“How about the movies？”
“It’s so hot，” she complained. “You go. We’ll ridearound and meet you after.” With an effort her witrose faintly， “We’ll meet you on some corner. I’ll bethe man smoking two cigarettes.”
“We can’t argue about it here，” Tom said impatiently as a truck gave out a cursing whistlebehind us. “You follow me to the south side ofCentral Park， in front of the Plaza.”
Several times he turned his head and looked backfor their car， and if the traffic delayed them heslowed up until they came into sight. I think he wasafraid they would dart down a side street and out ofhis life forever.
But they didn’t. And we all took the less explicablestep of engaging the parlor of a suite in the PlazaHotel.
The prolonged and tumultuous argument that ended by herding us into that room eludes me，though I have a sharp physical memory that， inthe course of it， my underwear kept climbing like adamp snake around my legs and intermittent beadsof sweat raced cool across my back. The notionoriginated with Daisy’s suggestion that we hire fivebathrooms and take cold baths， and then assumedmore tangible form as “a place to have a mint julep.”
Each of us said over and over that it was a “crazyidea” —we all talked at once to a baffled clerk andthought， or pretended to think， that we were beingvery funny….
The room was large and stifling， and， though it was already four o’clock， opening the windowsadmitted only a gust of hot shrubbery from thePark. Daisy went to the mirror and stood with herback to us， fixing her hair.
“It’s a swell suite，” whispered Jordan respectfullyand every one laughed.
“Open another window，” commanded Daisy， without turning around.
“There aren’t any more.”
“Well， we’d better telephone for an axe—”
“The thing to do is to forget about the heat，” saidTom impatiently. “You make it ten times worse bycrabbing about it.”
He unrolled the bottle of whiskey from the toweland putit on the table.
“Why not let her alone， old sport？” remarkedGatsby. “You’re the one that wanted to come to town.”
There was a moment of silence. The telephone book slipped from its nail and splashed to the floor，whereupon Jordan whispered “Excuse me” —butthis time no one laughed.
“I’ll pick it up，” I offered.
“I’ve got it.” Gatsby examined the parted string，muttered “Hum！” in an interested way， and tossedthe book on a chair.
“That’s a great expression of yours， isn’t it？” saidTom sharply.
“What is？”
“All this ‘old sport’ business. Where’d you pickthat up？”
“Now see here， Tom，” said Daisy， turning aroundfrom the mirror， “if you’re going to make personalremarks I won’t stay here a minute. Call up andorder some ice for the mint julep.”
As Tom took up the receiver the compressed heat exploded into sound and we were listening tothe portentous chords of Mendelssohn’s WeddingMarch from the ballroom below.
“Imagine marrying anybody in this heat！” criedJordan dismally.
“Still—I was married in the middle of June，” Daisyremembered， “Louisville in June！ Somebody fainted.
Who was it fainted， Tom？”
“Biloxi，” he answered shortly.
“A man named Biloxi. ‘Blocks’ Biloxi， and hemade boxes—that’s a fact—and he was from Biloxi，Tennessee.”
“They carried him into my house，” appended Jordan， “because we lived just two doors from thechurch. And he stayed three weeks， until Daddy toldhim he had to get out. The day after he left Daddydied.” After a moment she added as if she might havesounded irreverent， “There wasn’t any connection.”
“I used to know a Bill Biloxi from Memphis，” I remarked.
“That was his cousin. I knew his whole familyhistory before he left. He gave me an aluminumputter that I use today.”
The music had died down as the ceremony beganand now a long cheer floated in at the window，followed by intermittent cries of “Yea—ea—ea！”
and finally by a burst of jazz as the dancing began.
“We’re getting old，” said Daisy. “If we were youngwe’d rise and dance.”
“Remember Biloxi，” Jordan warned her. “Where’dyou know him， Tom？”
“Biloxi？” He concentrated with an effort. “I didn’tknow him. He was a friend of Daisy’s.”
“He was not，” she denied. “I’d never seen himbefore. He came down in the private car.”
“Well， he said he knew you. He said he was raisedin Louisville. Asa Bird brought him around at thelast minute and asked if we had room for him.”
Jordan smiled.
“He was probably bumming his way home. He told me he was president of your class at Yale.”
Tom and I looked at each other blankly.
“BilOxi？”
“First place， we didn’t have any president—”
“Gatsby’s foot beat a short， restless tattoo andTom eyed him suddenly.”
“By the way， Mr. Gatsby， I understand you’re anOxford man.”
“Not exactly.”
“Oh， yes， I understand you went to Oxford.”
“Yes—I went there.”
A pause. Then Tom’s voice， incredulous and insulting：
“You must have gone there about the time Biloxiwent to New Haven.”
Another pause. A waiter knocked and came in with crushed mint and ice but the silence wasunbroken by his “Thank you” and the soft closing ofthe door. This tremendous detail was to be clearedup at last.
“I told you I went there，” said Gatsby.
“I heard you， but I’d like to know when.”
“It was in nineteen-nineteen， I only stayed fivemonths. That’s why I can’t really call myself anOxford man.”
Tom glanced around to see if we mirrored his unbelief. But we were all looking at Gatsby.
“It was an opportunity they gave to some of theofficers after the Armistice，” he continued. “Wecould go to any of the universities in England orFrance.”
I wanted to get up and slap him on the back. Ihad one of those renewals of complete faith in himthat I’d experienced before.
Daisy rose， smiling faintly， and went to the table.
“Open the whiskey， Tom，” she ordered. “And I’llmake you a mint julep. Then you won’t seem sostupid to yourself….Look at the mint！”
“Wait a minute，” snapped Tom， “I want to ask Mr.
Gatsby one more question.”
“Go on，” Gatsby said politely.
“What kind of a row are you trying to cause in myhouse anyhow？”
They were out in the open at last and Gatsby wascontent.
