The Forsyte Saga - Volume 1

The butler came to lay the table for dinner, and seeing his master

apparently asleep, exercised extreme caution in his movements. This

bearded man also wore a moustache, which had given rise to grave doubts

in the minds of many members--of the family--, especially those who,

like Soames, had been to public schools, and were accustomed to niceness

in such matters. Could he really be considered a butler? Playful

spirits alluded to him as: 'Uncle Jolyon's Nonconformist'; George, the

acknowledged wag, had named him: 'Sankey.'

He moved to and fro between the great polished sideboard and the great

polished table inimitably sleek and soft.

Old Jolyon watched him, feigning sleep. The fellow was a sneak--he had

always thought so--who cared about nothing but rattling through his

work, and getting out to his betting or his woman or goodness knew what!

A slug! Fat too! And didn't care a pin about his master!

But then against his will, came one of those moments of philosophy which

made old Jolyon different from other Forsytes:

After all why should the man care? He wasn't paid to care, and why

expect it? In this world people couldn't look for affection unless they

paid for it. It might be different in the next--he didn't know--couldn't

tell! And again he shut his eyes.

Relentless and stealthy, the butler pursued his labours, taking things

from the various compartments of the sideboard. His back seemed always

turned to old Jolyon; thus, he robbed his operations of the unseemliness

of being carried on in his master's presence; now and then he furtively

breathed on the silver, and wiped it with a piece of chamois leather. He

appeared to pore over the quantities of wine in the decanters, which

he carried carefully and rather high, letting his heard droop over them

protectingly. When he had finished, he stood for over a minute watching

his master, and in his greenish eyes there was a look of contempt:

After all, this master of his was an old buffer, who hadn't much left in

him!

Soft as a tom-cat, he crossed the room to press the bell. His orders

were 'dinner at seven.' What if his master were asleep; he would soon

have him out of that; there was the night to sleep in! He had himself to

think of, for he was due at his Club at half-past eight!

In answer to the ring, appeared a page boy with a silver soup tureen.

The butler took it from his hands and placed it on the table, then,

standing by the open door, as though about to usher company into the

room, he said in a solemn voice: