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I met Mr. Henry C. Gatz on the train from Minnesota to New York. I found myself sitting next to him and my attention was drawn to the fact that he seemed to be in an awkward state. In attempt to ease his discomfort I tried, unsuccessfully at first, to draw him into conversation. He mumbled something about going to a funeral and continued to tug on his gray beard, thus I left it at that. But then, as it usually does, my curiosity got the better of me and, pressing more firmly this time, I asked to whose funeral might he be going. When the reply “Jay Gatsby” came I was stunned.
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