The Forsyte Saga Volume 2(80)
Chapter Five
MICHAEL GIVES ADVICE
MICHAEL still sat, correcting the proofs of Counterfeits. Save ‘Jericho’, there had been no address to send them to. The East was wide, and Wilfrid had made no sign. Did Fleur ever think of Wilfrid – well, probably he was forgetting her already. Even passion required a little sustenance.
‘A Mr Forsyte to see you, sir.’
Apparition in bookland!
‘Ah! Show him in.’
Soames entered with an air of suspicion.
‘This your place?’ he said. ‘I’ve looked in to tell you that I’ve bought that picture of young Greene’s. Have you anywhere to hang it?’
‘I should think we had,’ said Michael. ‘Jolly good, sir, isn’t it?’
‘Well,’ muttered Soames, ‘for these days, yes. He’ll make a name.’
‘He’s an intense admirer of that White Monkey you gave us.’
‘Ah! I’ve been looking into the Chinese. If I go on buying –’ Soames paused.
‘They are a bit of an antidote, aren’t they, sir?’ That “Earthly Paradise”! And those geese – they don’t seem to mind your counting their feathers, do they?’
Soames made no reply; he was evidently thinking: ‘How on earth I missed those things when they first came on the market!’ Then, raising his umbrella, and pointing it as if at the book trade, he asked:
‘Young Butterfield – how’s he doing?’
‘Ah! I was going to let you know, sir. He came in yesterday and told me that he saw Elderson two days ago. He went to sell him a copy of my father’s “Limited”; Elderson said nothing and bought two.’
‘The deuce he did!’
‘Butterfield got the impression that his visit put the wind up him. Elderson knows, of course, that I’m in this firm, and your son-in-law.’
Soames frowned. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said, ‘that sleeping dogs –! Well, I’m on my way there now.’
‘Mention the book, sir, and see how Elderson takes it. Would you like one yourself? You’re on the list. E, F – Butterfield should be reaching you today. It’ll save you a refusal. Here it is – nice get-up. One guinea.’
‘A Duet,’ read Soames. ‘What’s it about? Musical?’
‘Not precisely. A sort of cat-calling between the ghosts of the G.O.M. and Dizzy!’
‘I’m not a reader,’ said Soames. He pulled out a note. ‘Why didn’t you make it a pound? Here’s the shilling.’
‘Thanks awfully, sir; I’m sure my father’ll be frightfully bucked to think you’ve got one.’
‘Will he?’ said Soames, with a faint smile. ‘D’you ever do any work here?’
‘Well, we try to turn a doubtful penny.’
‘What d’you make at it?’
‘Personally, about five hundred a year.’
‘That all?’
‘Yes, but I doubt if I’m worth more than three.’
‘H’m! I thought you’d got over your Socialism.’
‘I fancy I have, sir. It didn’t seem to go with my position.’
‘No,’ said Soames. ‘Fleur seems well.’
‘Yes, she’s splendid. She does the Coué stunt, you know.’
Soames stared. ‘That’s her mother,’ he said; ‘I can’t tell. Good-bye! Oh! I want to know; what’s the meaning of that expression “got his goat”?’
‘“Got his goat”? Oh, raised his dander, if you know what that means, it was before my time.’
‘I see,’ said Soames; ‘I had it right, then. Well!’ He turned. His back was very neat and real. It vanished through the doorway, and with it seemed to go the sense of definition.
Michael took up the proofs, and read two poems. Bitter as quinine! The unrest in them – the yearning behind the words! Nothing Chinese there! After all, the ancients – like Old Forsyte, and his father in a very different way – had an anchor down. ‘What is it?’ thought Michael. ‘What’s wrong with us? We’re quick, and clever, cocksure, and dissatisfied. If only something would enthuse us, or get our goats! We’ve chucked religion, tradition, property, pity; and in their place we put – what? Beauty? Gosh! See Walter Nazing, and the Café C’rillonl and yet – we must be after something! Better world? Doesn’t look like it. Future life? Suppose I ought to “look into” spiritualism, as Old Forsyte would say. But – half in this world, half in that – deuced odd if spirits are less restive than we are!’
To what – to what, then, was it all moving?