Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald UK (Illustrated)

by F. Scott Fitzgerald

  His brother Cupid is more human, more democratic, more popular and a great deal stouter. Not a roly-poly fat boy — he nevertheless reminds you of comfortable chairs, beer, hospitality, bawdy laughter.

  On a classroom door the brothers are confronted by the following notice in pen and ink.

  “Prof. Swope’s group in Science of Society will meet by the main gateway at for an experimental trip to Hamlin Prison.”

  They consult their watches, rush to the rendezvous. The party starts out in two cars.

  At the other educational institution our late teacher, Miss Dolly Carrol, is preparing with the means at her disposal for her exit into the world. The means consist — some white powder in a piece of paper, a black spot drawing crayon, which must do service as an eye pencil, and a short stick of lip rouge which seems to have dried out in the balmy days of Lillian Russell, and yields no red. Look at her a moment. What mark have these two years left on her? No prison pallor, but in her eyes a sadness, a baffled hunger for life. Part of her youth has been lost here, and the sting and ignominy of it will stay with her for awhile.

  Look around her cell and you will hear the drums that have beat in her ear on lonely nights. Pictures of debutantes, of society functions, bathing beauties, actresses, golf champions, film stars — people revelling through life, being happy.

  Miss Mimi Haughton presented to society at dinner dance at the Plaza.

  Flapper Army besieges Mayor for Mother’s Relief.

  Contest winner gets lead in “Amorous Love.”

  “Necking parties on wane” say Club Women.

  These are life to her — the world outside…

  The pathetic lipstick breaks, loses its pieces beneath the bed. She gropes for them, finds a morsel and presses it against her lips as if to extract its secret. She looks at herself hopefully — and then the futility of her little efforts to impress the world outside sweeps over her and tears that she bravely neglects to shed, glisten in her eyes.

  Another scene. The group of young men from a plutocratic university who have chosen to study the science of society have entered the prison. Accompanied by a warden they make a tour of the cells.

  Ben Manny lingers behind the others already overcome by a profound distaste. When the distorted face of a devilish hag, a face full of hate, malice, and condensed evil leers out at him from one cell, he starts, jumps away in horror.

  In her cell Dolly, dressed simply in her old street clothes, makes a last round of the small monotonous walls.

  “Mimi Haughton, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. A. P. Haughton of 39 East 68th Street.”…….

  A newspaper clipping of a young, chic debutante, — piquant face, dress from the Rue de la Paix.

  “You wait,” Dolly says, gazing defiantly at the picture.”I’ll catch up with you.”

  A prisoner delivering mail stops at the cell door, congratulates Dolly on her release and gives her a letter and a package. They have an interesting flavor, as mail sometimes has. But before Dolly has time to do more than speculate upon them the students of sociology, Professor Swope in the lead, move curiously past her cell.

  Professor Swope — a small man of thirty with a mother to support, impractical, inexperienced, fatuous — yet within his limits honorable, earnest, thorough, aglow with the latest ideas about reforming the criminal and uplifting the lost.

  He sees Dolly.

  All the young men see Dolly.

  She is used to being looked at as a specimen. She stares back boldly. The group halts — the professor gathers the group about him and in a whisper asks them how they can regard this girl as anything but a victim of bad living conditions or bad early environment. One look at her would convince anyone of that.

  Ben Manny, a little in the rear, wanders up. His eyes meet Dolly’s. He is not interested — he passes on, catches up with the group in time to hear the last of the professor’s words.. . .

  But something has happened to Dolly. She is not able to look back defiantly and indifferently at this boy. She turns away from his eyes, busies herself about the cell — then stares after him, excited and discontented. Luckily she can’t hear what he’s saying: “Bunch of degenerates, Professor. Aren’t there enough deserving people to pity without wasting it on the dregs of humanity? We’re a nation of sentimentalists — a pretty face can do no wrong.”

  The Professor listens, determined he will be broadminded. But the face of the girl in the cell he has just passed haunts him.

  One young man nudges Cupid Manny.

  “See the one back there, Cupid? She didn’t have a previous engagement. You could ask her down to the prom. You’d be sure of her anyhow.”

  Professor Swope is annoyed at the facetious note.

  “You might do worse,” he murmurs.

  The group passes on. Putting Ben Manny’s supercilious face out of mind Dolly opens her letter.

  My Dearest Niece:

  Two years ago when the firm found out that someone had been selling their chemical formulas to a rival you took the shame and blame from your old uncle’s shoulders and saved his worthless life by going to prison in his place. I’ve prospered out here in New Mexico and I haven’t forgotten. You’re not going to be a typist any more.

  Take what you find waiting for you outside the prison gates, and enjoy the youth and happiness you sacrificed $94

  Your loving and grateful Uncle.

  Years ago I stumbled on an old Indian Chemical secret called “The scent of love.” I have made it into a gift for you.

  Confused Dolly drops the letter, and opens the package — it contains a large red lipstick in a case of curious design. Before she can examine it a guard comes to the door of her cell and cheerfully,

  “Whether you want to or not — out you go.”

  He picks up her grip.

  The warden in his office is formally polite. He dumps out the little box that contains her few small possessions, among them a diploma from a business school — and adds the usual gifts of the state, some good advice and a five dollar bill. He likes Dolly. They shake hands.

  Meanwhile Professor Swope has been seized by a curious longing to talk to the pretty prisoner. What was her offense — or hermisfortune? He steps away from his students and retraces his steps toward her cell. It is empty. A prisoner sweeping tells him that Dolly is free and directs him to the warden’s office —

  She has just emerged and is trying the lipstick, curiously and eagerly, glad merely for the fact that it will make her lips red.

  “I beg your pardon, here is my card. I saw your face and I couldn’t resist wanting to talk to you. They told me you were leaving today. If there’s anything I can do — “

  What a kind world. What a funny little man. She smiled at him — he became confused.

  “I’m all right,” she said. “Thanks.”

  Why, she was beautiful he thought. To offer her charity was an insult. To think that his students had spoken trivially of such a girl.

  The prom indeed — how many prom girls could look at a man with a gaze as fresh and lovely. Probably she would behave as well as anyone at a prom. What an experiment it would be to take her. That mouth — it was like a flower — why, it was worth a life time of study — of devotion.

  “Professor!” Her voice brought him to himself — his lips were not two inches away from hers.

  “I beg your pardon,” he faltered. Then words springing from some spontaneous source gushed from him, “Would you honor me by coming with me to the University dance next month?”

  He was trembling, astonished at himself.

  “Me?” Dolly laughed. Stuff of her dreams. “No thanks. But you’re very kind.” And then with a touch of suspicion, “Did you want to parade me around in my ball and chain?”

  He looked so hurt that she smiled kindly and thanked him again.

  “I really mean it. I — “ She stepped back hurriedly — again he was swaying toward her.

  “You can help me with my bag,’’ she said and turned tow
ard the great doorway. Picking up the cardboard grip he followed her. The turnkey shook hands with Dolly — the gate swung open. In a trance she passed through, stepped into the sunshine, heard a trim deferential voice at her ear.

  “Miss Dolly Carrol?”

  A liveried chauffeur stood attention beside her, holding a coat of Russian sable over his arm.

  “This is your car, Miss Carrol — “ It was a lemon colored Rolls-Royce. Dolly looked incredulously from the car to the chauffeur.

  “It’s a mistake,” she said.

  “No mistake, Miss Carrol.”

  Suddenly the full meaning of her uncle’s letter burst over her. “You are to be a typist no longer” — My God, it wasn’t just a prisoner’s hallucination, induced by months of loneliness and

  “Your coat, Miss Carrol.”

  Her arms slid into the silken sleeves. The chauffeur opened the limousine door. She took a faltering step, hesitated, but the professor’s face convinced her that it was real — he was as astonished — overwhelmed as she. Dolly got in.

  From the prison emerged the group of students.

  “My God,” ejaculated Cupid, “it’s that girl.” Ben nodded, cynically. “Evidently she hid the swag well.”

  Dolly saw them, and her own chin went up.

  “Goodbye professor,” she said graciously. “May we meet again.”

  Her hand still clasped the diploma from a business school. With another haughty glance at the staring faces she folded it, tore it up and flung it to the breeze. Then she snuggled down into her sable coat.

  “The Ritzmore, New York,” she said.

  *****

  This is the end of the first sequence.

  II.

  It’s better to be poor and popular on a side street than to be rich and lonesome in a fashionable hotel. Dolly is so lonesome that she pretends not to be — behold her in the lobby trying to look as if she hopes no one will speak to her. She drives “to the Stuyvesants at Southampton” and once out of the city she climbs into the front seat, shares a lunch box with the chauffeur, and drives back to the Ritzmore. On her return from one of these expeditions she finds the lobby swarming with college boys and young girls. She asks information from a clerk. He tells her that these are the outward and visible signs of prom week.

  At the sight of these girls, the flowers of many cities from coast to coast, Dolly feels a pang. The prom stands for music, lights, fashion, youth — the things that apparently she had missed forever.

  “I beg your pardon.” A man brushes against her and without looking at her passes with his companion, but not too quick for her to recognize Ben Manny, the haughty handsome boy whose face hadhaunted her since she left prison. And the girl with him is none other than the newspaper clipping come to life. The Mimi Haughton who one day last fall had been “presented to society at a dinner at the Plaza.”

  Another familiar face —

  A stout boy standing beneath the clock and looking anxiously at his watch. She remembers that he was one of the party of students that day.

  “Mr. Manny!”

  A page squirms through the crowd. Ben stops him, looks at the address on the telegram and directs him to his brother, under the clock.

  “Bet you Cupid’s girl can’t come,” says Ben to Mimi Haughton.

  Cupid opens the telegram with forebodings.

  Mother ill in Albany. Can’t come. In tears. Grace.

  It is a standard joke that Cupid’s girl whoever she may be never arrives. He grinds his teeth as he realizes that he is in for some heavy kidding. He is trudging gloomily out of the lobby when he comes face to face with Dolly.

  “Hello,” she says.

  Pretty girl. He wonders where he has known her and then suddenly remembers. Because he is sorry for her he stands for a moment chatting. Then he realized that dressed as she was in perfect taste, she isn’t a pitiable object at all.

  Down the corridor he sees Ben and Mimi and Mimi’s mother going into the tea dance. The scent of perfume and powder is heavy on the air. The melody of “Meadowlark” floats out into the lobby. If that damn girl, would only — “I beg your pardon,” he says suddenly. His face has managed to slide up to within a foot of Dolly’s.

  “Look here,” he says to Dolly, “come in and have some tea.”

  “Me?”

  “Sure.”

  “Is it all right to invite me?”

  “Of course.”

  He is struck by an even more radical idea. This girl is a beauty and seems to be a pretty good counterfeit of a lady. No one knows who she is — why not take her to the prom and pretend she’s the one he originally invited.

  They go into the tea room and join Ben’s party. Cupid has asked Dolly her name — now he introduces her in turn to Ben, Mimi and Mimi’s mother. During the introduction a parrot on a perch overhead — one of six in the room — glares down at Dolly and cries “Who’s this? Who’s this?” in a shrill voice.

  Ben looks angrily from Dolly to his brother. This is really too much — when he gets Cupid alone he’ll give him a piece of his mind.

  Mrs. Haughton’s politeness toward any girls who might compete with her daughter, Mimi, is effusive but artificial. Mimi is nineteen, a pretty, sharp-featured girl with a cynical worldly line of New York chatter. She is definitely “after” Ben Manny who represents everything she desires.

  Cupid shows Ben the telegram which says that his girl, Grace, can’t come. The music starts. Ben dances with Mimi, Cupid with Dolly.

  On the floor the attraction of the lipstick begins to act on Cupid. Why, this girl is wonderful — only with considerable difficulty does he restrain himself from kissing her on the floor. When they sit down he begins working around to the subject of the prom. Suddenly Ben perceives with horror what Cupid has in mind. Ben has nothing against Dolly personally but it is his honest conviction that it wouldn’t do at all.

  “Miss Carrol,” says Cupid, “I wonder if you would care to — “

  Ben interrupts him by asking for the sugar and gives Cupid a warning glance that Cupid pretends not to see.

  “Miss Carrol,” he resumes, “This week-end — “

  Again Ben’s voice, cold as ice, asking for the cream. And now Dolly understands what is happening. Her eyes meet Ben’s, first hurt and then defiant, and they stare at each other so tensely that Mimi and Mrs. Haughton sense the conflict. But they don’t guess the truth — that Ben has determined that Cupid will only bring this girl to the prom over his dead body.

  “I was wondering, if you had nothing to do this week-end, if you would — “

  A page boy winding among the tables cuts the suspense with —

  “Mr. Manny! Mr. Manny!”

  Cupid is wanted on the phone. He excuses himself and goes out to a booth — it is his girl on long distance. Mother is better. She can come. If Cupid could see the childhood sweetheart to whom he is talking over the phone he would have been less jubilant. Little Grace Jones has grown — she is no longer a sylph-like child of 75 pounds, but an oversized duofold model of 190, who can hardly get into the booth. But Cupid is happily unaware of this as he returns to the table and announces that his girl is coming after all. Ben tries to hide his look of relief and Dolly hers of disappointment. Neither succeeds.

  “I’m honestly sorry,” Cupid whispers, “I was just about to ask you.”

  But Dolly has jumped in turn to an audacious decision.

  “To the prom?” she asks in a clear guileless voice. “Oh, that’s nice of you but I couldn’t have accepted. I’m going with another man.” She gets up. “Good bye. I’ll see you all there.”

  And as she turns away, her chin uptilted, the parrot overhead makes a final comment.

  “Some baby! Some baby!”

  Thus ends the second sequence.

  III.

  Every train to the University town was jammed to the doors. Five hundred girls and half as many chaperones with trunks, bags, escorts and even an occasional personal maid were dumped in batches o
n the station platform whence they drove off in Fords, Packards, omnibuses, Victorias and seagoing hacks to the Club or hotel that would house them during their stay.

  Dolly had wired Professor Swope she was coming and as the crowd poured from the train, she picked him out in his frock coat, waiting nervously for her on the platform.

  “Well — I came,” she said. “Are you sorry?”

  “Not at all.” And after one look at her he wasn’t.

  The University is situated in a town of ten thousand people. Its grey Gothic architecture sprawls for miles over a green undulating campus — with here and there for variety, a hall that was old before the revolution began. On this same day the campus was alive with people — there were alumni in their reunion costumes, fathers and mothers, small brothers and sisters, prom girls, undergraduates in white bound for tennis or in tweeds bound for golf. Suddenly Dolly grew rigid as a long line of convicts walking in lock step and preceded by some pitiful little child convicts turned a corner into sight.

  “How horrible,” she thought. “A prison even here!”

  She breathed easier as she saw a sign the leader carried on a pole: “Reunion. Class of 1920.”

  Her suitcase was enormous. It was all the professor could do to lift it off the ground. They had walked scarcely fifty yards, and the professor had already stopped several times to rest, when the Manny party in a big Marmon drove past, scattering insolent dust.

  They passed through a Gothic arch and walked down the main street where undergraduates sat in chairs and benches tipped back against the storefronts and watched the girls go by. They stopped at the University Arms, an old inn where the professor had arranged for her to stay.

  When she emerged and the week-end began.

  They started for — a ball? No, an athletic contest? — wrong again. It was the professor’s idea that Dolly would appreciate a nice lecture on sociology that by good luck was scheduled for that day. As they walked along he rubbed his hands with pleasure — oblivious to the glances Dolly was attracting. A hundred eyes followed her — one young man paid her the compliment of falling over backward in his chair.