led."

"Ah!" murmured Soames, "the turf's in danger."

Over George's face moved a gleam of sardonic self-defence.

"Well," he said, "they brought me up to do nothing, and here I am in
the sere and yellow, getting poorer every day. These Labour chaps mean
to have the lot before they've done. What are you going to do for a
living when it comes? I shall work a six-hour day teaching politicians
how to see a joke. Take my tip, Soames; go into Parliament, make sure
of your four hundred--and employ me."

And, as Soames retired, he resumed his seat in the bay window.

Soames moved along Piccadilly deep in reflections excited by his
cousin's words. He himself had always been a worker and a saver, George
always a drone and a spender; and yet, if confiscation once began, it
was he--the worker and the saver--who would be looted! That was the
negation of all virtue, the overturning of all Forsyte principles.
Could civilisation be built on any other? He did not think so. Well,
they wouldn't confiscate his pictures, for they wouldn't know their
worth. But what would they be worth, if these maniacs once began to
milk capital? A drug on the market. 'I don't care about myself,' he
thought; 'I could live on five hundred a year, and never know the
difference, at my age.' But Fleur! This fortune, so wisely invested,
these treasures so carefully chosen and amassed, were all for her. And
if it should turn out that he couldn't give or leave them to her--well,
life had no meaning, and what was the use of going in to look at this
crazy, futuristic stuff with the view of seeing whether it had any
future?

Arriving at the Gallery off Cork Street, however, he paid his shilling,
picked up a catalogue, and entered. Some ten persons were prowling
round. Soames took steps and came on what looked to him like a
lamp-post bent by collision with a motor omnibus. It was advanced some
three paces from the wall, and was described in his catalogue as
"Jupiter." He examined it with curiosity, having recently turned some
of his attention to sculpture. 'If that's Jupiter,' he thought, 'I
wonder what Juno's like.' And suddenly he saw her, opposite. She
appeared to him like nothing so much as a pump with two handles,
lightly clad in snow. He was still gazing at her, when two of the
prowlers halted on his left. "Epatant!" he heard one say.

"Jargon!" growled Soames to himself.

The other's boyish voice replied:

"Missed it, old bean; he's pulling your leg