Читать книгу The Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald онлайн

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During his conversation with Dalyrimple his expression kept starting toward a smile, reached a cheerful optimism, and then receded back to imperturbability.

“How do you do, sir?” he said, holding out his hand. “Sit down. I suppose you’re wondering why I wanted you. Sit down.”

Dalyrimple sat down.

“Mr. Dalyrimple, how old are you?”

“I’m twenty-three.”

“You’re young. But that doesn’t mean you’re foolish. Mr. Dalyrimple, what I’ve got to say won’t take long. I’m going to make you a proposition. To begin at the beginning, I’ve been watching you ever since last Fourth of July when you made that speech in response to the loving-cup.”

Dalyrimple murmured disparagingly, but Fraser waved him to silence.

“It was a speech I’ve remembered. It was a brainy speech, straight from the shoulder, and it got to everybody in that crowd. I know. I’ve watched crowds for years.” He cleared his throat, as if tempted to digress on his knowledge of crowds—then continued. “But, Mr. Dalyrimple, I’ve seen too many young men who promised brilliantly go to pieces, fail through want of steadiness, too many high-power ideas, and not enough willingness to work. So I waited. I wanted to see what you’d do. I wanted to see if you’d go to work, and if you’d stick to what you started.”