he said, “and I'm going to run off from you two young men before I outstay my welcome.”

“Don't hurry, Meyer,” said Gatsby, without enthusiasm. Mr. Wolfshiem raised his hand in a sort of benediction.

“You're very polite but I belong to another generation,” he announced solemnly. “You sit here and discuss your sports and your young ladies and your — — ” He supplied an imaginary noun with another wave of his hand — ”As for me, I am fifty years old, and I won't impose myself on you any longer.”

As he shook hands and turned away his tragic nose was trembling. I wondered if I had said anything to offend him.

“He becomes very sentimental sometimes,”