Holden wakes up around 10am, smokes some cigarettes, and thinks about Jane. Basically, nothing has changed.
He does end up giving Sally Hayes a call. He says she's not too intelligent, but he got tricked into thinking so for a while since she knew a lot about theater and literature and all that stuff. Also, he spent a lot of time making out with her, which can obscure the facts.
Once has her on the phone, they set a date to see a matinee. Then she tells him all about these boys that are just crazy over her, which isn't exactly a tactful thing to do.
After he hangs up, Holden looks out his window at the "perverts" across the way, but they all have their shades pulled down.
It's only Sunday and he knows he can't go home until Wednesday, or at the very earliest, maybe Tuesday, so gets in a cab and heads for Grand Central Station so he can leave his bags in a locker there.
He counts his money and realizes he's spent a ton since he left school, which is nothing new, but still makes him feel bad. We also get some insight here into Holden's family – it seems his father does in fact make a lot of money, as a corporation (corporate) lawyer.
After dropping his bags off, Holden has a light breakfast at a counter, noting that the reason he's so skinny is that he never eats enough.
Holden lends a hand to two nuns nearby who don't seem to know what to do with their inexpensive suitcases.
Which leads Holden into a digression on…inexpensive suitcases.
At Elkton Hills (one of his many previous boarding schools), Holden roomed with a guy named Dick Slagle who had very inexpensive suitcases. He was embarrassed about it, so he used to keep them under the bed instead of on the luggage rack.
Of course, this was depressing to Holden, who himself had very expensive suitcases. So he put his under the bed, too.
The funny thing was, Dick kept taking Holden's suitcases out and putting them back on the rack – so that people would think they were his. Even so, he kept insulting them, calling them "bourgeois." They both ended up getting new roommates.
Holden adds that "it's really hard to be roommates with people if your suitcases are much better than theirs."
But back to the nuns. One of them is carrying one of those Salvation Army-type baskets for other people to donate money.
He asks if they're taking up a collection, as he would make a contribution. He's mostly depressed that they're eating toast and coffee while he's eating bacon and eggs.
He finally gives them ten dollars, though they keep asking if he's sure he can afford to do that.
Holden strikes up a conversation, and we find out that the nuns, in addition to being nuns, are schoolteachers from Chicago who have just come to New York.
One of the nuns teaches English, and Holden wonders how she feels about the sexy bits of books she has to teach, considering she is a nun – like Eustacia Vye in The Return of the Native, for example.
So they start talking about English (Holden's best subject).
Holden details the books he's read: Beowulf, Lord Randal My Son, Return of the Native, Romeo and Juliet, etc.
The nun gets all excited about Romeo and Juliet, which Holden thinks isn't exactly nun-appropriate. But he indulges in a discussion of it anyway.
What bothered him most in the play wasn't when Romeo and Juliet died; it was when Mercutio died. He had a hard time liking Romeo after that. He hates it when someone dies and it isn't even his fault.
Holden tries to pay the nuns' bill before they part ways, but the women won't let him.
He reflects that he would've had a lot better time talking to them if he wasn't so afraid they were going to ask him if he was Catholic, especially since he has an Irish last name.
His father was Catholic at one point, he tells us.
He remembers a kid named Louis Shaney that he used to know at school, someone he had a good conversation with until Louis tried to subtly find out if he was Catholic.
This, he tells us, is much like the suitcases issue.
After accidentally blowing smoke in the nuns' face as they say goodbye, Holden apologizes, is embarrassed, and generally feels depressed by the whole thing, especially the money part.