"Everybody smoked all through lunch."
"Oh, let's have fun," she begged him. "It's too hot to fuss."
He didn't answer.
"Have it your own way," she said. "Come on, Jordan."
They went upstairs to get ready while we three men stood there shuffling the hot pebbles with our feet. A silver curve of the moon hovered already in the western sky. Gatsby started to speak, changed his mind, but not before Tom wheeled and faced him expectantly.
"Have you got your stables here?" asked Gatsby with an effort.
"About a quarter of a mile down the road."
"Oh."
A pause.
"I don't see the idea of going to town," broke out Tom savagely. "Women get these notions in their heads"
"Shall we take anything to drink?" called Daisy from an upper window.
"I'll get some whiskey," answered Tom. He went inside.
Gatsby turned to me rigidly:
"I can't say anything in his house, old sport."
"She's got an indiscreet voice," I remarked. "It's full of" I hesitated.
"Her voice is full of money," he said suddenly.
That was it. I'd never understood before. It was full of money—that was the inexhaustible charm that rose and fell in it, the jingle of it, the cymbals' song of it. . . . High in a white palace the king's daughter, the golden girl. . . .
Tom came out of the house wrapping a quart bottle in a towel, followed by Daisy and Jordan wearing small tight hats of metallic cloth and carrying light capes over their arms.
"Shall we all go in my car?" suggested Gatsby. He felt the hot, green leather of the seat. "I ought to have left it in the shade."
"Is it standard shift?" demanded Tom.
"Yes."
