The Forsyte Saga - Volume 3

When they came to prepare that terrific symbol Timothy Forsyte--the

one pure individualist left, the only man who hadn't heard of the

Great War--they found him wonderful--not even death had undermined his

soundness.

To Smither and Cook that preparation came like final evidence of what

they had never believed possible--the end of the old Forsyte family on

earth. Poor Mr. Timothy must now take a harp and sing in the company of

Miss Forsyte, Mrs. Julia, Miss Hester; with Mr. Jolyon, Mr. Swithin,

Mr. James, Mr. Roger, and Mr. Nicholas of the party. Whether Mrs. Hayman

would be there was more doubtful, seeing that she had been cremated.

Secretly Cook thought that Mr. Timothy would be upset--he had always

been so set against barrel organs. How many times had she not said:

"Drat the thing! There it is again! Smither, you'd better run up and see

what you can do." And in her heart she would so have enjoyed the tunes,

if she hadn't known that Mr. Timothy would ring the bell in a minute and

say: "Here, take him a halfpenny and tell him to move on." Often they

had been obliged to add threepence of their own before the man would

go--Timothy had ever underrated the value of emotion. Luckily he had

taken the organs for blue-bottles in his last years, which had been a

comfort, and they had been able to enjoy the tunes. But a harp! Cook

wondered. It was a change! And Mr. Timothy had never liked change. But

she did not speak of this to Smither, who did so take a line of her own

in regard to heaven that it quite put one about sometimes.

She cried while Timothy was being prepared, and they all had sherry

afterward out of the yearly Christmas bottle, which would not be needed

now. Ah! dear! She had been there five-and-forty years and Smither

three-and-forty! And now they would be going to a tiny house in Tooting,

to live on their savings and what Miss Hester had so kindly left

them--for to take fresh service after the glorious past--No! But they

would like just to see Mr. Soames again, and Mrs. Dartie, and Miss

Francie, and Miss Euphemia. And even if they had to take their own cab,

they felt they must go to the funeral. For six years Mr. Timothy had

been their baby, getting younger and younger every day, till at last he

had been too young to live.

They spent the regulation hours of waiting in polishing and dusting, in

catching the one mouse left, and asphyxiating the last beetle so as to

leave it nice, discussing with each other what they would buy at the

sale. Miss Ann's workbox; Miss Juley's (that is Mrs. Julia's) seaweed

album; the fire-screen Miss Hester had crewelled; and Mr. Timothy's

hair--little golden curls, glued into a black frame. Oh! they must have

those--only the price of things had gone up so!