THE JAZZ AGE COLLECTION - The Great Gatsby & Other Tales. ФрÑнÑÐ¸Ñ Ð¡ÐºÐ¾Ñ‚Ñ‚ Фицджеральд
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after a moment of concentration.
“Thought you weren’t going!” said Macy.
“Me? Sure I’m goin’, Never miss a party. Good for the nerves — like celery.”
“Caesar!” scoffed Baily. “Can’t be Caesar! He is not about a circus.. Caesar’s Shakespeare. Go as a clown.”
Perry shook his head.
“Nope; Caesar,”
“Caesar?”
“Sure. Chariot.”
Light dawned on Baily.
“That’s right. Good idea.”
Perry looked round the room searchingly.
“You lend me a bathrobe and this tie,” he said finally. Baily considered.
“No good.”
“Sure, tha’s all I need. Caesar was a savage. They can’t kick if I come as Caesar, if he was a savage.”
“No,” said Baily, shaking his head slowly. “Get a costume over at a costumer’s. Over at Nolak’s.”
“Closed up.”
“Find out.”
After a puzzling five minutes at the phone a small, weary voice managed to convince Perry that it was Mr. Nolak speaking, and that they would remain open until eight because of the Townsends’ ball. Thus assured, Perry ate a great amount of filet mignon and drank his third of the last bottle of champagne. At eight-fifteen the man in the tall hat who stands in front of the Clarendon found him trying to start his roadster.
“Froze up,” said Perry wisely. “The cold froze it. The cold air.”
“Froze, eh?”
“Yes. Cold air froze it.”
“Can’t start it?”
“Nope. Let it stand here till summer. One those hot ole August days’ll thaw it out awright.”
“Goin’ let it stand?”
“Sure. Let ‘er stand. Take a hot thief to steal it. Gemme taxi.”
The man in the tall hat summoned a taxi.
“Where to, mister?”
“Go to Nolak’s — costume fella.”
II
Mrs. Nolak was short and ineffectual looking, and on the cessation of the world war had belonged for a while to one of the new nationalities. Owing to unsettled European conditions she had never since been quite sure what she was. The shop in which she and her husband performed their daily stint was dim and ghostly, and peopled with suits of armor and Chinese mandarins, and enormous papier-mâché birds suspended from the ceiling. In a vague background many rows of masks glared eyelessly at the visitor, and there were glass cases full of crowns and scepters, and jewels and enormous stomachers, and paints, and crape hair, and wigs of all colors.
When Perry ambled into the shop Mrs. Nolak was folding up the last troubles of a strenuous day, so she thought, in a drawer full of pink silk stockings.
“Something for you?” she queried pessimistically. “Want costume of. Julius Hur, the charioteer.”
Mrs. Nolak was sorry, but every stitch of charioteer had been rented long ago. Was it for the Townsends’ circus ball?
It was.
“Sorry,” she said, “but I don’t think there’s anything left that’s really circus.”
This was an obstacle.
“Hm,” said Perry. An idea struck him suddenly. “If you’ve got a piece of canvas I could go’s a tent.”
“Sorry, but we haven’t anything like that. A hardware store is where you’d have to go to. We have some very nice Confederate soldiers.”
“No. No soldiers.”
“And I have a very handsome king.”
He shook his head.
“Several of the gentlemen” she continued hopefully, “are wearing stovepipe hats and swallow-tail coats and going as ringmasters — but we’re all out of tall hats. I can let you have some crape hair for a mustache.”
“Want somep’n ‘stinctive.”
“Something — let’s see. Well, we have a lion’s head, and a goose, and a camel—”
“Camel?” The idea seized Perry’s imagination, gripped it fiercely.
“Yes, but It needs two people.”
“Camel, That’s the idea. Lemme see it.”
The camel was produced from his resting place on a top shelf. At first glance he appeared to consist entirely of a very gaunt, cadaverous head and a sizable hump, but on being spread out he was found to possess a dark brown, unwholesome-looking body made of thick, cottony cloth.
“You see it takes two people,” explained Mrs. Nolak, holding the camel in frank admiration. “If you have a friend he could be part of it. You see there’s sorta pants for two people. One pair is for the fella in front, and the other pair for the fella in back. The fella in front does the lookin’ out through these here eyes, an’ the fella in back he’s just gotta stoop over an’ folla the front fella round.”
“Put it on,” commanded Perry.
Obediently Mrs. Nolak put her tabby-cat face inside the camel’s head and turned it from side to side ferociously.
Perry was fascinated.
“What noise does a camel make?”
“What?” asked Mrs. Nolak as her face emerged, somewhat smudgy. “Oh, what noise? Why, he sorta brays.”
“Lemme see it in a mirror.”
Before a wide mirror Perry tried on the head and turned from side to side appraisingly. In the dim light the effect was distinctly pleasing. The camel’s face was a study in pessimism, decorated with numerous abrasions, and it must be admitted that his coat was in that state of general negligence peculiar to camels — in fact, he needed to be cleaned and pressed — but distinctive he certainly was. He was majestic. He would have attracted attention in any gathering, if only by his melancholy cast of feature and the look of hunger lurking round his shadowy eyes.
“You see you have to have two people,” said Mrs. Nolak again.
Perry tentatively gathered up the body and legs and wrapped them about him, tying the hind legs as a girdle round his waist. The effect on the whole was bad. It was even irreverent — like one of those mediaeval pictures of a monk changed into a beast by the ministrations of Satan. At the very best the ensemble resembled a humpbacked cow sitting on her haunches among blankets.
“Don’t look like anything at all,” objected Perry gloomily.
“No,” said Mrs. Nolak; “you see you got to have two people.”
A solution flashed upon Perry.
“You got a date tonight?”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly — —”
“Oh, come on,” said Perry encouragingly. “Sure you can! Here! Be good sport, and climb into these hind legs.”
With difficulty he located them, and extended their yawning depths ingratiatingly. But Mrs. Nolak seemed loath. She backed perversely away.
“Oh, no — —”
“C’mon! You can be the front if you want to. Or we’ll flip a coin.”
“Make