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    The Jelly-Bean
    The Jelly-Bean
    The Jelly-Bean
    Ebook33 pages24 minutes

    The Jelly-Bean

    By F. Scott Fitzgerald

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    Jim Powell can’t help but be defined as a “jelly-bean”—a man who spends his life in a state of idleness. Not particularly sociable and ill at ease around women, Jim decides to dedicate his life to his work. Yet, after returning from service in the First World War, Jim meets an old classmate by chance, and through him, may evolve into something more than just a jelly-bean.

    “The Jelly-Bean” references the locale and some of the characters that were featured in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s earlier story, “The Ice Palace.”

    HarperPerennial Classics brings great works of literature to life in digital format, upholding the highest standards in ebook production and celebrating reading in all its forms. Look for more titles in the HarperPerennial Classics collection to build your digital library.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins
    Release dateJul 16, 2013
    ISBN9781443428378
    Author

    F. Scott Fitzgerald

    F. Scott Fitzgerald was born in St. Paul, Minnesota, in 1896. He attended Princeton University, joined the United States Army during World War I, and published his first novel, This Side of Paradise, in 1920. That same year he married Zelda Sayre and for the next decade the couple lived in New York, Paris, and on the Riviera. Fitzgerald’s masterpieces include The Beautiful and Damned, The Great Gatsby, and Tender Is the Night. He died at the age of forty-four while working on The Last Tycoon. Fitzgerald’s fiction has secured his reputation as one of the most important American writers of the twentieth century.

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      Book preview

      The Jelly-Bean - F. Scott Fitzgerald

      The Jelly-Bean

      I

      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.

      Jim was a Jelly-bean. I write that again because it has such a pleasant sound—rather like the beginning of a fairy story—as if Jim were nice. It somehow gives me a picture of him with a round, appetizing face and all sort of leaves and vegetables growing out of his cap. But Jim was long and thin and bent at the waist from stooping over pool tables, and he was what might have been known in the indiscriminating north as a corner loafer. Jelly-bean is the name throughout the undissolved Confederacy for one who spends his life conjugating the verb to idle in the first person singular—I am idling, I have idled, I will idle.

      Jim was born in a white house on a green corner, It had four weather-beaten pillars in front and a great amount of lattice work in the rear that made a cheerful crisscross background for a flowery sun-drenched lawn. Originally the dwellers in the white house had owned the ground next door

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