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The Forsyte Saga Volume 2(156)



‘Cheerful!’ exclaimed Norah Curfew.

Michael grinned.

‘Well, one can’t help catching the atmosphere of this place. I admire you all frightfully, you know, giving up everything, to come and do this.’

‘That’s tosh,’ said the girl at the typewriter. ‘What is there to give up – bunny-hugging? One got used to doing things in the war.’

‘If it comes to that,’ said the egg-beater, ‘we admire you much more for not giving up Parliament.’

Again Michael grinned.

‘Miss La Fontaine – wanted in the kitchen!’

The egg-beater went towards the door.

‘Can you beat eggs? D’you mind – shan’t be a minute.’ Handing Michael the bowl and fork, she vanished.

‘What a shame!’ said Norah Curfew. ‘Let me!’

‘No,’ said Michael; ‘I can beat eggs with anybody. What do you all feel about cutting children adrift at fifteen?’

‘Well, of course, it’ll be bitterly opposed,’ said the girl at the typewriter. ‘They’ll call it inhuman, and all that. It’s much more inhuman really to keep them here.’

‘The real trouble,’ said Norah Curfew, ‘apart from the shillings earned, is the class-interference idea. Besides, Imperialism isn’t popular.’

‘I should jolly well think it isn’t,’ muttered the physical exerciser.

‘Ah!’ said the typist, ‘but this isn’t Imperialism, is it, Mr Mont? It’s all on the lines of making the Dominions the equal of the Mother Country.’

Michael nodded. ‘Commonwealth.’

‘That won’t prevent their camouflaging their objection to losing the children’s wages,’ said the physical exerciser.

A close discussion ensued between the three young women as to the exact effect of children’s wages on the working-class budget. Michael beat his eggs and listened. It was, he knew, a point of the utmost importance. The general conclusion seemed to be that children earned on the whole rather more than their keep, but that it was ‘very shortsighted in the long run’, because it fostered surplus population and unemployment, and a ‘great shame’ to spoil the children’s chances for the sake of the parents.

The re-entrance of the egg-beater put a stop to it.

‘They’re beginning to come in, Norah.’

The physical exerciser slipped out, and Norah Curfew said:

‘Now, Mr Mont, would you like to see them?’

Michael followed her. He was thinking: ‘I wish Fleur had come!’ These girls seemed really to believe in things.

Downstairs the children were trickling in from school. He stood and watched them. They seemed a queer blend of anaemia and vitality, of effervescence and obedience. Unselfconscious as puppies, but old beyond their years; and yet, looking as if they never thought ahead. Each movement, each action was as if it were their last. They were very quick. Most of them carried something to eat in a paper bag or a bit of grease-paper. They chattered, and didn’t laugh. Their accent struck Michael as deplorable. Six or seven at most were nice to look at; but nearly all looked good-tempered, and none seemed to be selfish. Their movements were jerky. They mobbed Norah Curfew and the physical exerciser; obeyed without question, ate without appetite, and grabbed at the house cat. Michael was fascinated.

With them came four or five mothers, who had questions to ask, or bottles to fill. They too were on perfect terms with the young women. Class did not exist in this house; only personality was present. He noticed that the children responded to his grin, that the women didn’t, though they smiled at Norah Curfew and the physical exerciser; he wondered if they would give him a bit of their minds if they knew of his speech.

Norah Curfew accompanied him to the door.

‘Aren’t they ducks?’

‘I’m afraid if I saw much of them, I should give up Foggartism.’

‘Oh! but why?’

‘Well, you see, it designs to make them men and women of property.’

‘You mean that would spoil them?’

Michael grinned. ‘There’s something dangerous about silver spoons. Here’s my initiation fee.’ He handed her all his money.

‘Oh! Mr Mont, we didn’t – !’

‘Well, give me back sixpence, otherwise I shall have to walk home.’

‘It’s frightfully kind of you. Do come again; and please don’t give up Foggartism.’

He walked to the train thinking of her eyes; and, on reaching home, said to Fleur:

‘You absolutely must come and see that place. It’s quite clean, and the spirit’s topping. It’s bucked me up like anything. Norah Curfew’s perfectly splendid.’