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# Chapter 15 ## Overview This entity is Chapter 15 of a literary work, presented as a continuous narrative text spanning lines 2626 to 2840 of the source document. It is part of the larger work [Rye.pdf](arke:01KFYRMP38MZY7WVH2Q0JN0CWH), archived within the [More Classics](arke:01KFXT0KM64XT6K8W52TDEE0YS) collection. The chapter captures a single day in the life of the protagonist, Holden Caulfield, following his departure from Pencey Prep, and is narrated in his distinctive first-person voice. ## Context The chapter is situated within the broader narrative arc of Holden’s journey through New York City after being expelled from school. It follows his uneasy stay at a Manhattan hotel and reflects his attempts to stave off loneliness by reconnecting with acquaintances. The narrative reveals Holden’s internal conflicts—his desire for human connection contrasted with his deep cynicism and sensitivity to social pretense. His interactions are filtered through a lens of adolescent alienation, moral judgment, and self-awareness tinged with irony. ## Contents The chapter begins with Holden waking early and deciding to call Sally Hayes, a girl he finds attractive but phony, to attend a matinee. Their phone conversation highlights his discomfort with her superficiality, particularly her use of the word “grand.” After arranging the date, Holden checks out of the hotel, avoids the elevator operator Maurice, and goes to Grand Central Station to store his luggage. While eating breakfast, he meets two nuns and engages in a thoughtful conversation about literature, particularly *Romeo and Juliet* and *The Return of the Native*. He reflects on his dislike of Romeo and his admiration for Mercutio, revealing his sensitivity to injustice and wasted potential. He gives the nuns ten dollars, later regretting it due to financial concerns. The encounter prompts broader reflections on class, authenticity, and the awkwardness of religious identity, as Holden recalls being subtly questioned about his Catholicism by peers. The chapter closes with Holden’s embarrassment after accidentally blowing cigarette smoke in the nuns’ faces and his rueful meditation on money and its emotional toll.

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2026-01-27T17:22:15.233Z

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Chapter 15

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2513 15 2514 I didn't sleep too long, because I think it was only around ten o'clock when I woke 2515 up. I felt pretty hungry as soon as I had a cigarette. The last time I'd eaten was those two 2516 hamburgers I had with Brossard and Ackley when we went in to Agerstown to the 2517 movies. That was a long time ago. It seemed like fifty years ago. The phone was right 2518 next to me, and I started to call down and have them send up some breakfast, but I was 2519 sort of afraid they might send it up with old Maurice. If you think I was dying to see him 2520 again, you're crazy. So I just laid around in bed for a while and smoked another cigarette. 2521 I thought of giving old Jane a buzz, to see if she was home yet and all, but I wasn't in the 2522 mood. 2523 What I did do, I gave old Sally Hayes a buzz. She went to Mary A. Woodruff, and 2524 I knew she was home because I'd had this letter from her a couple of weeks ago. I wasn't 2525 too crazy about her, but I'd known her for years. I used to think she was quite intelligent, 2526 in my stupidity. The reason I did was because she knew quite a lot about the theater and 2527 plays and literature and all that stuff. If somebody knows quite a lot about those things, it 2528 takes you quite a while to find out whether they're really stupid or not. It took me years to 2529 find it out, in old Sally's case. I think I'd have found it out a lot sooner if we hadn't necked 2530 so damn much. My big trouble is, I always sort of think whoever I'm necking is a pretty 2531 intelligent person. It hasn't got a goddam thing to do with it, but I keep thinking it 2532 anyway. 2533 Anyway, I gave her a buzz. First the maid answered. Then her father. Then she 2534 got on. "Sally?" I said. 2535 "Yes--who is this?" she said. She was quite a little phony. I'd already told her 2536 father who it was. 2537 "Holden Caulfield. How are ya?" 2538 "Holden! I'm fine! How are you?" 2539 "Swell. Listen. How are ya, anyway? I mean how's school?" 2540 "Fine," she said. "I mean--you know." 2541 "Swell. Well, listen. I was wondering if you were busy today. It's Sunday, but 2542 there's always one or two matinees going on Sunday. Benefits and that stuff. Would you 2543 care to go?" 2544 "I'd love to. Grand." 2545 Grand. If there's one word I hate, it's grand. It's so phony. For a second, I was 2546 tempted to tell her to forget about the matinee. But we chewed the fat for a while. That is, 2547 she chewed it. You couldn't get a word in edgewise. First she told me about some 2548 Harvard guy-- it probably was a freshman, but she didn't say, naturally--that was rushing 2549 hell out of her. Calling her up night and day. Night and day--that killed me. Then she told 2550 me about some other guy, some West Point cadet, that was cutting his throat over her too. <!-- [Page 58](arke:01KFYTACA4G0PAKYKZMA82JHG1) --> 2551 Big deal. I told her to meet me under the clock at the Biltmore at two o'clock, and not to 2552 be late, because the show probably started at two-thirty. She was always late. Then I hung 2553 up. She gave me a pain in the ass, but she was very good-looking. 2554 After I made the date with old Sally, I got out of bed and got dressed and packed 2555 my bag. I took a look out the window before I left the room, though, to see how all the 2556 perverts were doing, but they all had their shades down. They were the heighth of 2557 modesty in the morning. Then I went down in the elevator and checked out. I didn't see 2558 old Maurice around anywhere. I didn't break my neck looking for him, naturally, the 2559 bastard. 2560 I got a cab outside the hotel, but I didn't have the faintest damn idea where I was 2561 going. I had no place to go. It was only Sunday, and I couldn't go home till Wednesday-- 2562 or Tuesday the soonest. And I certainly didn't feel like going to another hotel and getting 2563 my brains beat out. So what I did, I told the driver to take me to Grand Central Station. It 2564 was right near the Biltmore, where I was meeting Sally later, and I figured what I'd do, I'd 2565 check my bags in one of those strong boxes that they give you a key to, then get some 2566 breakfast. I was sort of hungry. While I was in the cab, I took out my wallet and sort of 2567 counted my money. I don't remember exactly what I had left, but it was no fortune or 2568 anything. I'd spent a king's ransom in about two lousy weeks. I really had. I'm a goddam 2569 spendthrift at heart. What I don't spend, I lose. Half the time I sort of even forget to pick 2570 up my change, at restaurants and night clubs and all. It drives my parents crazy. You can't 2571 blame them. My father's quite wealthy, though. I don't know how much he makes--he's 2572 never discussed that stuff with me--but I imagine quite a lot. He's a corporation lawyer. 2573 Those boys really haul it in. Another reason I know he's quite well off, he's always 2574 investing money in shows on Broadway. They always flop, though, and it drives my 2575 mother crazy when he does it. She hasn't felt too healthy since my brother Allie died. 2576 She's very nervous. That's another reason why I hated like hell for her to know I got the 2577 ax again. 2578 After I put my bags in one of those strong boxes at the station, I went into this 2579 little sandwich bar and bad breakfast. I had quite a large breakfast, for me--orange juice, 2580 bacon and eggs, toast and coffee. Usually I just drink some orange juice. I'm a very light 2581 eater. I really am. That's why I'm so damn skinny. I was supposed to be on this diet where 2582 you eat a lot of starches and crap, to gain weight and all, but I didn't ever do it. When I'm 2583 out somewhere, I generally just eat a Swiss cheese sandwich and a malted milk. It isn't 2584 much, but you get quite a lot of vitamins in the malted milk. H. V. Caulfield. Holden 2585 Vitamin Caulfield. 2586 While I was eating my eggs, these two nuns with suitcases and all--I guessed they 2587 were moving to another convent or something and were waiting for a train--came in and 2588 sat down next to me at the counter. They didn't seem to know what the hell to do with 2589 their suitcases, so I gave them a hand. They were these very inexpensive-looking 2590 suitcases--the ones that aren't genuine leather or anything. It isn't important, I know, but I 2591 hate it when somebody has cheap suitcases. It sounds terrible to say it, but I can even get 2592 to hate somebody, just looking at them, if they have cheap suitcases with them. 2593 Something happened once. For a while when I was at Elkton Hills, I roomed with this 2594 boy, Dick Slagle, that had these very inexpensive suitcases. He used to keep them under 2595 the bed, instead of on the rack, so that nobody'd see them standing next to mine. It 2596 depressed holy hell out of me, and I kept wanting to throw mine out or something, or <!-- [Page 59](arke:01KFYTAC7KGAP5DC8FTEVAYTBX) --> 2597 even trade with him. Mine came from Mark Cross, and they were genuine cowhide and 2598 all that crap, and I guess they cost quite a pretty penny. But it was a funny thing. Here's 2599 what happened. What I did, I finally put my suitcases under my bed, instead of on the 2600 rack, so that old Slagle wouldn't get a goddam inferiority complex about it. But here's 2601 what he did. The day after I put mine under my bed, he took them out and put them back 2602 on the rack. The reason he did it, it took me a while to find out, was because he wanted 2603 people to think my bags were his. He really did. He was a very funny guy, that way. He 2604 was always saying snotty things about them, my suitcases, for instance. He kept saying 2605 they were too new and bourgeois. That was his favorite goddam word. He read it 2606 somewhere or heard it somewhere. Everything I had was bourgeois as hell. Even my 2607 fountain pen was bourgeois. He borrowed it off me all the time, but it was bourgeois 2608 anyway. We only roomed together about two months. Then we both asked to be moved. 2609 And the funny thing was, I sort of missed him after we moved, because he had a helluva 2610 good sense of humor and we had a lot of fun sometimes. I wouldn't be surprised if he 2611 missed me, too. At first he only used to be kidding when he called my stuff bourgeois, 2612 and I didn't give a damn--it was sort of funny, in fact. Then, after a while, you could tell 2613 he wasn't kidding any more. The thing is, it's really hard to be roommates with people if 2614 your suitcases are much better than theirs--if yours are really good ones and theirs aren't. 2615 You think if they're intelligent and all, the other person, and have a good sense of humor, 2616 that they don't give a damn whose suitcases are better, but they do. They really do. It's 2617 one of the reasons why I roomed with a stupid bastard like Stradlater. At least his 2618 suitcases were as good as mine. 2619 Anyway, these two nuns were sitting next to me, and we sort of struck up a 2620 conversation. The one right next to me had one of those straw baskets that you see nuns 2621 and Salvation Army babes collecting dough with around Christmas time. You see them 2622 standing on corners, especially on Fifth Avenue, in front of the big department stores and 2623 all. Anyway, the one next to me dropped hers on the floor and I reached down and picked 2624 it up for her. I asked her if she was out collecting money for charity and all. She said no. 2625 She said she couldn't get it in her suitcase when she was packing it and she was just 2626 carrying it. She had a pretty nice smile when she looked at you. She had a big nose, and 2627 she had on those glasses with sort of iron rims that aren't too attractive, but she had a 2628 helluva kind face. "I thought if you were taking up a collection," I told her, "I could make 2629 a small contribution. You could keep the money for when you do take up a collection." 2630 "Oh, how very kind of you," she said, and the other one, her friend, looked over at 2631 me. The other one was reading a little black book while she drank her coffee. It looked 2632 like a Bible, but it was too skinny. It was a Bible-type book, though. All the two of them 2633 were eating for breakfast was toast and coffee. That depressed me. I hate it if I'm eating 2634 bacon and eggs or something and somebody else is only eating toast and coffee. 2635 They let me give them ten bucks as a contribution. They kept asking me if I was 2636 sure I could afford it and all. I told them I had quite a bit of money with me, but they 2637 didn't seem to believe me. They took it, though, finally. The both of them kept thanking 2638 me so much it was embarrassing. I swung the conversation around to general topics and 2639 asked them where they were going. They said they were schoolteachers and that they'd 2640 just come from Chicago and that they were going to start teaching at some convent on 2641 168th Street or 186th Street or one of those streets way the hell uptown. The one next to 2642 me, with the iron glasses, said she taught English and her friend taught history and <!-- [Page 60](arke:01KFYTAC94Y29RT7ZNCYHJEE51) --> 2643 American government. Then I started wondering like a bastard what the one sitting next 2644 to me, that taught English, thought about, being a nun and all, when she read certain 2645 books for English. Books not necessarily with a lot of sexy stuff in them, but books with 2646 lovers and all in them. Take old Eustacia Vye, in The Return of the Native by Thomas 2647 Hardy. She wasn't too sexy or anything, but even so you can't help wondering what a nun 2648 maybe thinks about when she reads about old Eustacia. I didn't say anything, though, 2649 naturally. All I said was English was my best subject. 2650 "Oh, really? Oh, I'm so glad!" the one with the glasses, that taught English, said. 2651 "What have you read this year? I'd be very interested to know." She was really nice. 2652 "Well, most of the time we were on the Anglo-Saxons. Beowulf, and old Grendel, 2653 and Lord Randal My Son, and all those things. But we had to read outside books for extra 2654 credit once in a while. I read The Return of the Native by Thomas Hardy, and Romeo and 2655 Juliet and Julius--" 2656 "Oh, Romeo and Juliet! Lovely! Didn't you just love it?" She certainly didn't 2657 sound much like a nun. 2658 "Yes. I did. I liked it a lot. There were a few things I didn't like about it, but it was 2659 quite moving, on the whole." 2660 "What didn't you like about it? Can you remember?" To tell you the truth, it was 2661 sort of embarrassing, in a way, to be talking about Romeo and Juliet with her. I mean that 2662 play gets pretty sexy in some parts, and she was a nun and all, but she asked me, so I 2663 discussed it with her for a while. "Well, I'm not too crazy about Romeo and Juliet," I said. 2664 "I mean I like them, but--I don't know. They get pretty annoying sometimes. I mean I felt 2665 much sorrier when old Mercutio got killed than when Romeo and Juliet did. The think is, 2666 I never liked Romeo too much after Mercutio gets stabbed by that other man--Juliet's 2667 cousin--what's his name?" 2668 "Tybalt." 2669 "That's right. Tybalt," I said--I always forget that guy's name. "It was Romeo's 2670 fault. I mean I liked him the best in the play, old Mercutio. I don't know. All those 2671 Montagues and Capulets, they're all right--especially Juliet--but Mercutio, he was--it's 2672 hard to explain. He was very smart and entertaining and all. The thing is, it drives me 2673 crazy if somebody gets killed-- especially somebody very smart and entertaining and all-- 2674 and it's somebody else's fault. Romeo and Juliet, at least it was their own fault." 2675 "What school do you go to?" she asked me. She probably wanted to get off the 2676 subject of Romeo and Juliet. 2677 I told her Pencey, and she'd heard of it. She said it was a very good school. I let it 2678 pass, though. Then the other one, the one that taught history and government, said they'd 2679 better be running along. I took their check off them, but they wouldn't let me pay it. The 2680 one with the glasses made me give it back to her. 2681 "You've been more than generous," she said. "You're a very sweet boy." She 2682 certainly was nice. She reminded me a little bit of old Ernest Morrow's mother, the one I 2683 met on the train. When she smiled, mostly. "We've enjoyed talking to you so much," she 2684 said. 2685 I said I'd enjoyed talking to them a lot, too. I meant it, too. I'd have enjoyed it 2686 even more though, I think, if I hadn't been sort of afraid, the whole time I was talking to 2687 them, that they'd all of a sudden try to find out if I was a Catholic. Catholics are always 2688 trying to find out if you're a Catholic. It happens to me a lot, I know, partly because my <!-- [Page 61](arke:01KFYTACAK782Z1K30C9QD1BF2) --> 2689 last name is Irish, and most people of Irish descent are Catholics. As a matter of fact, my 2690 father was a Catholic once. He quit, though, when he married my mother. But Catholics 2691 are always trying to find out if you're a Catholic even if they don't know your last name. I 2692 knew this one Catholic boy, Louis Shaney, when I was at the Whooton School. He was 2693 the first boy I ever met there. He and I were sitting in the first two chairs outside the 2694 goddam infirmary, the day school opened, waiting for our physicals, and we sort of 2695 struck up this conversation about tennis. He was quite interested in tennis, and so was I. 2696 He told me he went to the Nationals at Forest Hills every summer, and I told him I did 2697 too, and then we talked about certain hot-shot tennis players for quite a while. He knew 2698 quite a lot about tennis, for a kid his age. He really did. Then, after a while, right in the 2699 middle of the goddam conversation, he asked me, "Did you happen to notice where the 2700 Catholic church is in town, by any chance?" The thing was, you could tell by the way he 2701 asked me that he was trying to find out if I was a Catholic. He really was. Not that he was 2702 prejudiced or anything, but he just wanted to know. He was enjoying the conversation 2703 about tennis and all, but you could tell he would've enjoyed it more if I was a Catholic 2704 and all. That kind of stuff drives me crazy. I'm not saying it ruined our conversation or 2705 anything--it didn't--but it sure as hell didn't do it any good. That's why I was glad those 2706 two nuns didn't ask me if I was a Catholic. It wouldn't have spoiled the conversation if 2707 they had, but it would've been different, probably. I'm not saying I blame Catholics. I 2708 don't. I'd be the same way, probably, if I was a Catholic. It's just like those suitcases I was 2709 telling you about, in a way. All I'm saying is that it's no good for a nice conversation. 2710 That's all I'm saying. 2711 When they got up to go, the two nuns, I did something very stupid and 2712 embarrassing. I was smoking a cigarette, and when I stood up to say good-by to them, by 2713 mistake I blew some smoke in their face. I didn't mean to, but I did it. I apologized like a 2714 madman, and they were very polite and nice about it, but it was very embarrassing 2715 anyway. 2716 After they left, I started getting sorry that I'd only given them ten bucks for their 2717 collection. But the thing was, I'd made that date to go to a matinee with old Sally Hayes, 2718 and I needed to keep some dough for the tickets and stuff. I was sorry anyway, though. 2719 Goddam money. It always ends up making you blue as hell.

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