Читать книгу The Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald онлайн

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Miss Dorothy Harmon closed her book with a snap. It was past eleven and no Harry. What was keeping him? He had probably given up and gone home long ago. With this in mind, she reached up to turn out the light, when suddenly she heard a noise outside as if someone had fallen.

Dorothy rushed to the window and pulled up the blind. There, coming up the steps on his hands and knees, was a wretched caricature of a man. He was hatless, coatless, collarless, tieless, and covered with snow. It was Harry. He opened the door and walked into the parlor, leaving a trail of wet snow behind him.

“Well?” he said defiantly.

“Harry,” she gasped, “can it be you?”

“Dorothy,” he said solemnly, “it is me.”

“What—what has happened?”

“Oh, nothing. I’ve just been giving away that twenty-five dollars.” And Harry sat down on the sofa.

“But Harry,” she faltered, “your eye is all swollen.”

“Oh, my eye? Let me see. Oh, that was on the twenty-second dollar. I had some difficulty with two gentlemen. However, we afterward struck up quite an acquaintance. I had some luck after that. I dropped two dollars in a blind beggar’s hat.”