A man in a long duster had dismounted from thewreck and now stood in the middle of the road，looking from the car to the tire and from the tire tothe observers in a pleasant， puzzled way.
“See！” he explained. “It went in the ditch.”
The fact was infinitely astonishing to him—andrecognized first the unusual quality of wonder andthen the man—it was the late patron of Gatsby’slibrary.
“How’d it happen？”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“I know nothing whatever about mechanics，” hesaid decisively.
“But how did it happen？ Did you run into thewall？”
“Don’t ask me，” said Owl Eyes， washing his handsof the whole matter. “I know very little aboutdriving—next to nothing. It happened， and that’s allI know.”
“Well， if you’re a poor driver you oughtn’t to trydriving at night.”
“But I wasn’t even trying，” he explained indignantly，“I wasn’t even trying.”
An awed hush fell upon the bystanders.
“Do you want to commit suicide？”
“You’re lucky it was just a wheel！ A bad driver andnot even trying！”
“You don’t understand，” explained the criminal. “Iwasn’t driving. There’s another man in the car.”
The shock that followed this declaration foundvoice in a sustained “Ah-h-h！” as the door of thecoupé swung slowly open. The crowd—it was nowa crowd—stepped back involuntarily and when thedoor had opened wide there was a ghostly pause.
Then， very gradually， part by part， a pale danglingindividual stepped out of the wreck， pawing
tentatively at the ground with a large uncertaindancing shoe.
Blinded by the glare of the headlights and confused by the incessant groaning of the horns theapparition stood swaying for a moment before heperceived the man in the duster.
“What’s matter？” he inquired calmly. “Did we runouta gas？”
“Look！”
Half a dozen fingers pointed at the amputatedwheel—he stared at it for a moment and then
looked upward as though he suspected that it haddropped from the sky.
“It came off，” some one explained.
He nodded.
“At first I din’ notice we’d stopped.”
A pause. Then， taking a long breath and straighteninghis shoulders he remarked in a determined voice：
“Wonder’ff tell me where there’s a gas’linestation？”
At least a dozen men， some of them little betteroff than he was， explained to him that wheel and carwere no longer joined by any physical bond.
“Back out，” he suggested after a moment. “Put herin reverse.”
“But the WHEEL’S off！”
He hesitated.
“No harm in trying，” he said.
The caterwauling horns had reached a crescendoand I turned away and cut across the lawn towardhome. I glanced back once. A wafer of a moon wasshining over Gatsby’s house， making the night fineas before and surviving the laughter and the soundof his still glowing garden. A sudden emptinessseemed to flow now from the windows and the
great doors， endowing with complete isolation thefigure of the host who stood on the porch， his handup in a formal gesture of farewell.
Reading over what I have written so far I see Ihave given the impression that the events of threenights several weeks apart were all that absorbedme. On the contrary they were merely casual eventsin a crowded summer and， until much later， theyabsorbed me infinitely less than my personal affairs.
Most of the time I worked. In the early morningthe sun threw my shadow westward as I hurrieddown the white chasms of lower New York to theProbity Trust. I knew the other clerks and youngbond-salesmen by their first names and lunchedwith them in dark crowded restaurants on little pigsausages and mashed potatoes and coffee. I evenhad a short affair with a girl who lived in Jersey Cityand worked in the accounting department， but herbrother began throwing mean looks in my directionso when she went on her vacation in July I let itblow quietly away.
I took dinner usually at the Yale Club—for somereason it was the gloomiest event of my day—andthen I went upstairs to the library and studiedinvestments and securities for a conscientioushour. There were generally a few rioters around butthey never came into the library so it was a goodplace to work. After that， if the night was mellow Istrolled down Madison Avenue past the old MurrayHill Hotel and over Thirty-third Street to thePennsylvania Station.
