CHAPTER 7
It was when curiosity about Gatsby was at its highest that the lights in his house failed to go on one Saturday night--and, as obscurely as it had begun, his career as Trimalchio was over.
Only gradually did I become aware that the automobiles which turned expectantly into his drive stayed for just a minute and then drove sulkily away. Wondering if he were sick I went over to find out--an unfamiliar butler with a villainous face squinted at me suspiciously from the door.
"Is Mr. Gatsby sick?"
"Nope." After a pause he added "sir" in a dilatory, grudging way.
"I hadn't seen him around, and I was rather worried. Tell him Mr. Carraway came over."
"Who?" he demanded rudely.
"Carraway."
"Carraway. All right, I'll tell him." Abruptly he slammed the door.
My Finn informed me tha
