Timothy nodded.
"I shall be delighted to do anything I can for you."
Timothy beckoned. Soames went close to him.
"You—" said Timothy in a voice which seemed to have outlived tone, "you tell them all from me—you tell them all—" and his finger tapped on Soames' arm, "to hold on—hold on—Consols are goin' up," and he nodded thrice.
"All right!" said Soames; "I will."
"Yes," said Timothy, and, fixing his eyes again on the ceiling, he added: "That fly!"
Strangely moved, Soames looked at the Cook's pleasant fattish face, all little puckers from staring at fires.
"That'll do him a world of good, sir," she said.
A mutter came from Timothy, but he was clearly speaking to himself, and Soames went out with the cook.
"I wish I could make you a pink cream, Mr. Soames, like in old days; you did so relish them. Good-bye, sir; it HAS been a pleasure."