"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!"