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“My address is care of B.F. Donaldson, in Fairfield County up here in Connecticut—” Klipspringer stopped, realizing that the line had gone dead.
“Well, I’m not—I didn’t say anything wrong,” he remarked to no one in particular. “But if he’s going to be that way, so be it. I suppose I could buy a new pair if it really is necessary.”
He could, if it came to that—he just wished he didn’t have to. “What a bother,” he murmured tiredly.
“What was that, Ewing?” boomed Donaldson, who had just entered the telephone lounge.
“Nothing, just—I was just calling a friend, you see, because—”
“Inviting him to the picnic tomorrow, no doubt?” interrupted Donaldson. “Well, tell him he’s welcome! Everyone’s welcome!” He strode away self-importantly before Klipspringer could respond.
Klipspringer looked outside. The weather did look quite promising for a picnic. The sky was as blue as the wings of jay, and only a few clouds were present, feathery blotches on the endless vista.
“Well, then, I’ll just get new shoes,” he muttered blandly. He had the money, certainly—but it was a damn inconvenience. Maybe it was time for a change, anyway. New house, new shoes. The old ones had been getting quite ratty and disgusting, to be honest. Perhaps it was fitting to leave them in that old house, he pondered amusedly. After all, hadn’t he left a suit jacket at Brantley’s, up in Weston, and a watch at Hanford’s, down in Franklin Lakes? And there was that fabulous bowler hat he forgot in Scarsdale, along with the name of the house’s owner.
“Yes, it’s fitting,” he decided. Those shoes were worn out from all the action they had seen in West Egg anyway. Quite the party-thrower, Gatsby, he thought, although his best memories were still from Scarsdale. What was the man’s name, anyway?
***
The weather was even better for a picnic the next day, to Klipspringer’s delight. The sky was completely free of any clouds, as if a careless painter had spilled blue paint on it. The air was quite warm for the time of year, but not unbearably so.
He had a fabulous time, overall, really. Except for that whole conversation with Peter Jewett. He didn’t expect to recognize anybody from West Egg out here. And he certainly hadn’t expected Jewett to walk over and greet him with a beaming “Ewing! Fancy meeting you here!”
“Yes—I’m delighted—”
“Of course, I didn’t expect you’d leave old Gatsby’s, eh?”
“Well, the truth is—actually, I do believe he’s been shot. Or so I hear.”
“Old Gatsby? A fine man like him, who’d want to go and shoot him?”
Klipspringer shrugged. A cloud blocked out the sun for a short moment.
“Well,” continued the retired commander, “It’s a darn shame, if you ask me. Horrible business and all that. Have you tried the shrimp cocktails? They’re quite delicious. Absolutely delectable.”
***
When Klipspringer returned to the house, he learned he didn’t need to buy new shoes after all. Donaldson had instructed the butler to “go get a pair for my good friend Ewing!” Klipspringer had thought to be insulted because he was quite well off, and did not like accepting charity. But he dismissed the thought. Donaldson was quite the generous chap, after all.
The next day, he decided to get out for a spot of tennis on Donaldson’s court. The fine weather had held, and the sun was beaming cheerfully down on his golden hair. Just as he was getting tired, he spotted Jewett on a nearby bench.
“Am I being followed?” he wondered silently. But no—it was probably a coincidence. It probably unnerved him because the man brought up memories of West Egg. Not particularly bad memories, but Klipspringer preferred to leave the past behind. He had stayed in seven different households since graduating from Dartmouth, and had greatly enjoyed being free of any permanent ties. He did not appreciate any mixing of social circles.
Klipspringer drew his sports-shirt more tightly around him as it suddenly started to blow in the light breeze like a galley’s sail. Fortunately, Jewett had not yet spotted him, so he managed to head back to the mansion with having to converse with the retired commander. Whistling a tune, he made his way to his suite of rooms. By the time he was dressed appropriately for the night’s revels, the wind had died down. The sun was shining as if it hadn’t a care in the world.