space on his programme, and began to scribble rapidly:
âHere in the figured dark I watch once more,
There, with the curtain, roll the years away;
Two years of yearsâ âthere was an idle day
Of ours, when happy endings didnât bore
Our unfermented souls; I could adore
Your eager face beside me, wide-eyed, gay,
Smiling a repertoire while the poor play
Reached me as a faint ripple reaches shore.
Yawning and wondering an evening through,
I watch aloneâ ââ ⊠and chatterings, of course,
Spoil the one scene which, somehow, did have charms;
You wept a bit, and I grew sad for you
Right here! Where Mr. X defends divorce
And Whatâs-Her-Name falls fainting in his arms.â
Still Calm
âGhosts are such dumb things,â said Alec, âtheyâre slow-witted. I can always outguess a ghost.â
âHow?â asked Tom.
âWell, it depends where. Take a bedroom, for example. If you use any discretion a ghost can never get you in a bedroom.â
âGo on, sâpose you think thereâs maybe a ghost in your bedroomâ âwhat measures do you take on getting home at night?â demanded Amory, interested.
âTake a stickâ answered Alec, with ponderous reverence, âone about the length of a broom-handle. Now, the first thing to do is to get the room clearedâ âto do this you rush with your eyes closed into your study and turn on the lightsâ ânext, approaching the closet, carefully run the stick in the door three or four times. Then, if nothing happens, you can look in. Always, always run the stick in viciously firstâ ânever look first!â
âOf course, thatâs the ancient Celtic school,â said Tom gravely.
âYesâ âbut they usually pray first. Anyway, you use this method to clear the closets and also for behind all doorsâ ââ
âAnd the bed,â Amory suggested.
âOh, Amory, no!â cried Alec in horror. âThat isnât the wayâ âthe bed requires different tacticsâ âlet the bed alone, as you value your reasonâ âif there is a ghost in the room and thatâs only about a third of the time, it is almost always under the bed.â
âWellâ Amory began.
Alec waved him into silence.
âOf course you never look. You stand in the middle of the floor and before he knows what youâre going to do make a sudden leap for the bedâ ânever walk near the bed; to a ghost your ankle is your most vulnerable partâ âonce in bed, youâre safe; he may lie around under the bed all night, but youâre safe as daylight. If you still have doubts pull
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