To Let by John Galsworthy (bookstand for reading .TXT) 📕

Six Thousand Top Hats, Four Thousand Parasols Would

Be Doffed And Furled, Ten Thousand Mouths All Speaking The     Same English

Would Be Filled. There Was Life In The     Old Dog Yet! Tradition! And

Again Tradition! How Strong And How Elastic! Wars Might Rage, Taxation

Prey, Trades Unions Take Toll, And Europe Perish Of     Starvation; But The

Ten Thousand Would Be Fed; And, Within Their Ring Fence, Stroll Upon

Green Turf, Wear Their Top Hats, And Meet--Themselves. The     Heart Was

Sound, The     Pulse Still Regular. E-Ton! E-Ton! Har-R-O-O-O-W!

Among The     Many Forsytes Present, On A Hunting-Ground Theirs, By

Personal Prescriptive Right, Or Proxy, Was Soames, With His Wife And

Daughter. He Had Not Been At Either School, He Took No Interest In

Cricket, But He Wanted Fleur To Show Her Frock, And He Wanted To Wear

His Top Hat--Parade It Again In Peace And Plenty Among His Peers. He

Walked Sedately With Fleur Between Him And Annette. No Women Equalled

Them, So Far As He Could See. They Could Walk, And Hold Themselves Up;

There Was Substance In Their Good Looks; The     Modern Woman Had No Build,

No Chest, No Anything! He Remembered Suddenly With What Intoxication Of

Pride He Had Walked Round With Irene In The     First Years Of     His First

Marriage. And How They Used To Lunch On The     Drag Which His Mother Would

Make His Father Have, Because It Was So "Chic"--All Drags And Carriages

In Those Days, Not These Lumbering Great Stands! And How Consistently

Montague Dartie Had Drunk Too Much. He Supposed That People Drank Too

Much Still, But There Was Not The     Scope For It There Used To Be. He

Remembered George Forsyte--Whose Brothers Roger And Eustace Had Been At

Harrow And Eton--Towering Up On The     Top Of     The     Drag Waving A Light-Blue

Flag With One Hand And A Dark-Blue Flag With The     Other, And Shouting:

"Etroow--Harrton!" Just When Everybody Was Silent, Like The     Buffoon He

Had Always Been; And Eustace Got Up To The     Nines Below, Too Dandified

To Wear Any Colour Or Take Any Notice. H'm! Old Days, And Irene In Grey

Silk Shot With Palest Green. He Looked, Sideways, At Fleur's Face.

Rather Colourless--No Light, No Eagerness! That Love Affair Was Preying

On Her--A Bad Business! He Looked Beyond, At His Wife's Face, Rather

More Touched Up Than Usual, A Little Disdainful--Not That She Had Any

Business To Disdain, So Far As He Could See. She Was Taking Profond's

Defection With Curious Quietude; Or Was His "Small" Voyage Just A

Blind? If So, He Should Refuse To See It! After Promenading Round The

Pitch And In Front Of     The     Pavilion, They Sought Winifred's Table In The

Bedouin Club Tent. 

This Club--A New "Cock And Hen"--Had Been Founded In

The Interests Of     Travel, And Of     A Gentleman With An Old Scottish Name,

Whose Father Had Somewhat Strangely Been Called Levi. Winifred Had

Joined, Not Because She Had Travelled, But Because Instinct Told Her

That A Club With Such A Name And Such A Founder Was Bound To Go Far; If

One Didn't Join At Once One Might Never Have The     Chance. Its Tent, With

A Text From The     Koran On An Orange Ground, And A Small Green Camel

Embroidered Over The     Entrance, Was The     Most Striking On The     Ground.

Outside It They Found Jack Cardigan In A Dark-Blue Tie (He Had Once

Played For Harrow), Batting With A Malacca Cane To Show How That Fellow

Ought To Have Hit That Ball. He Piloted Them In. Assembled In

Winifred's Corner Were Imogen, Benedict With His Young Wife, Val Dartie

Without Holly, Maud And Her Husband, And, After Soames And His Two Were

Seated, One Empty Place.

"I'm Expecting Prosper," Said Winifred, "But He's So Busy With His

Yacht."

Soames Stole A Glance. No Movement In His Wife's Face! Whether That

Fellow Were Coming Or Not, She Evidently Knew All About It. It Did Not

Escape Him That Fleur, Too, Looked At Her Mother. If Annette Didn't

Respect His Feelings, She Might Think Of     Fleur! The     Conversation, Very

Desultory, Was Syncopated By Jack Cardigan Talking About "Mid-Off." He

Cited All The     "Great Mid-Offs" From The     Beginning Of     Time, As If They

Had Been A Definite Racial Entity In The     Composition Of     The     British

People. Soames Had Finished His Lobster, And Was Beginning On

Pigeon-Pie, When He Heard The     Words: "I'm A Small Bit Late, Mrs.

Dartie," And Saw That There Was No Longer Any Empty Place. That Fellow

Was Sitting Between Annette And Imogen. Soames Ate Steadily On, With An

Occasional Word To Maud And Winifred. Conversation Buzzed Around Him.

He Heard The     Voice Of     Profond Say:

"I Think You're Mistaken, Mrs. Forsyde I'll--I'll Bet Miss Forsyde

Agrees With Me."

"In What?" Came Fleur's Clear Tones Across The     Table.

"I Was Sayin', Young Gurls Are Much The     Same As They Always

Were--There's Very Small Difference."

"Do You Know So Much About Them?"

That Sharp Reply Caught The     Ears Of     All, And Soames Moved Uneasily On

His Thin Green Chair.

"Well, I Don't Know, I Think They Want Their Own Small Way, And I Think

They Always Did."

"Indeed!"

"Oh, But--Prosper," Winifred Interjected Comfortably, "The Girls In The

Streets--The Girls Who've Been In Munitions, The     Little Flappers In The

Shops; Their Manners Now Really Quite Hit You In The     Eye."

At The     Word "Hit" Jack Cardigan Stopped His Disquisition; And In The

Silence Monsieur Profond Said:

"It Was Inside Before, Now It's Outside; That's All."

"But Their Morals!" Cried Imogen.

"Just As Moral As They Ever Were, Mrs. Cardigan, But They've Got More

Opportunity."

The Saying, So Cryptically Cynical, Received A Little Laugh From

Imogen, A Slight Opening Of     Jack Cardigan's Mouth, And Another Creak

From Soames' Chair.

 Winifred Said: "That's Too Bad, Prosper."

"What Do You Say, Mrs. Forsyde; Don't You Think Human Nature's Always

The Same?"

Soames Subdued A Sudden Longing To Get Up And Kick The     Fellow. He Heard

His Wife Reply:

"Human Nature Is Not The     Same In England As Anywhere Else." That Was

Her Confounded Mockery!

"Well, I Don't Know Much About This Small Country"--'No, Thank God!'

Thought Soames--"But I Should Say The     Pot Was Boilin' Under The     Lid

Everywhere. We All Want Pleasure, And We Always Did."

Damn The     Fellow! His Cynicism Was Outrageous!

When Lunch Was Over They Broke Up Into Couples For The     Digestive

Promenade. Too Proud To Notice, Soames Knew Perfectly That Annette And

That Fellow Had Gone Prowling Round Together. Fleur Was With Val; She

Had Chosen Him, No Doubt, Because He Knew That Boy. He Himself Had

Winifred For Partner. They Walked In The     Bright, Circling Stream, A

Little Flushed And Sated, Till Winifred Sighed:

"I Wish We Were Back Forty Years, Old Boy!"

Before The     Eyes Of     Her Spirit An Interminable Procession Of     Her Own

"Lord's" Frocks Was Passing, Paid For With The     Money Of     Her Father, To

Save A Recurrent Crisis. "It's Been Very Amusing, After All. Sometimes

I Even Wish Monty Was Back. What Do You Think Of     People Nowadays,

Soames?"

"Precious Little Style. The     Thing Began To Go To Pieces With Bicycles

And Motor-Cars; The     War Has Finished It."

"I Wonder What's Coming?" Said Winifred In A Voice Dreamy From

Pigeon-Pie. "I'm Not At All Sure We Shan't Go Back To Crinolines And

Pegtops. Look At That Dress!" Soames Shook His Head.

"There's Money, But No Faith In Things. We Don't Lay By For The     Future.

These Youngsters--It's All A Short Life And A Merry One With Them."

"There's A Hat!" Said Winifred. "I Don't Know--When You Come To Think

Of The     People Killed And All That In The     War, It's Rather Wonderful, I

Think. There's No Other Country--Prosper Says The     Rest Are All

Bankrupt, Except America; And Of     Course Her Men Always Took Their Style

In Dress From Us."

 "Is Tha Chap," Said Soames, "Really Going To The     South Seas?"

"Oh, One Never Knows Where Prosper's Going!"

"He's A Sign Of     The     Times," Muttered Soames, "If You Like."

Winifred's Hand Gripped His Arm.

"Don't Turn Your Head," She Said In A Low Voice, "But Look To Your

Right In The     Front Row Of     The     Stand."

Soames Looked As Best He Could Under That Limitation. A Man In A Grey

Top Hat, Grey-Bearded, With Thin Brown, Folded Cheeks, And A Certain

Elegance Of     Posture, Sat There With A Woman In A Lawn-Coloured Frock,

Whose Dark Eyes Were Fixed On Himself. Soames Looked Quickly At His

Feet. How Funnily Feet Moved, One After The     Other Like That! Winifred's

Voice Said In His Ear:

"Jolyon Looks Very Ill, But He Always Had Style. She Doesn't

Change--Except Her Hair."

"Why Did You Tell Fleur About That Business?"

"I Didn't; She Picked It Up. I Always Knew She Would."

"Well, It's A Mess. She's Set Her Heart Upon Their Boy."

"The Little Wretch," Murmured Winifred. "She Tried