The Washington herald., 1922-10-03
The Beautiful
And Damned
Continued from Yesterday.
By F. Scott Fitzgerald


You men may think the war IS
over. Well. let me tell you. it
isn'ti Those fellows aren't going
to sign the armistice. It's another
anything slacken up here in the
company. because. let me tell you.
we're going to sail from here within
a week. and when we do we're go
ing TO see some real fighting" He
paused that they might get the full
effect of his pronouncement. And
. then: IF you think the wars over,
just talk to any one who's been in
It and see IL they think the Ger
mans are all in. They don't. No
body does. I've talked to the peo-
pie that know. and they say therell
be. anyways. a year longer of war.
They don't think it's over. So you
men better not get any foolish
ideas that it is"
Doubly stressing this final admo-
nit'on. he ordered the company dis
missed.
At noon Anthony set off at
run for the nearest canteen teie-
phone. As he approached what
corresponded to the downtown of
the camp he noticed that many
other soldiers were running also,
that a man near him had suddenly
leaped into the air and clicked his
heels together. The tendency to
run became general. and from little
excited groups here and there cam.
the sounds of cheering. He stopped
and listened-over the cold coun-
try whistles were blowing and the
chimes of the Garden City churches
broke suddenly into reverberatory
sound.
Anthony began to run again. The
cries were clear and distinct now
as they rose with clouds of frosted
breath into the chilly air:
'Germany's surrendered, Ger
manys surrendered
The False Armistice.
That evening in the Opaque gloom
of olock Anthony slipped
between two freight cars, and
once over the railroad. followed
the track along to Garden City,
where he caught an electric train
for New York. He stood some
chance of apprehension-he knew
that the military police were often
sent through the cars to ask for
passes. but he imagined that 20
night the vigilance would be re-
laxed. But. in any event. he would
have tried to slip through. for lie
had been unable to locate Gloria ty
telephone. and another day of sus-
pense would have been intolerable.
After inexplicable stops and waits
that reminded him of the night he
had left New York. over a year be-
fore. they drew into the ?ennsyl-
vania Station. and he followed the
familiar way to the taxi stand, find
ing it grotesque and oddly stimu-
lating 10 give his own address.
Broadway was a riot of light.
thronged as he had never seen il
with a carnival crowd which swept
its glittering way through scraps OF
paper. piled ankle deep on the side
walks. Here and there. elevated
upon benches and boxes soldiers ad-
dressed the needless mass. each face
in which was clear cut and distinct
under the white glare overhead.
Anthony picked out half n dozen
hgures-a drunken sailor. tipped
backward and supported by two
other gobs. was waving his hat and
emitting a wild series of roars: 4
wounded soldier. crutch in hand.
was borne along in an eddy on the
shoulders of some shrieking civil
ians: dark-haired girl sat cross
legged and meditative on top of a
parked taxicab. Here surely the
victory had come in lime. the climax
had been scheduled with the utter
most celestial foresight. The great
rich nation had made triumphant
war. suffered enough for poignancy
but not enough for bitterness
hence the carnival, the feasting. the
triumph. Under these bright lights
glittered the faces Of peoples whose
glory had long since passed away.
whose very civilizations were dead
men whose ancestors had heard
the news of victory in Babylon. in
Nineveh. in BaSdad. in Tyre. a hun
dred generations before: men whose
ancestors had seen a f1ower-decked,
slave-adorned cortege drift with its
wake Of captives down the avenues
Of Imperial Rome.
Past the Rialto. the glittering
front of the Astor. the jewelled
masnificence of Times Square. ID
gorgeous alley of incandescence
ahead. Then-was it years later?
he was paying the taxi driver in
front of white building on Fifty
seventh street. He was in the hall
-ah. there was the negro boy from
Martinique. lazy, indolent. un-
changed.
rs Mrs Patch in2"
Il have just came on. sah," the
man announced with his incongru-
Gus British accent.
Take ME up"
Then the slow drone of the aIe-
vator. the three steps to the door.
which swung open at the impetus of
his knock.
Gloria" His voice was trembling
No answer. a faint string of smoke
was rising from a cigarette tray-a
number of Vanity Fair sat astraddle
on the table.
"Gloria"'
He ran into the bedroom. che
bath. She was not there. A neg
ligee of rcbin's-egE blue laid out
upon the bed diffused a faint per-
fume. illusive and familiar. On a
chair were pair of stockings and
street dress; an open powder box
yawned upon the bureau. She must
just have gone out.
The telephone rang abruptly and
he started-answered it with all the
sensations of an impostor.