account of Sylvanus Heythorp, to "scratch" him out of life--so near the
end of everything, the very end! His hand raised above the surface fell
back on his stomach through the dark water, and a bubble or two rose. Not
so fast--not so fast! He had but to slip down a foot, let the water
close over his head, and "Good-bye" to Master Ventnor's triumph Dead men
could not be kicked off the Boards of Companies. Dead men could not be
beggared, deprived of their independence. He smiled and stirred a little
in the bath till the water reached the white hairs on his lower lip. It
smelt nice! And he took a long sniff: He had had a good life, a good
life! And with the thought that he had it in his power at any moment to
put Master Ventnor's nose out of joint--to beat the beggar after all, a
sense of assuagement and well-being crept over him. His blood ran more
evenly again. He closed his eyes. They talked about an
after-life--people like that holy woman. Gammon! You went to sleep--a
long sleep; no dreams. A nap after dinner! Dinner! His tongue sought
his palate! Yes! he could eat a good dinner! That dog hadn't put him
off his stroke! The best dinner he had ever eaten was the one he gave to
Jack Herring, Chichester, Thornworthy, Nick Treffry and Jolyon Forsyte at
Pole's. Good Lord! In 'sixty--yes--'sixty-five? Just before he fell in
love with Alice Larne--ten years before he came to Liverpool. That was a
dinner! Cost twenty-four pounds for the six of them--and Forsyte an
absurdly moderate fellow. Only Nick Treff'ry and himself had been
three-bottle men! Dead! Every jack man of them. And suddenly he
thought: 'My name's a good one--I was never down before--never beaten!'

A voice above the steam said:

"The twenty minutes is up, sir."

"All right; I'll get out. Evening clothes."

And Meller, taking out dress suit and shirt, thought: 'Now, what does the
old bloomer want dressin' up again for; why can't he go to bed and have
his dinner there? When a man's like a baby, the cradle's the place for
him.'....

An hour later, at the scene of his encounter with Mr. Ventnor, where the
table was already laid for dinner, old Heythorp stood and gazed. The
curtains had been drawn back, the window thrown open to air the room, and
he could see out there the shapes of the dark trees and a sky
grape-coloured, in the mild, moist night. It smelt good. A sensuous
feeling stirred in him, warm from his bath, clothed from head