"I 'aven't served it yet. The party's very old. She won't want to go out
at her age."
"I don't know. This spirit of unrest touches every one."
"Still, I'm lookin' at things broadly, sir. She's eighty-one."
"Better serve it," said Soames, "and see what she says. Oh! and Mr.
Timothy? Is everything in order in case of--"
"I've got the inventory of his estate all ready; had the furniture and
pictures valued so that we know what reserves to put on. I shall be
sorry when he goes, though. Dear me! It is a time since I first saw Mr.
Timothy!"
"We can't live for ever," said Soames, taking down his hat.
"Nao," said Gradman; "but it'll be a pity--the last of the old family!
Shall I take up the matter of that nuisance in Old Compton Street? Those
organs--they're nahsty things."
"Do. I must call for Miss Fleur and catch the four o'clock. Good-day,
Gradman."
"Good-day, Mr. Soames. I hope Miss Fleur--"
"Well enough, but gads about too much."
"Ye-es," grated Gradman; "she's young."
Soames went out, musing: "Old Gradman! If he were younger I'd put him in
the trust. There's nobody I can depend on to take a real interest."
Leaving the bilious and mathematical exactitude, the preposterous peace
of that backwater, he thought suddenly: 'During coverture! Why can't
they exclude fellows like Profond, instead of a lot of hard-working
Germans?' and was surprised at the depth of uneasiness which could
provoke so unpatriotic a thought. But there it was! One never got
a moment of real peace. There was always something at the back of
everything! And he made his way toward Green Street.
Two hours later by his watch, Thomas Gradman, stirring in his swivel
chair, closed the last drawer of his bureau, and putting into
his waistcoat pocket a bunch of keys so fat that they gave him a
protuberance on the liver side, brushed his old top hat round with his
sleeve, took his umbrella, and descended. Thick, short, and buttoned
closely into his old frock coat, he walked toward Covent Garden market.
He never missed that daily promenade to the Tube for Highgate,
and seldom some critical transaction on the way in connection with
vegetables and fruit. Generations might be born, and hats might change,
wars be fought, and Forsytes fade away, but Thomas Gradman, faithful and
grey, would take his daily walk and buy his daily vegetable. Times were
not what they were, and his son had lost a leg, and they never gave him
those nice little plaited baskets to carry the stuff in now, and these
Tubes were convenient things--still he mustn't complain; his health was
good considering his time of life, and after fifty-four years in the
Law he was getting a round eight hundred a year and a little worried
of late, because it was mostly collector's commission on the rents, and
with all this conversion of Forsyte property going on, it looked like
drying up, and the price of living still so high; but it was no good
worrying--"The good God made us all"--as he was in the habit of saying;
still, house property in London--he didn't know what Mr. Roger or Mr.
James would say if they could see it being sold like this--seemed to
show a lack of faith; but Mr. Soames--he worried. Life and lives in
being and twenty-one years after--beyond that you couldn't go; still,
he kept his health wonderfully--and Miss Fleur was a pretty little
thing--she was; she'd marry; but lots of people had no children
nowadays--he had had his first child at twenty-two; and Mr. Jolyon,
married while he was at Cambridge, had his child the same year--gracious
Peter! That was back in '69, a long time before old Mr. Jolyon--fine
judge of property--had taken his Will away from Mr. James--dear, yes!
Those were the days when they were buyin' property right and left, and
none of this khaki and fallin' over one another to get out of things;
and cucumbers at twopence; and a melon--the old melons, that made your
mouth water! Fifty years since he went into Mr. James' office, and Mr.
James had said to him: "Now, Gradman, you're only a shaver--you pay
attention, and you'll make your five hundred a year before you've
done." And he had, and feared God, and served the Forsytes, and kept a
vegetable diet at night. And, buying a copy of John Bull--not that he
approved of it, an extravagant affair--he entered the Tube elevator with
his mere brown-paper parcel, and was borne down into the bowels of the
earth.