Читать книгу The Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald онлайн

185 страница из 1457

Children adored him because he was like a child; youth revelled in his company because he was still a youth, and couldn’t be shocked. In the proper land and century he might have been a Richelieu—at present he was a very moral, very religious (if not particularly pious) clergyman, making a great mystery about pulling rusty wires, and appreciating life to the fullest, if not entirely enjoying it.

He and Amory took to each other at first sight—the jovial, impressive prelate who could dazzle an embassy ball, and the green-eyed, intent youth, in his first long trousers, accepted in their own minds a relation of father and son within a half-hour’s conversation.

“My dear boy, I’ve been waiting to see you for years. Take a big chair and we’ll have a chat.”

“I’ve just come from school—St. Regis’s, you know.”

“So your mother says—a remarkable woman; have a cigarette—I’m sure you smoke. Well, if you’re like me, you loathe all science and mathematics——”

Amory nodded vehemently.

“Hate ’em all. Like English and history.”