The Forsyte Saga John Galsworthy (hot novels to read TXT) đ
- Author: John Galsworthy
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âYou may depend upon it, theyâre a cranky lot, the Forsytesâ âand youâll find it out, as you grow older!â
Timothy alone held apart, for though he ate saddle of mutton heartily, he was, he said, afraid of it.
To anyone interested psychologically in Forsytes, this great saddle-of-mutton trait is of prime importance; not only does it illustrate their tenacity, both collectively and as individuals, but it marks them as belonging in fibre and instincts to that great class which believes in nourishment and flavour, and yields to no sentimental craving for beauty.
Younger members of the family indeed would have done without a joint altogether, preferring guinea-fowl, or lobster saladâ âsomething which appealed to the imagination, and had less nourishmentâ âbut these were females; or, if not, had been corrupted by their wives, or by mothers, who having been forced to eat saddle of mutton throughout their married lives, had passed a secret hostility towards it into the fibre of their sons.
The great saddle-of-mutton controversy at an end, a Tewkesbury ham commenced, together with the least touch of West Indianâ âSwithin was so long over this course that he caused a block in the progress of the dinner. To devote himself to it with better heart, he paused in his conversation.
From his seat by Mrs. Septimus Small Soames was watching. He had a reason of his own connected with a pet building scheme, for observing Bosinney. The architect might do for his purpose; he looked clever, as he sat leaning back in his chair, moodily making little ramparts with breadcrumbs. Soames noted his dress clothes to be well cut, but too small, as though made many years ago.
He saw him turn to Irene and say something and her face sparkle as he often saw it sparkle at other peopleâ ânever at himself. He tried to catch what they were saying, but Aunt Juley was speaking.
Hadnât that always seemed very extraordinary to Soames? Only last Sunday dear Mr. Scole had been so witty in his sermon, so sarcastic: âFor what,â he had said, âshall it profit a man if he gain his own soul, but lose all his property?â That, he had said, was the motto of the middle class; now, what had he meant by that? Of course, it might be what middle-class people believedâ âshe didnât know; what did Soames think?
He answered abstractedly: âHow should I know? Scoles is a humbug, though, isnât he?â For Bosinney was looking round the table, as if pointing out the peculiarities of the guests, and Soames wondered what he was saying. By her smile Irene was evidently agreeing with his remarks. She seemed always to agree with other people.
Her eyes were turned on himself; Soames dropped his glance at once. The smile had died off her lips.
A humbug? But what did Soames mean? If Mr. Scoles was a humbug, a clergymanâ âthen anybody might beâ âit was frightful!
âWell, and so they are!â said Soames.
During Aunt Juleyâs momentary and horrified silence he caught some words of Ireneâs that sounded like: âAbandon hope, all ye who enter here!â
But Swithin had finished his ham.
âWhere do you go for your mushrooms?â he was saying to Irene in a voice like a courtierâs; âyou ought to go to Smileybobâsâ âheâll give âem you fresh. These little men, they wonât take the trouble!â
Irene turned to answer him, and Soames saw Bosinney watching her and smiling to himself. A curious smile the fellow had. A half-simple arrangement, like a child who smiles when he is pleased. As for Georgeâs nicknameâ ââThe Buccaneerââ âhe did not think much of that. And, seeing Bosinney turn to June, Soames smiled too, but sardonicallyâ âhe did not like June, who was not looking too pleased.
This was not surprising, for she had just held the following conversation with James:
âI stayed on the river on my way home, Uncle James, and saw a beautiful site for a house.â
James, a slow and thorough eater, stopped the process of mastication.
âEh?â he said. âNow, where was that?â
âClose to Pangbourne.â
James placed a piece of ham in his mouth, and June waited.
âI suppose you wouldnât know whether the land about there was freehold?â he asked at last. âYou wouldnât know anything about the price of land about there?â
âYes,â said June; âI made inquiries.â Her little resolute face under its copper crown was suspiciously eager and aglow.
James regarded her with the air of an inquisitor.
âWhat? Youâre not thinking of buying land!â he ejaculated, dropping his fork.
June was greatly encouraged by his interest. It had long been her pet plan that her uncles should benefit themselves and Bosinney by building country-houses.
âOf course not,â she said. âI thought it would be such a splendid place forâ âyou orâ âsomeone to build a country-house!â
James looked at her sideways, and placed a second piece of ham in his mouth.â ââ âŠ
âLand ought to be very dear about there,â he said.
What June had taken for personal interest was only the impersonal excitement of every Forsyte who hears of something eligible in danger of passing into other hands. But she refused to see the disappearance of her chance, and continued to press her point.
âYou ought to go into the country, Uncle James. I wish I had a lot of money, I wouldnât live another day in London.â
James was stirred to the depths of his long thin figure; he had no idea his niece held such downright views.
âWhy donât you go into the country?â repeated June; âit would do you a lot of good.â
âWhy?â began James in a fluster. âBuying landâ âwhat good dâyou suppose I can do buying land, building houses?â âI couldnât get four percent for my money!â
âWhat does that matter? Youâd get fresh air.â
âFresh air!â exclaimed James; âwhat should I do with fresh air?â
âI should have thought anybody liked to have fresh
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