"Well," said Soames, "just for a few minutes."
"No," murmured Smither in the hall, where the air had the singular
freshness of the outside day, "we haven't been very satisfied with him,
not all this week. He's always been one to leave a titbit to the end;
but ever since Monday he's been eating it first. If you notice a dog,
Mr. Soames, at its dinner, it eats the meat first. We've always thought
it such a good sign of Mr. Timothy at his age to leave it to the last,
but now he seems to have lost all his self-control; and, of course,
it makes him leave the rest. The doctor doesn't make anything of it,
but"--Smither shook her head--"he seems to think he's got to eat it
first, in case he shouldn't get to it. That and his talking makes us
anxious."
"Has he said anything important?"
"I shouldn't like to say that, Mr. Soames; but he's turned against his
Will. He gets quite pettish--and after having had it out every morning
for years, it does seem funny. He said the other day: 'They want my
money.' It gave me such a turn, because, as I said to him, nobody wants
his money, I'm sure. And it does seem a pity he should be thinking about
money at his time of life. I took my courage in my 'ands. 'You know, Mr.
Timothy,' I said, 'my dear mistress'--that's Miss Forsyte, Mr. Soames,
Miss Ann that trained me--'she never thought about money,' I said,
'it was all character with her.' He looked at me, I can't tell you how
funny, and he said quite dry: 'Nobody wants my character.' Think of his
saying a thing like that! But sometimes he'll say something as sharp and
sensible as anything."
Soames, who had been staring at an old print by the hat-rack, thinking,
'That's got value!' murmured: "I'll go up and see him, Smither."
"Cook's with him," answered Smither above her corsets; "she will be
pleased to see you."
He mounted slowly, with the thought: 'Shan't care to live to be that
age.'
On the second floor, he paused, and tapped. The door was opened, and he
saw the round homely face of a woman about sixty.
"Mr. Soames!" she said: "Why! Mr. Soames!"
Soames nodded. "All right, Cook!" and entered.
Timothy was propped up in bed, with his hands joined before his chest,
and his eyes fixed on the ceiling, where a fly was standing upside down.
Soames stood at the foot of the bed, facing him.
"Uncle Timothy," he said, raising his voice. "Uncle Timothy!"