The Vegetable; or, From President to Postman

by F. Scott Fitzgerald

At this sally there is a chorus of laughter.

Then Charlotte’s voice again. Does it come from outside the gate, or, mysteriously enough, from somewhere above?

Charlotte [very distinctly]. Shut the door! I can smell that stuff up here!

A bewildered look comes into Jerry’s eyes. He says “What?” in a loud voice.

Then with the tree in one hand and his grip in the other, he is hurried, between two porters, briskly toward the gate, while the Orang-Outang Band crashes into louder and louder jazz and

The Curtain Falls

ACT III

Now we’re back at the Frosts’ house, and it’s a week after the events narrated in Act I. It is about nine o’clock in the morning, and through the open windows the sun is shining in great, brave squares upon the carpet. The jars, the glasses, the phials of a certain memorable night have been removed, but there is an air about the house quite inconsistent with the happy day outside, an air of catastrophe, a profound gloom that seems to have settled even upon the “Library of Wit and Humor” in the dingy bookcase.