Read Online Tender Is the Night by Francis Scott Fitzgerald - Free Book Online Page B

there because they might not let us come. I’ve got my movie camera, you see.”
    She
laughed helplessly. He was so terrible that he was no longer terrible, only
dehumanized.
    “I
wonder why Mrs. McKisco didn’t like the Divers?” she said.
“They were very nice to her.”
    “Oh, it
wasn’t that. It was something she saw. We never did find exactly what it was
because of Barban .”
    “Then
that wasn’t what made you so sad.”
    “Oh,
no,” he said, his voice breaking, “that was something else that happened when
we got back to the hotel. But now I don’t care— I wash my hands of it
completely.”
    They
followed the other car east along the shore past Juan les Pins, where the
skeleton of the new Casino was rising. It was past four and under a blue-gray
sky the first fishing boats were creaking out into a glaucous sea. Then they turned off the main road and into the back country.
    “It’s
the golf course,” cried Campion, “I’m sure that’s where it’s going to be.”
    He was
right. When Abe’s car pulled up ahead of them the east was crayoned red and
yellow, promising a sultry day. Ordering the hotel car into a grove of pines
Rosemary and Campion kept in the shadow of a wood and skirted the bleached
fairway where Abe and McKisco were walking up and
down, the latter raising his head at intervals like a rabbit scenting.
Presently there were moving figures over by a farther tee and the watchers made
out Barban and his French second—the latter carried
the box of pistols under his arm.
    Somewhat
appalled, McKisco slipped behind Abe and took a long
swallow of brandy. He walked on choking and would have marched directly up into
the other party, but Abe stopped him and went forward to talk to the Frenchman.
The sun was over the horizon.
    Campion
grabbed Rosemary’s arm.
    “I can’t
stand it,” he squeaked, almost voiceless. “It’s too much. This will cost me—”
    “Let
go,” Rosemary said peremptorily. She breathed a frantic prayer in French.
    The
principals faced each other, Barban with the sleeve
rolled up from his arm. His eyes gleamed restlessly in the sun, but his motion
was deliberate as he wiped his palm on the seam of his trousers. McKisco , reckless with brandy, pursed his lips in a whistle
and pointed his long nose about nonchalantly, until Abe stepped forward with a
handkerchief in his hand. The French second stood with his face turned away.
Rosemary caught her breath in terrible pity and gritted her teeth with hatred
for Barban ; then:
    “One—two—three!” Abe counted in a strained voice.
    They
fired at the same moment. McKisco swayed but recovered
himself. Both shots had missed.
    “Now,
that’s enough!” cried Abe.
    The duellists walked in, and everyone looked at Barban inquiringly.
    “I
declare myself unsatisfied.”
    “What?
Sure you’re satisfied,” said Abe impatiently. “You just don’t know it.”
    “Your man
refuses another shot?”
    “You’re
damn right, Tommy. You insisted on this and my client went through with it.”
    Tommy
laughed scornfully.
    “The
distance was ridiculous,” he said. “I’m not accustomed to such farces—your man
must remember he’s not now in
America
.”
    “No use
cracking at
America
,”
said Abe rather sharply. And then, in a more conciliatory tone, “This has gone
far enough, Tommy.” They parleyed briskly for a moment—then Barban nodded and bowed coldly to his late antagonist.
    “No
shake hand?” suggested the French doctor.
    “They
already know each other,” said Abe.
    He
turned to McKisco .
    “Come
on, let’s get out.”
    As they
strode off, McKisco , in exultation, gripped his arm.
    “Wait a
minute!” Abe said. “Tommy wants his pistol back. He might need it again.”
    McKisco handed it over.
    “To hell
with him,” he said in a tough voice. “Tell him he can—”
    “Shall I
tell him you want another shot?”
    “Well, I
did it,” cried McKisco , as