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# Chapter 17 ## Overview This entity is Chapter 17 of a literary work, extracted from a source file and structured as part of a larger text. It spans lines 3066 to 3367 of the original document and corresponds to pages 67 through 72 of the physical or digital edition. The chapter is written in first-person narrative and presents a continuous, introspective account of a young man’s date with Sally in New York City. It is part of a collection titled [More Classics](arke:01KFXT0KM64XT6K8W52TDEE0YS), which includes canonical Western literature. ## Context The chapter is one of several in a novel preserved within the [More Classics](arke:01KFXT0KM64XT6K8W52TDEE0YS) collection, which also contains other significant literary works. The narrative voice is characteristic of adolescent alienation and emotional volatility, reflecting themes common in mid-20th-century American literature. The protagonist, unnamed in this chapter but consistent with Holden Caulfield from *The Catcher in the Rye*, recounts his experiences with cynicism, longing, and a deep sensitivity to social phoniness. His observations of theatergoers, romantic interactions, and societal expectations align with the broader thematic concerns of the novel. ## Contents The chapter details the narrator’s date with Sally, beginning with his early arrival at a theater lobby, where he observes young women and reflects on their uncertain futures. He reunites with Sally, whom he finds attractive but ultimately frustrating. They attend a play by Alfred Lunt and Lynn Fontanne, which the narrator finds dull and overly polished. During intermission, he grows irritated by the pretentiousness of the audience, particularly a snobbish acquaintance of Sally’s from Andover. After the show, they go ice-skating at Radio City, where they struggle and feel self-conscious. Over drinks, the narrator impulsively proposes that they run away together to New England, expressing a desperate desire to escape societal conformity. Sally rejects the idea, leading to a heated argument and their eventual separation. The chapter ends with the narrator reflecting on his own emotional instability, acknowledging that while he likely wouldn’t have followed through, he genuinely meant his proposal—a moment of raw vulnerability amidst his usual irony.

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Chapter 17

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2935 17 2936 I was way early when I got there, so I just sat down on one of those leather 2937 couches right near the clock in the lobby and watched the girls. A lot of schools were 2938 home for vacation already, and there were about a million girls sitting and standing 2939 around waiting for their dates to show up. Girls with their legs crossed, girls with their 2940 legs not crossed, girls with terrific legs, girls with lousy legs, girls that looked like swell 2941 girls, girls that looked like they'd be bitches if you knew them. It was really nice 2942 sightseeing, if you know what I mean. In a way, it was sort of depressing, too, because 2943 you kept wondering what the hell would happen to all of them. When they got out of 2944 school and college, I mean. You figured most of them would probably marry dopey guys. 2945 Guys that always talk about how many miles they get to a gallon in their goddam cars. 2946 Guys that get sore and childish as hell if you beat them at golf, or even just some stupid 2947 game like ping-pong. Guys that are very mean. Guys that never read books. Guys that are 2948 very boring--But I have to be careful about that. I mean about calling certain guys bores. I 2949 don't understand boring guys. I really don't. When I was at Elkton Hills, I roomed for 2950 about two months with this boy, Harris Mackim. He was very intelligent and all, but he 2951 was one of the biggest bores I ever met. He had one of these very raspy voices, and he 2952 never stopped talking, practically. He never stopped talking, and what was awful was, he 2953 never said anything you wanted to hear in the first place. But he could do one thing. The 2954 sonuvabitch could whistle better than anybody I ever heard. He'd be making his bed, or 2955 hanging up stuff in the closet--he was always hanging up stuff in the closet--it drove me 2956 crazy--and he'd be whistling while he did it, if he wasn't talking in this raspy voice. He 2957 could even whistle classical stuff, but most of the time he just whistled jazz. He could 2958 take something very jazzy, like "Tin Roof Blues," and whistle it so nice and easy--right <!-- [Page 67](arke:01KFYTAC8B4CGE00JDAYDV2GHR) --> 2959 while he was hanging stuff up in the closet--that it could kill you. Naturally, I never told 2960 him I thought he was a terrific whistler. I mean you don't just go up to somebody and say, 2961 "You're a terrific whistler." But I roomed with him for about two whole months, even 2962 though he bored me till I was half crazy, just because he was such a terrific whistler, the 2963 best I ever heard. So I don't know about bores. Maybe you shouldn't feel too sorry if you 2964 see some swell girl getting married to them. They don't hurt anybody, most of them, and 2965 maybe they're secretly all terrific whistlers or something. Who the hell knows? Not me. 2966 Finally, old Sally started coming up the stairs, and I started down to meet her. She 2967 looked terrific. She really did. She had on this black coat and sort of a black beret. She 2968 hardly ever wore a hat, but that beret looked nice. The funny part is, I felt like marrying 2969 her the minute I saw her. I'm crazy. I didn't even like her much, and yet all of a sudden I 2970 felt like I was in love with her and wanted to marry her. I swear to God I'm crazy. I admit 2971 it. 2972 "Holden!" she said. "It's marvelous to see you! It's been ages." She had one of 2973 these very loud, embarrassing voices when you met her somewhere. She got away with it 2974 because she was so damn good-looking, but it always gave me a pain in the ass. 2975 "Swell to see you," I said. I meant it, too. "How are ya, anyway?" 2976 "Absolutely marvelous. Am I late?" 2977 I told her no, but she was around ten minutes late, as a matter of fact. I didn't give 2978 a damn, though. All that crap they have in cartoons in the Saturday Evening Post and all, 2979 showing guys on street corners looking sore as hell because their dates are late--that's 2980 bunk. If a girl looks swell when she meets you, who gives a damn if she's late? Nobody. 2981 "We better hurry," I said. "The show starts at two-forty." We started going down the 2982 stairs to where the taxis are. 2983 "What are we going to see?" she said. 2984 "I don't know. The Lunts. It's all I could get tickets for." 2985 "The Lunts! Oh, marvelous!" I told you she'd go mad when she heard it was for 2986 the Lunts. 2987 We horsed around a little bit in the cab on the way over to the theater. At first she 2988 didn't want to, because she had her lipstick on and all, but I was being seductive as hell 2989 and she didn't have any alternative. Twice, when the goddam cab stopped short in traffic, 2990 I damn near fell off the seat. Those damn drivers never even look where they're going, I 2991 swear they don't. Then, just to show you how crazy I am, when we were coming out of 2992 this big clinch, I told her I loved her and all. It was a lie, of course, but the thing is, I 2993 meant it when I said it. I'm crazy. I swear to God I am. 2994 "Oh, darling, I love you too," she said. Then, right in the same damn breath, she 2995 said, "Promise me you'll let your hair grow. Crew cuts are getting corny. And your hair's 2996 so lovely." 2997 Lovely my ass. 2998 The show wasn't as bad as some I've seen. It was on the crappy side, though. It 2999 was about five hundred thousand years in the life of this one old couple. It starts out when 3000 they're young and all, and the girl's parents don't want her to marry the boy, but she 3001 marries him anyway. Then they keep getting older and older. The husband goes to war, 3002 and the wife has this brother that's a drunkard. I couldn't get very interested. I mean I 3003 didn't care too much when anybody in the family died or anything. They were all just a 3004 bunch of actors. The husband and wife were a pretty nice old couple--very witty and all-- <!-- [Page 68](arke:01KFYTAC4W7SNHZE6XAYTTS1G0) --> 3005 but I couldn't get too interested in them. For one thing, they kept drinking tea or some 3006 goddam thing all through the play. Every time you saw them, some butler was shoving 3007 some tea in front of them, or the wife was pouring it for somebody. And everybody kept 3008 coming in and going out all the time--you got dizzy watching people sit down and stand 3009 up. Alfred Lunt and Lynn Fontanne were the old couple, and they were very good, but I 3010 didn't like them much. They were different, though, I'll say that. They didn't act like 3011 people and they didn't act like actors. It's hard to explain. They acted more like they knew 3012 they were celebrities and all. I mean they were good, but they were too good. When one 3013 of them got finished making a speech, the other one said something very fast right after it. 3014 It was supposed to be like people really talking and interrupting each other and all. The 3015 trouble was, it was too much like people talking and interrupting each other. They acted a 3016 little bit the way old Ernie, down in the Village, plays the piano. If you do something too 3017 good, then, after a while, if you don't watch it, you start showing off. And then you're not 3018 as good any more. But anyway, they were the only ones in the show--the Lunts, I mean-- 3019 that looked like they had any real brains. I have to admit it. 3020 At the end of the first act we went out with all the other jerks for a cigarette. What 3021 a deal that was. You never saw so many phonies in all your life, everybody smoking their 3022 ears off and talking about the play so that everybody could hear and know how sharp they 3023 were. Some dopey movie actor was standing near us, having a cigarette. I don't know his 3024 name, but he always plays the part of a guy in a war movie that gets yellow before it's 3025 time to go over the top. He was with some gorgeous blonde, and the two of them were 3026 trying to be very blasé and all, like as if he didn't even know people were looking at him. 3027 Modest as hell. I got a big bang out of it. Old Sally didn't talk much, except to rave about 3028 the Lunts, because she was busy rubbering and being charming. Then all of a sudden, she 3029 saw some jerk she knew on the other side of the lobby. Some guy in one of those very 3030 dark gray flannel suits and one of those checkered vests. Strictly Ivy League. Big deal. 3031 He was standing next to the wall, smoking himself to death and looking bored as hell. 3032 Old Sally kept saying, "I know that boy from somewhere." She always knew somebody, 3033 any place you took her, or thought she did. She kept saying that till I got bored as hell, 3034 and I said to her, "Why don't you go on over and give him a big soul kiss, if you know 3035 him? He'll enjoy it." She got sore when I said that. Finally, though, the jerk noticed her 3036 and came over and said hello. You should've seen the way they said hello. You'd have 3037 thought they hadn't seen each other in twenty years. You'd have thought they'd taken 3038 baths in the same bathtub or something when they were little kids. Old buddyroos. It was 3039 nauseating. The funny part was, they probably met each other just once, at some phony 3040 party. Finally, when they were all done slobbering around, old Sally introduced us. His 3041 name was George something--I don't even remember--and he went to Andover. Big, big 3042 deal. You should've seen him when old Sally asked him how he liked the play. He was 3043 the kind of a phony that have to give themselves room when they answer somebody's 3044 question. He stepped back, and stepped right on the lady's foot behind him. He probably 3045 broke every toe in her body. He said the play itself was no masterpiece, but that the 3046 Lunts, of course, were absolute angels. Angels. For Chrissake. Angels. That killed me. 3047 Then he and old Sally started talking about a lot of people they both knew. It was the 3048 phoniest conversation you ever heard in your life. They both kept thinking of places as 3049 fast as they could, then they'd think of somebody that lived there and mention their name. 3050 I was all set to puke when it was time to go sit down again. I really was. And then, when <!-- [Page 69](arke:01KFYTAC4Z6PRJZMPKQ226287G) --> 3051 the next act was over, they continued their goddam boring conversation. They kept 3052 thinking of more places and more names of people that lived there. The worst part was, 3053 the jerk had one of those very phony, Ivy League voices, one of those very tired, snobby 3054 voices. He sounded just like a girl. He didn't hesitate to horn in on my date, the bastard. I 3055 even thought for a minute that he was going to get in the goddam cab with us when the 3056 show was over, because he walked about two blocks with us, but he had to meet a bunch 3057 of phonies for cocktails, he said. I could see them all sitting around in some bar, with 3058 their goddam checkered vests, criticizing shows and books and women in those tired, 3059 snobby voices. They kill me, those guys. 3060 I sort of hated old Sally by the time we got in the cab, after listening to that phony 3061 Andover bastard for about ten hours. I was all set to take her home and all--I really was-- 3062 but she said, "I have a marvelous idea!" She was always having a marvelous idea. 3063 "Listen," she said. "What time do you have to be home for dinner? I mean are you in a 3064 terrible hurry or anything? Do you have to be home any special time?" 3065 "Me? No. No special time," I said. Truer word was never spoken, boy. "Why?" 3066 "Let's go ice-skating at Radio City!" 3067 That's the kind of ideas she always had. 3068 "Ice-skating at Radio City? You mean right now?" 3069 "Just for an hour or so. Don't you want to? If you don't want to--" 3070 "I didn't say I didn't want to," I said. "Sure. If you want to." 3071 "Do you mean it? Don't just say it if you don't mean it. I mean I don't give a darn, 3072 one way or the other." 3073 Not much she didn't. 3074 "You can rent those darling little skating skirts," old Sally said. "Jeannette Cultz 3075 did it last week." 3076 That's why she was so hot to go. She wanted to see herself in one of those little 3077 skirts that just come down over their butt and all. 3078 So we went, and after they gave us our skates, they gave Sally this little blue butt- 3079 twitcher of a dress to wear. She really did look damn good in it, though. I save to admit it. 3080 And don't think she didn't know it. The kept walking ahead of me, so that I'd see how 3081 cute her little ass looked. It did look pretty cute, too. I have to admit it. 3082 The funny part was, though, we were the worst skaters on the whole goddam rink. 3083 I mean the worst. And there were some lulus, too. Old Sally's ankles kept bending in till 3084 they were practically on the ice. They not only looked stupid as hell, but they probably 3085 hurt like hell, too. I know mine did. Mine were killing me. We must've looked gorgeous. 3086 And what made it worse, there were at least a couple of hundred rubbernecks that didn't 3087 have anything better to do than stand around and watch everybody falling all over 3088 themselves. 3089 "Do you want to get a table inside and have a drink or something?" I said to her 3090 finally. 3091 "That's the most marvelous idea you've had all day," the said. She was killing 3092 herself. It was brutal. I really felt sorry for her. 3093 We took off our goddam skates and went inside this bar where you can get drinks 3094 and watch the skaters in just your stocking feet. As soon as we sat down, old Sally took 3095 off her gloves, and I gave her a cigarette. She wasn't looking too happy. The waiter came 3096 up, and I ordered a Coke for her--she didn't drink--and a Scotch and soda for myself, but <!-- [Page 70](arke:01KFYTAC54V9R5QYBMC6Z5NTKQ) --> 3097 the sonuvabitch wouldn't bring me one, so I had a Coke, too. Then I sort of started 3098 lighting matches. I do that quite a lot when I'm in a certain mood. I sort of let them burn 3099 down till I can't hold them any more, then I drop them in the ashtray. It's a nervous habit. 3100 Then all of a sudden, out of a clear blue sky, old Sally said, "Look. I have to 3101 know. Are you or aren't you coming over to help me trim the tree Christmas Eve? I have 3102 to know." She was still being snotty on account of her ankles when she was skating. 3103 "I wrote you I would. You've asked me that about twenty times. Sure, I am." 3104 "I mean I have to know," she said. She started looking all around the goddam 3105 room. 3106 All of a sudden I quit lighting matches, and sort of leaned nearer to her over the 3107 table. I had quite a few topics on my mind. "Hey, Sally," I said. 3108 "What?" she said. She was looking at some girl on the other side of the room. 3109 "Did you ever get fed up?" I said. "I mean did you ever get scared that everything 3110 was going to go lousy unless you did something? I mean do you like school, and all that 3111 stuff?" 3112 "It's a terrific bore." 3113 "I mean do you hate it? I know it's a terrific bore, but do you hate it, is what I 3114 mean." 3115 "Well, I don't exactly hate it. You always have to--" 3116 "Well, I hate it. Boy, do I hate it," I said. "But it isn't just that. It's everything. I 3117 hate living in New York and all. Taxicabs, and Madison Avenue buses, with the drivers 3118 and all always yelling at you to get out at the rear door, and being introduced to phony 3119 guys that call the Lunts angels, and going up and down in elevators when you just want to 3120 go outside, and guys fitting your pants all the time at Brooks, and people always--" 3121 "Don't shout, please," old Sally said. Which was very funny, because I wasn't 3122 even shouting. 3123 "Take cars," I said. I said it in this very quiet voice. "Take most people, they're 3124 crazy about cars. They worry if they get a little scratch on them, and they're always 3125 talking about how many miles they get to a gallon, and if they get a brand-new car 3126 already they start thinking about trading it in for one that's even newer. I don't even like 3127 old cars. I mean they don't even interest me. I'd rather have a goddam horse. A horse is at 3128 least human, for God's sake. A horse you can at least--" 3129 "I don't know what you're even talking about," old Sally said. "You jump from 3130 one--" 3131 "You know something?" I said. "You're probably the only reason I'm in New 3132 York right now, or anywhere. If you weren't around, I'd probably be someplace way the 3133 hell off. In the woods or some goddam place. You're the only reason I'm around, 3134 practically." 3135 "You're sweet," she said. But you could tell she wanted me to change the damn 3136 subject. 3137 "You ought to go to a boys' school sometime. Try it sometime," I said. "It's full of 3138 phonies, and all you do is study so that you can learn enough to be smart enough to be 3139 able to buy a goddam Cadillac some day, and you have to keep making believe you give 3140 a damn if the football team loses, and all you do is talk about girls and liquor and sex all 3141 day, and everybody sticks together in these dirty little goddam cliques. The guys that are 3142 on the basketball team stick together, the Catholics stick together, the goddam <!-- [Page 71](arke:01KFYTAC59ZQZ3KHESJ41CC99R) --> 3143 intellectuals stick together, the guys that play bridge stick together. Even the guys that 3144 belong to the goddam Book-of-the-Month Club stick together. If you try to have a little 3145 intelligent--" 3146 "Now, listen," old Sally said. "Lots of boys get more out of school than that." 3147 "I agree! I agree they do, some of them! But that's all I get out of it. See? That's 3148 my point. That's exactly my goddam point," I said. "I don't get hardly anything out of 3149 anything. I'm in bad shape. I'm in lousy shape." 3150 "You certainly are." 3151 Then, all of a sudden, I got this idea. 3152 "Look," I said. "Here's my idea. How would you like to get the hell out of here? 3153 Here's my idea. I know this guy down in Greenwich Village that we can borrow his car 3154 for a couple of weeks. He used to go to the same school I did and he still owes me ten 3155 bucks. What we could do is, tomorrow morning we could drive up to Massachusetts and 3156 Vermont, and all around there, see. It's beautiful as hell up there, It really is." I was 3157 getting excited as hell, the more I thought of it, and I sort of reached over and took old 3158 Sally's goddam hand. What a goddam fool I was. "No kidding," I said. "I have about a 3159 hundred and eighty bucks in the bank. I can take it out when it opens in the morning, and 3160 then I could go down and get this guy's car. No kidding. We'll stay in these cabin camps 3161 and stuff like that till the dough runs out. Then, when the dough runs out, I could get a 3162 job somewhere and we could live somewhere with a brook and all and, later on, we could 3163 get married or something. I could chop all our own wood in the wintertime and all. 3164 Honest to God, we could have a terrific time! Wuddaya say? C'mon! Wuddaya say? Will 3165 you do it with me? Please!" 3166 "You can't just do something like that," old Sally said. She sounded sore as hell. 3167 "Why not? Why the hell not?" 3168 "Stop screaming at me, please," she said. Which was crap, because I wasn't even 3169 screaming at her. 3170 "Why can'tcha? Why not?" 3171 "Because you can't, that's all. In the first place, we're both practically children. 3172 And did you ever stop to think what you'd do if you didn't get a job when your money ran 3173 out? We'd starve to death. The whole thing's so fantastic, it isn't even--" 3174 "It isn't fantastic. I'd get a job. Don't worry about that. You don't have to worry 3175 about that. What's the matter? Don't you want to go with me? Say so, if you don't." 3176 "It isn't that. It isn't that at all," old Sally said. I was beginning to hate her, in a 3177 way. "We'll have oodles of time to do those things--all those things. I mean after you go 3178 to college and all, and if we should get married and all. There'll be oodles of marvelous 3179 places to go to. You're just--" 3180 "No, there wouldn't be. There wouldn't be oodles of places to go to at all. It'd be 3181 entirely different," I said. I was getting depressed as hell again. 3182 "What?" she said. "I can't hear you. One minute you scream at me, and the next 3183 you--" 3184 "I said no, there wouldn't be marvelous places to go to after I went to college and 3185 all. Open your ears. It'd be entirely different. We'd have to go downstairs in elevators 3186 with suitcases and stuff. We'd have to phone up everybody and tell 'em good-by and send 3187 'em postcards from hotels and all. And I'd be working in some office, making a lot of 3188 dough, and riding to work in cabs and Madison Avenue buses, and reading newspapers, <!-- [Page 72](arke:01KFYTAC5K4CWDKJWV4HA9H512) --> 3189 and playing bridge all the time, and going to the movies and seeing a lot of stupid shorts 3190 and coming attractions and newsreels. Newsreels. Christ almighty. There's always a 3191 dumb horse race, and some dame breaking a bottle over a ship, and some chimpanzee 3192 riding a goddam bicycle with pants on. It wouldn't be the same at all. You don't see what 3193 I mean at all." 3194 "Maybe I don't! Maybe you don't, either," old Sally said. We both hated each 3195 other's guts by that time. You could see there wasn't any sense trying to have an 3196 intelligent conversation. I was sorry as hell I'd started it. 3197 "C'mon, let's get outa here," I said. "You give me a royal pain in the ass, if you 3198 want to know the truth." 3199 Boy, did she hit the ceiling when I said that. I know I shouldn't've said it, and I 3200 probably wouldn't've ordinarily, but she was depressing the hell out of me. Usually I 3201 never say crude things like that to girls. Boy, did she hit the ceiling. I apologized like a 3202 madman, but she wouldn't accept my apology. She was even crying. Which scared me a 3203 little bit, because I was a little afraid she'd go home and tell her father I called her a pain 3204 in the ass. Her father was one of those big silent bastards, and he wasn't too crazy about 3205 me anyhow. He once told old Sally I was too goddam noisy. 3206 "No kidding. I'm sorry," I kept telling her. 3207 "You're sorry. You're sorry. That's very funny," she said. She was still sort of 3208 crying, and all of a sudden I did feel sort of sorry I'd said it. 3209 "C'mon, I'll take ya home. No kidding." 3210 "I can go home by myself, thank you. If you think I'd let you take me home, 3211 you're mad. No boy ever said that to me in my entire life." 3212 The whole thing was sort of funny, in a way, if you thought about it, and all of a 3213 sudden I did something I shouldn't have. I laughed. And I have one of these very loud, 3214 stupid laughs. I mean if I ever sat behind myself in a movie or something, I'd probably 3215 lean over and tell myself to please shut up. It made old Sally madder than ever. 3216 I stuck around for a while, apologizing and trying to get her to excuse me, but she 3217 wouldn't. She kept telling me to go away and leave her alone. So finally I did it. I went 3218 inside and got my shoes and stuff, and left without her. I shouldn't've, but I was pretty 3219 goddam fed up by that time. 3220 If you want to know the truth, I don't even know why I started all that stuff with 3221 her. I mean about going away somewhere, to Massachusetts and Vermont and all. I 3222 probably wouldn't've taken her even if she'd wanted to go with me. She wouldn't have 3223 been anybody to go with. The terrible part, though, is that I meant it when I asked her. 3224 That's the terrible part. I swear to God I'm a madman.

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