Tales of the Jazz Age

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Francis Scott Fitzgerald. Tales of the Jazz Age

A TABLE OF CONTENTS

MY LAST FLAPPERS

THE JELLY-BEAN

II

III

IV

THE CAMEL'S BACK

II

III

IV

V

MAY DAY

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VII

IX

X

XI

PORCELAIN AND PINK

FANTASIES

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

THE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

TARQUIN OF CHEAPSIDE

II

III

"O RUSSET WITCH!"

II

III

IV

UNCLASSIFIED MASTERPIECES. THE LEES OF HAPPINESS

II

III

IV

V

VI

MR. ICKY

JEMINA, THE MOUNTAIN GIRL

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Jim Powell was a Jelly-bean. Much as I desire to make him an appealing character, I feel that it would be unscrupulous to deceive you on that point. He was a bred-in-the-bone, dyed-in-the-wool, ninety-nine three-quarters per cent Jelly-bean and he grew lazily all during Jelly-bean season, which is every season, down in the land of the Jelly-beans well below the Mason-Dixon line.

Now if you call a Memphis man a Jelly-bean he will quite possibly pull a long sinewy rope from his hip pocket and hang you to a convenient telegraph-pole. If you Call a New Orleans man a Jelly-bean he will probably grin and ask you who is taking your girl to the Mardi Gras ball. The particular Jelly-bean patch which produced the protagonist of this history lies somewhere between the two – a little city of forty thousand that has dozed sleepily for forty thousand years in southern Georgia occasionally stirring in its slumbers and muttering something about a war that took place sometime, somewhere, and that everyone else has forgotten long ago.

.....

Over east along the golf course a faint rug of gray spread itself across the feet of the night. The party in the car began to chant a chorus as the engine warmed up.

"Good-night everybody," called Clark.

.....