The Forsyte Saga Volume 2(150)

‘Read,’ he said; ‘read everything – eyes as good as ever – seen a good deal in my day.’ And he was silent, as if seeing it again.

‘Are you following your book up?’

‘M’m. Something for ‘em to read when I’m gone. Eighty-four, you know.’

‘I wonder,’ said Michael, ‘that you haven’t had the Press down.’

‘Have – had ‘ em yesterday; three by different trains; very polite young men; but I could see they couldn’t make head or tail of the old creature – too far gone, eh?’

At this moment the door was opened, and the puckered man came in, followed by a maid and three cats. They put a tray on Sir James’s knees and another on a small table before Michael. On each tray was a partridge with chipped potatoes, spinach and bread sauce. The puckered man filled Sir James’s glass with barley-water, Michael’s with claret, and retired. The three cats, all tortoise-shells, began rubbing themselves against Sir James’s trousers, purring loudly.

‘Don’t mind cats, I hope? No fish today, pussies!’

Michael was hungry and finished his bird. Sir James gave most of his to the cats. They were then served with fruit salad, cheese, coffee and cigars, and everything removed except the cats, who lay replete before the fire curled up in a triangle.

Michael gazed through the smoke of two cigars at the fount and origin, eager, but in doubt whether it would stand pumping – it seemed so very old! Well! anyway, he must have a shot!

‘You know Blythe, sir, of The Outpost? He’s your great supporter; I’m only a mouthpiece.’

‘Know his paper – best of the weeklies; but too clever by half.’

‘Now that I’ve got the chance,’ said Michael, ‘would you mind if I asked you one or two questions?’

Sir James Foggart looked at the lighted end of his cigar. ‘Fire ahead.’

‘Well, sir, can England really stand apart from Europe?’

‘Can she stand with Europe? Alliances based on promise of assistance that won’t be forthcoming – worse than useless.’

‘But suppose Belgium were invaded again, or Holland?’

‘The one case, perhaps. Let that be understood. Knowledge in Europe, young man, of what England will or will not do in given cases is most important. And they’ve never had it. Perfide Albion! Heh! We always wait till the last moment to declare our policy. Great mistake. Gives the impression that we serve Time – which, with our democratic system, by the way, we generally do.’

‘I like that, sir,’ said Michael, who did not. ‘About wheat? How would you stabilize the price so as to encourage our growth of it?’

‘Ha! My pet lamb. We want a wheat loan, Mr Mont, and Government control. Every year the Government should buy in advance all the surplus we need and store it; then fix a price for the home farmers that gives them a good profit; and sell to the public at the average between the two prices. You’d soon see plenty of wheat grown here, and a general revival of agriculture.’

‘But wouldn’t it raise the price of bread, sir?’

‘Not it.’

‘And need an army of officials?’

‘No. Use the present machinery properly organized.’

‘State trading, sir?’ said Michael, with diffidence.

Sir James Foggart’s voice boomed out. ‘Exceptional case – basic case – why not?’

‘I quite agree,’ said Michael, hastily. ‘I never thought of it, but why not?… Now as to the opposition to child emigration in this country. Do you think it comes from the affection of parents for their children?’

‘More from dislike of losing the children’s wages.’

‘Still, you know,’ murmured Michael, ‘one might well kick against losing one’s children for good at fifteen!’

‘One might; human nature’s selfish, young man. Hang on to ‘em and see ’em rot before one’s eyes, or grow up to worse chances than one’s own – as you say, that’s human nature.’

Michael who had not said it, felt somewhat stunned.

‘The child emigration scheme will want an awful lot of money, and organization.’

Sir James stirred the cats with his slippered foot.

‘Money! There’s still a mint of money – misapplied. Another hundred million loan – four and a half millions a year in the Budget; and a hundred thousand children at least sent out every year. In five years we should save the lot in unemployment dole.’ He waved his cigar, and its ash spattered on his velvet coat.

‘Thought it would,’ said Michael to himself, knocking his own off into a coffee-cup. ‘But can children sent out wholesale like that be properly looked after, and given a real chance, sir?’