Awakening & To Let [29]
War broke out. Oh! he did take on about that at first. But he soon came round, because he knew it tired him; and he's a wonder to conserve energy as he used to call it when my dear mistresses were alive, bless their hearts! How he did go on at them about that; they were always so active, if you remember, Mr. Soames."
"What would happen if I were to go in?" asked Soames: "Would he remember me? I made his Will, you know, after Miss Hester died in 1907."
"Oh! that, sir," replied Smither doubtfully, "I couldn't take on me to say. I think he might; he really is a wonderful man for his age."
Soames moved into the doorway, and waiting for Timothy to turn, said in a loud voice: "Uncle Timothy!"
Timothy trailed back half-way, and halted.
"Eh?" he said.
"Soames," cried Soames at the top of his voice, holding out his hand, "Soames Forsyte!"
"No!" said Timothy, and stumping his stick loudly on the floor, he continued his walk.
"It doesn't seem to work," said Soames.
"No, sir," replied Smither, rather crestfallen; "you see, he hasn't finished his walk. It always was one thing at a time with him. I expect he'll ask me this afternoon if you came about the gas, and a pretty job I shall have to make him understand."
"Do you think he ought to have a man about him?"
Smither held up her hands. "A man! Oh! no. Cook and me can manage perfectly. A strange man about would send him crazy in no time. And my mistresses wouldn't like the idea of a man in the house. Besides, we're so--proud of him."
"I suppose the doctor comes?"
"Every morning. He makes special terms for such a quantity, and Mr. Timothy's so used, he doesn't take a bit of notice, except to put out his tongue."
"Well," said Soames, turning away, "it's rather sad and painful to me."
"Oh! sir," returned Smither anxiously, "you mustn't think that. Now that he can't worry about things, he quite enjoys his life, really he does. As I say to Cook, Mr. Timothy is more of a man than he ever was. You see, when he's not walkin', or takin' his bath, he's eatin', and when he's not eatin', he's sleepin'; and there it is.
There isn't an ache or a care about him anywhere."
"Well," said Soames, "there's something in that. I'll go down. By the way, let me see his Will."
"I should have to take my time about that, sir; he keeps it under his pillow, and he'd see me, while he's active."
"I only want to know if it's the one I made," said Soames; "you take a look at its date some time, and let me know."
"Yes, sir; but I'm sure it's the same, because me and Cook witnessed, you remember, and there's our names on it still, and we've only done it once."
"Quite," said Soames. He did remember. Smither and Jane had been proper witnesses, having been left nothing in the Will that they might have no interest in Timothy's death. It had been--he fully admitted--an almost improper precaution, but Timothy had wished it, and, after all, Aunt Hester had provided for them amply.
"Very well," he said; "good-bye, Smither. Look after him, and if he should say anything at any time, put it down, and let me know."
"Oh I yes, Mr. Soames; I'll be sure to do that. It's been such a pleasant change to see you. Cook will be quite excited when I tell her."
Soames shook her hand and went down-stairs. He stood for fully two minutes by the hat-stand whereon he had hung his hat so many times. 'So it all passes,' he was thinking; 'passes and begins again. Poor old chap!' And he listened, if perchance the sound of Timothy trailing his hobby-horse might come down the well of the stairs; or some ghost of an old face show over the bannisters, and an old voice say: 'Why, it's dear Soames, and we were only saying that we hadn't seen him for a week!'
Nothing--nothing! Just the scent of camphor, and dust-motes in a sunbeam through the fanlight over the door. The little old house! A mausoleum! And, turning on his heel, he went out, and caught his train.
V
THE NATIVE HEATH
"His foot's upon his native heath, His
"What would happen if I were to go in?" asked Soames: "Would he remember me? I made his Will, you know, after Miss Hester died in 1907."
"Oh! that, sir," replied Smither doubtfully, "I couldn't take on me to say. I think he might; he really is a wonderful man for his age."
Soames moved into the doorway, and waiting for Timothy to turn, said in a loud voice: "Uncle Timothy!"
Timothy trailed back half-way, and halted.
"Eh?" he said.
"Soames," cried Soames at the top of his voice, holding out his hand, "Soames Forsyte!"
"No!" said Timothy, and stumping his stick loudly on the floor, he continued his walk.
"It doesn't seem to work," said Soames.
"No, sir," replied Smither, rather crestfallen; "you see, he hasn't finished his walk. It always was one thing at a time with him. I expect he'll ask me this afternoon if you came about the gas, and a pretty job I shall have to make him understand."
"Do you think he ought to have a man about him?"
Smither held up her hands. "A man! Oh! no. Cook and me can manage perfectly. A strange man about would send him crazy in no time. And my mistresses wouldn't like the idea of a man in the house. Besides, we're so--proud of him."
"I suppose the doctor comes?"
"Every morning. He makes special terms for such a quantity, and Mr. Timothy's so used, he doesn't take a bit of notice, except to put out his tongue."
"Well," said Soames, turning away, "it's rather sad and painful to me."
"Oh! sir," returned Smither anxiously, "you mustn't think that. Now that he can't worry about things, he quite enjoys his life, really he does. As I say to Cook, Mr. Timothy is more of a man than he ever was. You see, when he's not walkin', or takin' his bath, he's eatin', and when he's not eatin', he's sleepin'; and there it is.
There isn't an ache or a care about him anywhere."
"Well," said Soames, "there's something in that. I'll go down. By the way, let me see his Will."
"I should have to take my time about that, sir; he keeps it under his pillow, and he'd see me, while he's active."
"I only want to know if it's the one I made," said Soames; "you take a look at its date some time, and let me know."
"Yes, sir; but I'm sure it's the same, because me and Cook witnessed, you remember, and there's our names on it still, and we've only done it once."
"Quite," said Soames. He did remember. Smither and Jane had been proper witnesses, having been left nothing in the Will that they might have no interest in Timothy's death. It had been--he fully admitted--an almost improper precaution, but Timothy had wished it, and, after all, Aunt Hester had provided for them amply.
"Very well," he said; "good-bye, Smither. Look after him, and if he should say anything at any time, put it down, and let me know."
"Oh I yes, Mr. Soames; I'll be sure to do that. It's been such a pleasant change to see you. Cook will be quite excited when I tell her."
Soames shook her hand and went down-stairs. He stood for fully two minutes by the hat-stand whereon he had hung his hat so many times. 'So it all passes,' he was thinking; 'passes and begins again. Poor old chap!' And he listened, if perchance the sound of Timothy trailing his hobby-horse might come down the well of the stairs; or some ghost of an old face show over the bannisters, and an old voice say: 'Why, it's dear Soames, and we were only saying that we hadn't seen him for a week!'
Nothing--nothing! Just the scent of camphor, and dust-motes in a sunbeam through the fanlight over the door. The little old house! A mausoleum! And, turning on his heel, he went out, and caught his train.
V
THE NATIVE HEATH
"His foot's upon his native heath, His