He ate more than four dollars’ worth of food in halfan hour.”
“Did you start him in business？” I inquired.
“Start him！ I made him.”
“Oh.”
“I raised him up out of nothing， right out of thegutter. I saw right away he was a fine appearing，gentlemanly young man， and when he told me hewas an Oggsford I knew I could use him good. I gothim to join up in the American Legion and he usedto stand high there. Right off he did some workfor a client of mine up to Albany. We were so thicklike that in everything—” He held up two bulbousfingers “—always together.”
I wondered if this partnership had included theWorld’s Series transaction in 1919.
“Now he’s dead，” I said after a moment. “You werehis closest friend， so I know you’ll want to come tohis funeral this afternoon.”
“I’d like to come.”
“Well， come then.”
The hair in his nostrils quivered slightly and as heshook his head his eyes filled with tears.
“I can’t do it—I can’t get mixed up in it，” he said.
“There’s nothing to get mixed up in. It’s all overnow.”
“When a man gets killed I never like to get mixedup in it in any way. I keep out. When I was a youngman it was different—if a friend of mine died， nomatter how， I stuck with them to the end. You maythink that’s sentimental but I mean it—to the bitterend.”
I saw that for some reason of his own he was determined not to come， so I stood up.
“Are you a college man？” he inquired suddenly.
For a moment I thought he was going to suggesta “gonnegtion” but he only nodded and shook myhand.
“Let us learn to show our friendship for a man whenhe is alive and not after he is dead，” he suggested. “Afterthat my own rule is to let everything alone.”
When I left his office the sky had turned darkand I got back to West Egg in a drizzle. Afterchanging my clothes I went next door and foundMr. Gatz walking up and down excitedly in the hall.
His pride in his son and in his son’s possessions wascontinually increasing and now he had something toshow me.
“Jimmy sent me this picture.” He took out hiswallet with trembling fingers. “Look there.”
It was a photograph of the house， cracked in thecorners and dirty with many hands. He pointed outevery detail to me eagerly. “Look there！” and thensought admiration from my eyes. He had shown itso often that I think it was more real to him nowthan the house itself.
“Jimmy sent it to me. I think it’s a very prettypicture. It shows up well.”
“Very well. Had you seen him lately？”
“He come out to see me two years ago and boughtme the house I live in now. Of course we was brokeup when he run off from home but I see now therewas a reason for it. He knew he had a big future infront of him. And ever since he made a success hewas very generous with me.”
He seemed reluctant to put away the picture， heldit for another minute， lingeringly， before my eyes.
Then he returned the wallet and pulled from hispocket a ragged old copy of a book called “HopalongCassidy.”
“Look here， this is a book he had when he was boy. It just shows you.”
He opened it at the back cover and turned around forme to see. On the last fly-leaf was printedthe word SCHEDULE， and the date September
12th， 1906. And underneath：
Rise from bed … … … … …. 6.00 A.M.
Dumbbell exercise and wall-scaling … 6.15-6.30 A.M.
Study electricity， etc … … … … ...7.15-8.15 A.M.
Work … … … … … … … ... ... ... ..8.30-4.30 P.M.
Baseball and sports … … … … ... 4.30-5.00 P.M.
Practice elocution， poise and how to attain 5.00-6.00 P.M.
Study needed inventions … … 7.00-9.00 P.M.
GENERAL RESOLVES
No wasting time at Shafters or [a name，
indecipherable]
No more smoking or chewing
Bath every other day
Read one improving book or magazine per week
Save 5.00 [crossed out] 3.00 per week
Be better to parents
“I come across this book by accident，” said theold man. “It just shows you， don’t it？”
“It just shows you.”
“Jimmy was bound to get ahead. He always hadsome resolves like this or something. Do you noticewhat he’s got about improving his mind？ He wasalways great for that. He told me I et like a hogonce and I beat him for it.”
He was reluctant to close the book， reading eachitem aloud and then looking eagerly at me. I thinkhe rather expected me to copy down the list for myown use.
A little before three the Lutheran minister arrivedfrom Flushing and I began to look involuntarilyout the windows for other cars. So did Gatsby’sfather. And as the time passed and the servants camein and stood waiting in the hall， his eyes began toblink anxiously and he spoke of the rain in a worrieduncertain way. The minister glanced several times athis watch so I took him aside and asked him to waitfor half an hour. But it wasn’t any use. Nobody came.
About five o’clock our procession of three carsreached the cemetery and stopped in a thick drizzlebeside the gate—first a motor hearse， horribly blackand wet， then Mr.Gatz and the minister and I inthe limousine， and， a little later， four or five servantsand the postman from West Egg in Gatsby’s stationwagon， all wet to the skin. As we started throughthe gate into the cemetery I heard a car stop andthen the sound of someone splashing after us overthe soggy ground. I looked around. It was the manwith owl-eyed glasses whom I had found marvellingover Gatsby’s books in the library one night threemonths before.
I’d never seen him since then. I don’t know howhe knew about the funeral or even his name. Therain poured down his thick glasses and he tookthem off and wiped them to see the protectingcanvas unrolled from Gatsby’s grave.
I tried to think about Gatsby then for a momentbut he was already too far away and I could onlyremember， without resentment， that Daisy hadn’tsent a message or a flower. Dimly I heard someonemurmur “Blessed are the dead that the rain fallson，” and then the owl-eyed man said “Amen tothat，” in a brave voice.
We straggled down quickly through the rain tothe cars. Owl-Eyes spoke to me by the gate.
“I couldn’t get to the house，” he remarked.
“Neither could anybody else.”
“Go on！” He started. “Why， my God！ they used togo there by the hundreds.”
He took off his glasses and wiped them again outside and in.
