Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald (Illustrated) (482 page)

Snooks. Naw. Any kind’ll do.

Jerry returns with one of the best silver spoons, which he hands to Mr. Snooks.

Charlotte. I might have known you would — you fool!

Mr. Snooks stirs the mixture
—
the spoon turns rust-colored
—
Charlotte gives a little cry.

Snooks. It won’t hurt it, lady. Just leave it out in the sun for an hour. Now the spirits of Jupiter.
[He fills the medicine dropper from a small bottle and lets a slow, interminable procession of drops fall into the bowl. Jerry watches intently and with gathering anxiety. At about the fourteenth drop he starts every time one falls. Finally Mr. Snooks ceases.]

Jerry. How many did you count?

Snooks. Sixteen.

Jerry. I counted eighteen.

Snooks. Well, a drop or so won’t make no difference. Now you got a funnel?

Jerry. I’ll get one.
[He goes for it.]

Snooks. Good stuff, lady. This is as good as what you used to buy for the real thing.

Charlotte does not deign to answer.

You needn’t worry about that spoon. If that spoon had a been the real thing it w’na done like that. You can try out all your stuff that way. A lot of stuff is sold for silver nowadays that ain’t at all.

Jerry returns with the funnel, and Mr, Snooks pours the contents of the bowl into the two glass jars.

Snooks
[holding up one jar admiringly].
The real thing.

Charlotte. It’s cloudy.

Snooks
[reproachfully].
Cloudy?  You call that cloudy? That isn’t cloudy. Why, it’s just as clear —  —

He holds it up and pretends to look through it. This is unquestionably a mere gesture, for the mixture is heavily opaque and not to be pierced by the human eye.

Charlotte
[disregarding him and turning scornfully to Jerry].
I wouldn’t drink it if it was the last liquor in the world.

Snooks. Lady, if this was the last liquor in the world it wouldn’t be for sale.

Jerry
[doubtfully].
It does look a little — cloudy.

Snooks. No-o-o — ! Why you can see right through it.
[Be fills a glass and drinks it off.]
Why, it just needs to be filtered. That’s just nervous matter.

Charlotte and Jerry
[together].
Nervous matter?

Jerry. When did we put that in?

Snooks. We didn’t put it in. It’s just a deposit. Sure, that’s just nervous matter. Any chemis’ will tell you.

Charlotte
[sardonically].
Ha-ha! “Nervous matter.” There’s no such thing.

Snooks. Sure! That’s just nervous matter.
[He fills the glass and hands it to her.]
Try it!

Charlotte. Ugh!

As he comes near she leans away from him in horror. Snooks offers the glass to Jerry.

If you drink any of that stuff they’ll have to analyze you all over again.

But Jerry drinks it.

Charlotte. I can’t stand this. When your — when
he’s
gone I’ll thank you to open the windows.
[She goes out and upstairs.]

Snooks
[with a cynical laugh].
Your old lady’s a little sore on you, eh?

Jerry
[bravely].
No. She doesn’t care what I do.

Snooks. You ought to give her a bat in the eye now and then. That’d fix her.

Jerry
[shocked].
Oh, no; you oughtn’t to talk that way.

Snooks. Well, if you like ‘em to step around… Sixteen bucks, please.

Jerry searches his pockets.

Jerry
[counting].
— thirteen — fourteen — let’s see. I can borrow the ice-man’s money if I can find where — Just wait a minute, Mr. Snooks.

He goes out to the pantry. Almost immediately there are steps upon the stairs, and in a moment Dada, resplendent in a flowing white nightshirt, trembles into Mr. Snooks’s vision. For a moment Mr. Snooks is startled.

Dada
[blinking].
I thought I smelled something burning.

Snooks. I ain’t smelled nothin’, pop.

Dada. How do you do, sir. You’ll excuse my costume. I was awake and it occurred to me that the house was on fire. I am Mr. Frost’s father.

Snooks. I’m his bootlegger.

Dada. The —  — ?

Snooks. His bootlegger.

Dada
[enthusiastically].
You’re my son’s employer?

They shake hands.

Dada. Excuse my costume. I was awake, and I thought I smelled something burning.

Snooks
[decisively].
You’re kiddin’ yourself.

Dada. Perhaps I was wrong. My sense of smell is not as exact as it was. My son Jerry is a fine boy. He’s my only son by my second wife, Mr. — ? The —  — ?
[He is evidently under the impression that Snooks has supplied the name and that he has missed it]
I’m glad to meet his employer. I always say I’m a descendant of Jack Frost. We used to have a joke when I was young. We used to say that the first Frosts came to this state in the beginning of winter. Ha-ha-ha!
[He is convinced that he is giving Jerry a boost with his employer]

Snooks
[bored].
Ain’t it past your bedtime, pop?

Dada. Do you see? “Frosts” and “frosts.” We used to laugh at that joke a great deal.

Snooks. Anybody would.

Dada. “Frosts,” you see. We’re not rich, but I always say that it’s easier for a camel to get through a needle’s eye than for a rich man to get to heaven.

Snooks. That’s the way I always felt.

Dada. Well, I think I’ll turn in. My sense of smell deceived me. No harm done.
[He laughs.]
Good night, Mr. —  — ?

Snooks
[humorously].
Good night, pop. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.

Dada
[starting away].
I hope you’ll excuse my costume.
[He goes up-stairs. Jerry returns from the pantry just in time to hear his voice]

Jerry. Who was that? Dada?

Snooks. He thought he was on fire.

Jerry
[unaware of the nightshirt].
That’s my father. He’s a great authority on — oh, on the Bible and a whole lot of other things. He’s been doing nothing for twenty years but thinking out a lot of things — here’s the money.
[Jerry gives him sixteen bucks]

Snooks. Thanks. Well, I guess you’re all fixed. Drink a couple of these and then you’ll know what to say to your wife when she gets fresh.

Charlotte
[from up-stairs].
Shut the door! I can smell that way up here!

Jerry hastily shuts the door leading up-stairs.

Snooks. Like any whiskey?

Jerry. I don’t believe so.

Snooks. Or some cream de menthy?

Jerry. No, I don’t believe so.

Snooks. How about some French vermuth?

Jerry. I don’t think I’ll take anything else now.

Snooks. Just try a drink of this.

Jerry. I did.

Snooks. Try another.

Jerry tries another.

Jerry. Not bad. Strong.

Snooks. Sure it’s strong. Knock you over. Hard to get now. They gyp you every time. The country’s goin’ to the dogs. Most of these bootleggers, you can’t trust ‘em two feet away. It’s awful. They don’t seem to have no conscience.

Jerry
[warming].
Have you ever been analyzed, Mr. Snooks?

Snooks. Me? No, I never been arrested by the regular police.

Jerry. I mean when they ask you questions.

Snooks. Sure, I know. Thumb-prints — all that stuff.

Jerry takes another drink.

Jerry. You ought to want to rise in the world.

Snook. How do you know I oughta.

Jerry. Why — why, everybody ought to. It says so.

Snooks. What says so.

Jerry
[with a burst of inspiration].
The Bible. It’s one of the commandments.

Snooks. I never could get through that book.

Jerry. Won’t you sit down?

Snooks. No, I got to hustle along in a minute.

Jerry. Say, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?

Snooks. Not at all. Shoot!

Jerry. Did you ever — did you ever have any ambition to be President?

Snooks. Sure. Once.

Jerry
[ponderously].
You did, eh?

Snooks. Once. I guess bootleggin’s just as good, though. More money in it.

Jerry
[weightily].
Yes, that’s true.

Snooks. Well, I got to hustle along now. I got to take my old woman to church.

Jerry. Oh. Yes.

Snooks. Well, so long. You got my address in case you’go dry.

They both smile genially at this pleasantry.

Jerry
[opening the door].
All right. I’ll remember.

Snooks goes out. Jerry hesitates
—
then he opens the door to the up-stairs.

Jerry. Oh, Char-lit!

Charlotte
[crossly].
Please keep that door shut. That smell comes right up here. It’ll start my hay-fever.

Jerry
[genially].
Well, I just wanted to ask you if you’ll take one little cocktail with me.

Charlotte.
No!
How many times do I have to tell you?

Jerry
[crestfallen].
Well, you don’t need to be so disagreeable about it.

He receives no answer. He would like to talk some more, but he shuts the door and returns to the table. Picking up one of the jars, he regards its opaqueness with a quizzical eye. But it is his and quite evidently it seems to him good. He looks curiously at the three little bottles, smells one of them curiously and hastily replaces the cork. He hesitates. Then he repairs to the dining-room, singing: “Everybody is there!”
—
and returns immediately with an orange, a knife, and another glass. He cuts the orange, squeezes half of it into a glass, wipes his hands on the fringe of the tablecloth, and adds some of his liquor. He drinks it slowly
—
he waits. He prepares another potation with the other half of the orange.

No! He does not choke, make horrible faces, nor feel his throat as it goes down. Nor does he stagger. His elation is evinced only by the vague confusion with which he mislays knife, oranges, and glasses.

Impelled by the gregarious instinct of mankind, he again repairs to the door that leads up-stairs, and opens it.

Jerry
[calling].
Say,
Char-lit!
The convention must be over. I wonder who was nominated.

Charlotte. I asked you to shut that door.

But the impulse to express himself, to fuse his new elation into the common good, is irresistible. He goes to the telephone and picks up the receiver.

Jerry. Hello… Hello, hello. Say! I wonder’f you could tell me who was nominated for President… All right, give me Information… Information, I wonder if you could tell me who was nominated for President… Why not?…  Well, that’s information, isn’t it?…  It doesn’t matter what
kind
of information it is. It’s information, isn’t it? Isn’t it? It’s information, isn’t it?… Say, what’s your hurry?
[He bobs the receiver up and down.]
Hello, give me Long Distance again…  Hello, is this Information?… This is
mis
information, eh? Ha-ha! Did you hear that?
Mis
information… I asked for Information…  Well, you’ll do, Long Distance…  Long Distance — how far away are you? A long distance! Ha-ha!… Hello… Hello!

She has evidently rung off. Jerry does likewise.

Jerry
[sarcastically].
Wonderful telephone service!
[He goes quickly back to the ‘phone and picks up the receiver]
Rottenest telephone service I ever saw!
[He slams up and returns to his drink.]

There is a call outside, “Yoo-hoo!” and immediately afterward Doris opens the front door and comes in, followed by Joseph Fish, a red-headed, insipid young man of about twenty-four. Fish is dressed in a ready-made suit with a high belt at the back, and his pockets slant at a rakish angle. He is the product of a small-town high-school and a one-year business course at a state university.

Doris has him firmly by the arm. She leads him up to Jerry, who sets down his glass and blinks at them.

Doris. Gosh! This room smells like a brewery.
[She notices the jars and the other debris of Jerry’s domestic orgy.]
What on earth have you been doing? Brewing whiskey?

Jerry
[attempting a dignified nonchalance].
Making cocktails.