Читать книгу The Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald онлайн

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Oddly enough his first sensation was one of pleased reminiscence and a desire for conversation. Following that he had a curious feeling of shyness, untinged by any bitterness. He paused, staring heavily, and instantly the huge glasses glimmered suspiciously in his eyes.

“Pardon me, sir, but do you remember me?” he asked eagerly.

The preceptor blinked feverishly.

“Ah—no.”

He mentioned the college and the blinks became more optimistic. He wisely decided to let the connection rest there. The preceptor couldn’t, couldn’t possibly remember all the men who had passed before his two “Mirrors of Shalott” so why bring up old, accusing facts—besides—he felt a great desire to chat.

“Yes—no doubt—your face is familiar, you’ll pardon my—my chilliness a moment since—a public place.” He looked around depreciatingly. “You see, I’ve left the university myself.”

“So you’ve gone up in the game?” He instantly regretted this remark for the little man answered rather quickly:

“I’m teaching in a high school in Brooklyn.” Rather embarrassed, the younger man tried to change the subject by looking at the painting before them, but the gargoyle grimly continued: