“He's dead now. He used to be my best friend years ago.”
There was a small picture of Gatsby, also in yachting costume, on the bureau — Gatsby with his head thrown back defiantly — taken apparently when he was about eighteen.
“I adore it!” exclaimed Daisy. “The pompadour! You never told me you had a pompadour — or a yacht.”
“Look at this,” said Gatsby quickly. “Here's a lot of clippings — about you.”
They stood side by side examining it. I was going to ask to see the rubies when the phone rang and Gatsby took up the receiver.
“Yes� . Well, I can't talk now� . I can't talk now, old sport� . I said a small town� . He must know what a small town is� . Well, he's no use to us if Detroit is his idea of a small town� .”