Part 2, Chapter 1 of The Man of Property. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Leanne Howlett. The foresight saga, The Man of Property, by John Galsworthy. Part number 2, Chapter 1, Progress of the House. The winter had been an open one. Things in the trade were slack, and as Somes had reflected before making up his mind, it had been a good time for building. The shell of the house at Robin Hill was thus completed by the end of April. Now that there was something to be seen for his money, he had been coming down once, twice, even three times a week, and would mouse about among the debris for hours, careful never to soil his clothes, moving silently through the unfinished brickwork of doorways or circling around the columns in the central court. And he would stand before them for minutes together as though peering into the real quality of their substance. On April 30th, he had an appointment with Beseni to go over the accounts, and five minutes before the proper time he entered the tent which the architect had pitched for himself close to the old oak tree. The accounts were already prepared on a folding table, and with a nod Somes sat down to study them. It was some time before he raised his head. I can't make them out, he said at last. They come to nearly seven hundred more than they ought. After a glance at Beseni's face he went on quickly. If you only make a firm stand against these builder-chaps, you'll get them down. They stick you with everything if you don't look sharp. Take ten percent off all round. I shan't mind it's coming out a hundred or so over the mark. Beseni shook his head. I've taken off every farthing I can. First pushed back the table with a movement of anger, which sent the account sheets fluttering to the ground. Then all I can say is he flustered out, you've made a pretty mess of it.  I've pointed them out to you over and over again. I know that, Groud Somes. I shouldn't have objected to a ten-pound note here and there. How was I to know that by extras you meant seven hundred pounds? The qualities of both men had contributed to this not inconsiderable discrepancy. On the one hand, the architect's devotion to his idea, to the image of a house which he had created and believed in, had made him nervous of being stopped or forced to the use of makeshifts. On the other, Somes' not less true and wholehearted devotion to the very best article that could be obtained for the money had rendered him averse to believing that things worth thirteen shillings could not be bought with twelve. I wish I'd never undertaken your house, said Beseni suddenly.  You want double the value for your money anybody else would, and now that you've got a house that for its size is not to be beaten in the county, you don't want to pay for it. If you're anxious to be off your bargain, I dare say I can find the balance above the estimates myself, but I'm damned if I do another stroke of work for you. Somes regained his composure. Knowing that Beseni had no capital, he regarded this as a wild suggestion. He saw, too, that he would be kept indefinitely out of this house on which he had set his heart, and just at the crucial point when the architect's personal care made all the difference. In the meantime, there was Irene to be thought of. She had been very queer lately. He really believed it was only because she had taken to Beseni that she tolerated the idea of the house at all. It would not do to make an open breach with her. You needn't get into a rage, he said. If I'm willing to put up with it, I suppose you needn't cry out. All I meant was that when you tell me a thing is going to cost so much, I like to, well, in fact, I like to know where I am. Look here, said Beseni, and Somes was both annoyed and surprised by the shrewdness of his glance. You've got my services dirt cheap. For the kind of work I've put into this house and the amount of time I've given to it, you'd have had to pay little master or some other fool four times as much.  Somes saw that he really meant what he said, and angry though he was, the consequences of a row rose before him too vividly. He saw his house unfinished, his wife rebellious, himself a laughing stock. Let's go over, he said, sulkily, and see how the money's gone. Very well, ascended Beseni, but we'll hurry up if you don't mind. I have to get back in time to take June to the theater. Somes cast a stealthy look at him and said, coming to our place, I suppose, to meet her. He was always coming to their place. There had been rain the night before, a spring rain, and the earth's melt of sap and wild grasses. The warm, soft breeze swung the leaves and the golden buds of the old oak tree, and in the sunshine the blackbirds were whistling their hearts out. It was such a spring day as breeze into a man, an ineffable yearning, a painful sweetness, a longing that makes him stand motionless, looking at the leaves or grass, and fling out his arms to embrace he knows not what. The earth gave forth a fainting warmth, stealing up through the chilly garment in which winter had wrapped her. It was her long caress of invitation to draw men down to lie within her arms, to roll their bodies on her, and put their lips to her breast. On just such a day as this Somes had got from Irene the promise he had asked her for so often. Seated on the fallen trunk of a tree, he had promised for the twentieth time that if their marriage were not a success she should be as free as if she had never married him. Do you swear at it, she had said? A few days back she had reminded him of that oath. He had answered, Nonsense, I couldn't have sworn any such thing. By some awkward fatality he remembered it now. What queer things men would swear for the sake of women. He would have sworn it at any time to gain her. He would swear it now if thereby he could touch her, but nobody could touch her. She was cold-hearted. And memories crowded on him with the fresh, sweet saber of the spring wind, memories of his courtship. In the spring of the year 1881 he was visiting his old school fellow and client, George Liversedge, of Branksome, who with the view of developing his pine woods in the neighborhood of Burnmouth had placed the formation of the company necessary to the scheme in Somes' hands. Mrs. Liversedge, with a sense of the fitness of things, had given a musical tea in his honor. Later in the course of this function, which Somes, no musician, had regarded as an unmitigated bore, his eye had been caught by the face of a girl dressed in mourning standing by herself. The lines of her tall, as yet rather thin figure showed through the wispy clinging stuff of her black dress.  Her hair, done low on her neck, seemed to gleam above her black collar like coils of shining metal. And as Somes stood looking at her, the sensation that most men have felt at one time or another went stealing through him. A peculiar satisfaction of the senses, a peculiar certainty, which novelists and old ladies call love at first sight. Still stealthily watching her, he at once made his way to his hostess and stood doggedly waiting for the music to cease. "'Who is that girl with yellow hair and dark eyes?' he asked. "'That—oh! Ireney Heron, her father, Professor Heron, died this year. She lives with her stepmother. She is an ice girl, a pretty girl, but no money.' "'Introduce me, please,' said Somes. It was very little that he found to say, nor did he find her responsive to that little. But he went away with the resolution to see her again. He effected his object by chance, meeting her on the pier with her stepmother, who had the habit of walking there from twelve to one of a forenoon. Somes made this lady's acquaintance with alacrity, nor was it long before he perceived in her the ally he was looking for. His keen scent for the commercial side of family life soon told him that Ireney cost her stepmother more than the fifty pounds a year she brought her. It also told him that Mrs. Heron, a woman yet in the prime of life, desired to be married again. The strange ripening beauty of her stepdaughter stood in the way of this desirable consummation, and Somes, in his stealthy tenacity, laid his plans. He left Burnmouth without having given himself away, but in a month's time came back, and this time he spoke not to the girl, but to her stepmother. He made up his mind, he said. He would wait any time, and he had longed to wait, watching Ireney bloom, the lines of her young figure softening, the stronger blood deepening the gleam of her eyes and warming her face to a creamy glow. And in each visit he proposed to her, and when that visit was at an end, took her refusal away with him back to London, sore at heart, but steadfast and silent as the grave. He tried to come at the secret springs of her resistance, only once had he a gleam of light. It was at one of those assembly dances, which afforded the only outlet to the passions of the population of seaside watering places. He was sitting with her in an embrasure, his senses tingling with the contact of the waltz. She had looked at him over her slowly waving fan, and he had lost his head. Seizing that moving wrist he pressed his lips to the flesh of her arm, and she had shuddered. To this day he had not forgotten that shudder, nor the look so passionately averse she had given him. A year after that she had yielded. What had made her yield he could never make out, and from Mrs. Heron, a woman of some diplomatic talent, he learned nothing. Once after they were married he asked her, What made you refuse me so often? She had answered by a strange silence. An enigma to him from the day that he first saw her, she was an enigma to him still. But then he was waiting for him at the door, and on his rugged good-looking face was a queer, yearning yet happy look, as though he too saw a promise of bliss in the spring sky, sniffed a coming happiness in the spring air. He first looked at him, waiting there. What was the matter with the fellow that he looked so happy? What was he waiting for with that smile on his lips and in his eyes? Somes could not see that for which Besenny was waiting as he stood there, drinking in the flower-scented wind. And once more he felt baffled in the presence of this man whom by habit he despised. He hastened on to the house. The only color for those tiles, he heard Besenny say, is ruby with a gray tint in the stuff, to give a transparent effect. Like Arvini's opinion, I'm ordering the purple leather curtains for the doorway of this court, and if you distemper the drawing room ivory cream over paper, you'll get an elusive look. You want to aim all through the decorations at what I call charm. Somes said, you mean that my wife has charm. Besenny evaded the question. You should have a clump of iris plants in the center of that court. Somes smiled superciliously. I'll look into beaches sometime, he said, and see what's appropriate. They found little else to say to each other, but on the way to the station Somes asked. I suppose you find Arvini very artistic. Yes. The abrupt answer was as distinct a snub as saying, if you want to discuss her, you can do it with someone else. And the slow, sulky anger Somes had felt all the afternoon burn the brighter within him. Neither spoke again till they were close to the station. Then Somes asked, when do you expect to have finished? By the end of June, if you really wish me to decorate as well. Somes nodded, but you quite understand, he said, that the house is costing me a lot beyond what I contemplated. I may as well tell you that I should have thrown it up, only I'm not in the habit of giving up what I've set my mind on. Besenny made no reply. And Somes gave him a scant, a look of dogged dislike. For in spite of his vestidious air and that supercilious dandified tass eternity, Somes, with his set lips and square chin, was not unlike a bulldog. When at seven o'clock that evening, June arrived at sixty-two Mount Pelliers Square, the maid Billson told her that Mr. Besenny was in the drawing room. The mistress, she said, was dressing and would be down in a minute. She would tell her that Miss June was here. June stopped her at once. All right, Billson, she said, I'll just go in. You needn't hurry, Mrs. Somes. She took off her cloak and Billson, with an understanding look, did not even open the drawing room door for her, but ran downstairs. June paused for a moment to look at herself in the little old fashioned silver mirror above the oaken rug chest. A slim and perious young figure with a small, resolute face and a white frock cut moon-shaped at the base of a neck too slender for her crown of twisted red-gold hair. She opened the drawing room door softly, meaning to take him by surprise. The room was filled with a sweet, hot scent of flowering azaleas. She took a long breath of the perfume in her Besenny's voice, not in the room, but quite close, saying, ah, there were such heaps of things I wanted to talk about, and now we shan't have time. Irene's voice answered, why not at dinner? How can one talk? June's first thought was to go away, but instead she crossed to the long window opening on the little court. It was from there that the scent of the azaleas came, and standing with their backs to her, their faces buried in the golden-pink blossoms stood her lover and Irene. Silent but unashamed, with flaming cheeks and angry eyes, the girl watched. Come on Sunday by yourself. We can go over the house together. June saw Irene look up at him through her screen of blossoms. It was not the look of a coquette, but far worse to the watching girl, of a woman fearful lest that look should say too much. I promised to go for a drive with Uncle. The big one, make him bring you. It's only ten miles, the very thing for his horses. Poor old Uncle swithin'. A wave of the azaleas scent drifted in a June's face.  Do, ah, do. But why? I must see you there. I thought you'd like to help me. The answer seemed to the girl to come softly with a tremble from amongst the blossoms, so I do. And she stepped into the open space of the window. How stuffy it is here, she said. I can't bear this scent. Her eyes, so angry and direct, swept both their faces. Were you talking about the house? I haven't seen it yet, you know. Shall we all go on Sunday? For Maureenie's face the color had flown. I'm going for a drive that day with Uncle Swithin', she answered. Uncle Swithin', what does he matter? You can throw him over. I am not in the habit of throwing people over. There was a sound of footsteps and June saw some standing just behind her. Well, if you were already said, Maureenie, looking from one to the other with a strange smile, dinner is too. End of Part 2, Chapter 1, Recording by Leanne Hallett. Part 2, Chapter 2, The Man of Property. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Ava Harnick. The Foresight Saga, The Man of Property by John Galswersi. Part number 2, Chapter number 2. June Street. In silence the soup was finished. Excellent if a little thick. And fish was brought. In silence it was handed. Was in eventured. It is the first spring day. Irene echoed softly. Yes, the first spring day. Spring, said June, there isn't a breath of air. No one replied. The fish was taken away, a fine fresh soul from Dover. And Billson brought champagne, a bottle swast around the neck with white. Som said, you'll find it dry. Cutlets were handed, each pink frilled above the legs. They were refused by June and silence fell. Som said, you had better take a cutlet, June. There is nothing coming. But June again refused, so they were borne away. And then Irene asked, Phil, have you heard my blackbird? Bosini answered, rather he's got a hunting song. As I came round I heard him in the square. He's such a darling. Salad, sir? The chicken was removed. But Som's was peaking. The asparagus is very poor. Bosini, glass of sheriff is your sweet. June, you are drinking nothing. June said, you know I never do. Wine is such horrid stuff. And Apple Charlotte came upon a silver dish and smilingly Irene said, the azaleas are so wonderful this year. To this Bosini murmured, wonderful. The scent is extraordinary. June said, how can you like the scent? Sugar please, Billson. Sugar was handed her. And Som's remarked, this Charlotte is good. The Charlotte was removed. Long silence followed. Irene Beckoning said, take out the azalea, Billson. Miss June can't bear the scent. No, let it stay, said June. Olives from France with Russian caviar were placed on little plates. And Som's remarked, why can't we have the Spanish? But no one answered. The olives were removed. Lifting her tumbler, June demanded, give me some water please. Water was given her. A silver tray was brought with German plums. There was a lengthy pause. Imperfect harmony, all were eating them. Bosini countered up the stones. This year, next year, sometime. Irene finished softly, never. There was such a glorious sunset. The sky is all ruby still, so beautiful. He answered, underneath the dark. Their eyes had met, and June cried scornfully. A London sunset. Egyptian cigarettes were handed in a silver box. Som's taking one remarked, what time does your play begin? No one replied, and Turkish coffee followed in enameled cups. Irene's smiling quietly said, if only. Only what, said June? If only it could always be the spring. Brandy was handed. It was pale and old. Som said, Bosini, better take some brandy. Bosini took a glass, they all arose. You want a cab? Ask Som's. June answered, no, my cloak please, Billson. Her cloak was brought. Irene from the window murmured, such a lovely night. The stars are coming out. Som's added, well, I hope you will both enjoy yourselves. From the door, June answered, thanks, come fill. Bosini cried, I'm coming. Som smiled a sneering smile and said, I wish you luck. And at the door, Irene watched them go. Bosini called, good night, good night. She answered softly. June made her lover take her on the top of a bus, saying she wanted air, and there set silent with her face to the breeze. The driver turned once or twice with the intention of venturing a remark, but sought better of it. They were a lively couple. The spring had got into his blood, too. He felt the need for letting steam escape and clocked his tongue, flourishing his whip, wheeling his horses. And even they, poor things, had smelled the spring and for a brief half hour, spurned the pavement with happy hooves. The whole town was alive. The bows curled upward with their decking of young leaves, awaited some gift the breeze could bring. New lit lamps were gaining mastery, and the faces of the crowd should pale under that glare, while on high the great white clouds slid swiftly, softly over the purple sky. Men in evening dress had thrown back overcoats, stepping jointly up the steps of clubs. Working folk loitered, and women, those women who at that time of night are solitary, solitary and moving eastward in a stream, swung slowly along with expectation in their gait, dreaming of good wine and a good supper, or for an unwanted minute of kisses given for love. Those countless figures going their ways under the lamps and the moving sky had one and all received some restless blessing from the stir of spring. And one and all, like those clubmen with their opened coats, had shed something of cast and creed and custom, and by the cock of their hats the pace of their walk, their laughter, or their silence, revealed their common kinship under the passionate heavens. Bosini and June entered the theater in silence and mounted to their seats in the upper boxes. The peace had just begun, and the half-darkened house, with its rows of creatures peering all one way, resembled a great garden of flowers turning their faces to the sun. June had never before been in the upper boxes. From the age of 15, she had habitually accompanied her grandfather to the stalls, and not common stalls, but the best seats in the house, towards the center of the third row, booked by old Jolion at Grogan and Boynes on his way home from the city long before the day, carried in his overcoat pocket, together with his cigakis and his old kid gloves, and handed to June to keep till the appointed night.  You should have seen little Bobson. She had looked forward to this evening with keen delight. It was stolen, chaperon-less, undreamed of at Stanhope Gate, where she was supposed to be at Somesus. She had expected reward for her subterfuge, planned for her lover's sake. She had expected it to break up the thick chili cloud and make the relations between them, which of late had been so puzzling, so tormenting. Sunny and simpler game as they had been before the winter. She had come with the intention of saying something definite, and she looked at the stage with a furrow between her brows, seeing nothing, her hands squeezed together in her lap, a swarm of jealous suspicions stung and stung her. If Bosony was conscious of her trouble, he made no sign. The curtain dropped, the first act had come to an end. It is awfully hot here, said the girl. I should like to go out. She was very white, and she knew, for with her nerves thus sharpened, she saw everything, that he was both uneasy and compunctious. At the back of the theater, an open balcony hung over the street. She took possession of this and stood leaning there without a word, waiting for him to begin. At last, she could bear it no longer. I want to say something to you, Phil, she said. Yes? The defensive tone of his voice brought the color flying to her cheek, the words flying to her lips. You don't give me a chance to be nice to you. You haven't for ages now. Bosony stared down at the street. He made no answer.  A humrose from the street and piercing it with a sharp ping, the bell sounded for the raising of the curtain. June did not stir. A desperate struggle was going on within her. Should she put everything to the proof? Should she challenge directly that influence, that attraction, which was driving him away from her? It was her nature to challenge, and she said, Phil, take me to see the house on Sunday. With a smile quivering and breaking on her lips and trying how hard not to show that she was watching, she searched his face, saw it waver and hesitate, saw a troubled line come between his brows, the blood rush into his face. He answered, not Sunday, dear, some other day. Why not Sunday? I shouldn't be in the way on Sunday. He made an evident effort and said, I have an engagement. You are going to take? His eyes grew angry. He shrugged his shoulders and answered, an engagement that will prevent my taking you to see the house. June bit her lip till the blood came and walked back to her seat without another word, but she could not help the tears of rage rolling down her face. The house had been mercifully darkened for a crisis and no one could see her trouble. Yet in this world of foresight, let no man think himself immune from observation. In the third row behind Euphemia, Nicholas's youngest daughter with her married sister and Mrs. Tweetyman were watching. They reported at Timothee's how they had seen June and her fiancee at the theater. In the stalls, no, not in the, oh, in the death circle, of course. That seemed to be quite fashionable nowadays with young people. Well, not exactly, in the, anyway, that engagement wouldn't last long. They had never seen anyone look so thunder and lightningly as that little June. With tears of enjoyment in their eyes, they related how she had kicked the man's hand as she returned to her seat in the middle of an act and how the man had looked. Euphemia had a noted silent laugh terminating most disappointingly in squeaks. And when Mrs. Small holding up her hand said, my dear, kicked a hat, she let out such a number of these that she had to be recovered with smelling salts. As she went away, she said to Mrs. Tweetyman, kick the hat, oh, I shall die. For that little June this evening that was to have been her treat was the most miserable she had ever spent. God knows, she tried to stifle her pride, her suspicion, her jealousy. She parted from Bosini at old Jolion's door without breaking down. The feeling that her lover must be conquered was strong enough to sustain her till his retiring footsteps brought home the true extent of her wretchedness. The noiseless Sanky let her in. She would have slipped up to her own room, but old Jolion, who had heard her entrance, was in the dining room doorway. Come in and have your milk, he said. It has been kept hot for you. You are very late. Where have you been? June stood at the fireplace with a foot on the fender and an arm on the mantelpiece as her grandfather had done when he came in that night of the opera.  We dined at Somes's, hmm, the man of property. His wife there and Bosini? Yes. Old Jolion's glance was fixed on her with the penetrating gaze from which it was difficult to hide, but she was not looking at him. And when she turned her face, he dropped his scrutiny at once. He had seen enough and too much. He bent down to lift a cup of milk for her from the house and turning away grumbled, you ought not to stay out so late.  He was invisible now behind his paper, which he turned with a vicious crackle. But when June came up to kiss him, he said, good night, my darling. In a tone so tremulous and unexpected that it was all the girl could do to get out of the room without breaking into the fit of sobbing which lasted her well on into the night. When the door was closed, old Jolion dropped his paper and stared long and anxiously in front of him. The beggar, he said, I always knew she would have trouble with him. Uneasy doubts and suspicions. The more poignant that he felt himself powerless to check or control the march of events came crowding upon him. Was the fellow going to guilt her? He longed to go and say to him, look here you sir, are you going to guilt my granddaughter? But how could he? Knowing little or nothing, he was yet certain with his unerring astuteness that there was something going on. He suspected Bosini of being too much at Montpellier Square. This fellow, he thought, may not be a scamp.  I don't know what to make of him. I shall never know what to make of him. They tell me he works like a nigger, but I see no good coming of it. He is unpractical, he has no method. When he comes here, he sits as glum as a monkey. If I ask him what wine he will have, he says, thanks, any wine. If I offer him a cigar, he smokes it as if it were a tapony German thing. I never see him looking at June as he ought to look at her. And yet he's not after her money. If she were to make a sign, he would be off his bargain tomorrow. But she won't, not she. She will stick to him. She's as obstinate as fate. She will never let go. Sighing deeply, he turned the paper in its columns. Perhaps he might find consolation. And upstairs in her room, June sat at her open window, where the spring wind came after its revel across the park, to cool her hot cheeks and burn her heart. End of part two, chapter two, June's Treet, reading by Eva Harnick. Part two, chapter three, The Man of Property. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Eva Harnick. The foresight saga, The Man of Property, by John Goldsworthy. Part two, chapter three, Drive with Swizin. Two lines of a certain song in a certain famous old school's songbook, Rane's Follows. How the buttons on his blue frock shone, tra-la-la, how he caroled and he sang like a bird. Swizin did not exactly carol and sing like a bird, but he felt almost like endeavoring to hammer tune as he stepped out of Hyde Park mansions and contemplated his horses drown up before the door. The afternoon was as balmy as a day in June and to complete the similar of the old song, he had put on a blue frock coat dispensing with an overcoat after sending Adolf down three times to make sure that there was not the least suspicion of east in the wind and the frock coat was buttoned so tightly around his personable form that if the buttons did not shine, they might pardonably have done so. Majestic on the pavement, he fitted on a pair of dogskin gloves with his large bell-shaped top hat and his great stature and bulk, he looked too primeval for a foresight. His sick white hair, on which Adolf had bestowed a touch of pometum, exhaled a fragrance of apoponax and cigars, the celebrated Swizin brand for which he paid one hundred and forty shillings, the hundred, and of which old Julian had unkindly said he wouldn't smoke them as a gift. They wanted the stomach of a horse. Adolf, Shire, the new play-drug, he would never teach that fellow to look smart and Mrs. Somes, he felt sure, had an eye. The patent hood down, I am going to drive a lady. A pretty woman would want to show off her frock and, well, he was going to drive a lady. It was like a new beginning to the good old days. Ages, since he had driven a woman, the last time, if he remembered, it had been Julie. The poor old soul had been as nervous as a cat the whole time, and so put him out of patience that as he dropped her in the base water-road, he had said, well, I am damped if I ever drive you again, and he never had, not he. Going up to his horse's heads, he examined their bits. Not that he knew anything about bits. He did not pay his coachman sixty pounds a year to do his work for him that had never been his principal. Indeed, his reputation as a horsey man rested mainly on the fact that once on Davidey he had been welched by some thimble-rigors. But someone at the club, after seeing him drive his greys up to the door, he always drove grey horses. You got more star for the money, some sort, had called him four-in-hand foresight. The name having reached his ears through that fellow Nicholas Trefere, old Jolian's dead partner, the great driving man notorious for more carriage accidents than any man in the kingdom, Swizin had ever after conceived it right to act up to it. The name had taken his fancy, not because he had ever driven four-in-hand, or was ever likely to, but because of something distinguished in the sound. Four-in-hand foresight, not bad. Born too soon, Swizin had missed his vocation. Coming up on London twenty years later, he could not have failed to have become a stockbroker. But at the time when he was obliged to select, this great profession had not as yet became the chief glory of the upper middle class. He had literally been forced into land agency. Once in the driving seat, with the reins handed to him and blinking over his pale old cheeks in the full sunlight, he took a slow look around. Adolf was already up behind. The coqueted groom at the horses' heads stood ready to let go. Everything was prepared for the signal and Swizin gave it. The acupage dashed forward and before you could say, Jack Robinson with a rattle and flourish drew up at Somes' door. Irene came out at once and stepped in. He afterward described it at timetase as light as a talioni, no fuss about it, no wanting this or wanting that. And, above all, Swizin dwelt on this, staring at Mrs. Septimus in a way that disconcerted her a good deal, no silly nervousness. To Aunt Hester he portrayed Irene's hat, not one of your great flopping things, sprawling about and catching the dust that women are so fond of nowadays, but a neat little, he made a circular motion of his hand, white whale, capital taste. What was it made of, inquired Aunt Hester, who manifested a languid but permanent excitement at any mention of dress? Made of? Returns Swizin, now how should I know? He sank into silence so profound that Aunt Hester began to be afraid he had fallen in deterrence. She did not try to rouse him herself, it not being her custom. I wish somebody would come, she thought, I don't like the look of him. But suddenly Swizin returned to life. Made of? He wheezed out slowly. What should it be made of? They had not gone four miles before Swizin received the impression that Irene liked driving with him. Her face was so soft behind that white whale and her dark eyes shone so in the spring light and whenever he spoke she raised them to him and smiled. On Saturday morning Somes had found her at her writing table with a note written to Swizin putting him off. Why did she want to put him off? He asked. She might put her own people off when she liked. He wouldn't have her putting off his people. She had looked at him intently, had torn up the note and said very well. And then she began writing another. He took a casual glance presently and saw that it was address to Bosini. What are you writing to him about? He asked. Irene looking at him again with that intent look said quietly something he wanted me to do for him. Han said Somes, commissions, you will have your work cut out if you begin that sort of thing. He said no more. Swizin opened his eyes at the mention of Robin Hill. It was a long way for his horses and he always dined at half past seven before the rush at the club began. The new chef took more trouble with an early dinner.  He would like to have a look at the house however. A house appealed to any foresight and especially to one who had been an auctioneer. After all he said the distance was nothing. When he was a younger man he had had rooms at Richmond for many years, kept his carriage and pair there and drove them up and down to business every day of his life. For in hand foresight they called him. His teacup, his horses had been known from Hyde Park Corner to the Star and Garter. The Duke of Zee wanted to get hold of them would have given him double the money but he had kept them. No a good thing when you have it eh? A look of solemn pride came potentially on his shaven square old face. He rolled his head in his stand up color like a turkey cork preening himself. She was really a charming woman. He enlarged upon her frock afterwards to Aunt Julie who held up her hands at his way of putting it. Fitted her like a skin tight as a drum. That was how he liked them all of a peace.  He gazed at Mrs. Septimus Small who took after James, Long and Sin. There is style about her he went on. Fit for a king. And she's so quiet with it too. She seems to have made quite a conquest of you anyway. Drawed Aunt Hester from her corner. Swizzing heard extremely well when anybody attacked him. What's that? he said. I know a pretty woman when I see one. And all I can say is I don't see the young man about that is fit for her. But perhaps you do come perhaps you do. Oh, Mehmed Aunt Hester asked Julie. Long before they reached Robin Hill however the unaccustomed airing had made him terribly sleepy.  A lifetime of deportment alone keeping his tall and bulky form from falling askew. Bosenny who was watching came out to meet them and all three entered the house together. Swizzing in front making play with a stout gold-mounted melaka cane put into his hand by Adolf for his knees were feeling the effects of their long stay in the same position. He had assumed his fur coat to guard against the draughts of the unfinished house. The staircase, he said, was handsome. The Baronia style they would want some statuary about. He came to stand still between the columns of the doorway into the inner court and held out his cane inquiringly. What was this to be? This vestibule or whatever they called it? But gazing at the skylight inspiration came to him. Ah, the billiard room. When told it was to be a tiled court with plants in the center he turned to Irene. Raise this on plants. You take my advice and have a billiard table here. Irene smiled. She had lifted her veil, bending it like a nun's quaff across her forehead and the smile of her dark eyes below this seemed to Swizzing more charming than ever. He nodded. She would take his advice. He saw. He had little to say of the drawing or dining rooms which she described as spacious but fell into such raptures as he permitted to a man of his dignity in the wine cellar to which he descended by stone steps Bosini going first with a light. You will have room here, he said, for six or seven hundred dozen a very pooty little cellar. Bosini having expressed a wish to show them the house from the cops below Swizzing came to a stop. There is a fine view from here, he remarked. You haven't such a thing as a chair. A chair was brought him from Bosini's tent.  You too. I will sit here and look at the view. He sat down by the oak tree in the sun, square and upright with one hand stretched out resting on the knob of his cane, the other planted on his knee, his fur coat thrown open, his hat roofing with its flat top, the pale square of his face, his stare very blank fixed on the landscape. He nodded to them as they went off down through the fields. He was indeed not sorry to be left thus in a quiet moment of reflection. The air was balmy, not too much heat in the sun. The prospect, a fine one. A remarker. His head fell a little to one side. He jerked it up and thought, odd. He, aww.  He put up his hand and moved it more than once. They were active. The prospect was remark. His head fell to the left. He jerked it up at once. It fell to the right. It remained there. He was asleep. And asleep, a sentinel on the top of the rise, he appeared to rule over his prospect. Remarkable. Like some image blocked out by the special artist of primeval foresight in pagan days to record the domination of mind over matter. And all the unnumbered generations of his yeoman ancestors want of a Sunday to stand a Kimbo surveying their little plots of land. Their gray unmoving eyes hiding their instinct with its hidden roots of violence, their instinct for possession to the exclusion of all the world, all these unnumbered generations seemed to sit there with him on the top of the rise. But from him, thus slumbering, his jealous foresight spirit traveled far into God knows what jungle of fancies, with those two young people to see what they were doing down there in the cops. In the cops where the spring was running riot with the scent of sap and bursting buds, the song of birds innumerable, a carpet of bluebells and sweet growing sings, and the sun caught like gold in the tops of the trees to see what they were doing, walking along there so close together on the pass that was too narrow, walking along there so close that they were always touching, to watch Irene's eyes like dark thieves stealing the heart out of the spring.  Walking on wisdom, too, across the open space where a woodcutter had been at work, where the bluebells were trampled down and the trunk had swayed and staggered down from its gashed stump, climbing it wisdom over and onto the very edge of the cops whence there stretched an undiscovered country from far away in which came the sounds cuckoo, cuckoo! Silent, standing with them there and uneasy at their silence. Very queer, very strange. Then back again, as though guilty, threw the wood back to the cutting, still silent, amongst the songs of birds that never ceased and the wild sand. What was it, like that herb they put in, back to the log across the pass?  Swizzing awoke, virtue had gone out of him.  Where was he? Damn, he had been asleep. He had dreamed something about a new soup with a taste of mint in it. Those young people, where had they got to? His left leg had pins and needles. Adolf, the rascal was not there. The rascal was asleep somewhere. He stood up, tall, square, bulky in his fur, looking anxiously down over the fields, and presently he saw them coming. Irene was in front. That young fella, what had they nicknamed him? The Buccaneer. Looked precious hangdog there behind her. He got a flea in his ear, he shouldn't wonder. Serve him right, taking her down all that way to look at the house. The proper place to look at the house from was the lawn. They saw him. He extended his arm and moved it spasmodically to encourage them. But they had stopped. What were they standing there for? Talking, talking. They came on again. She had been giving him a rub. He had not the least doubt of it. And no wonder, over a house like that, a great ugly thing. Not the sort of house he was accustomed to. He looked intently at their faces with his pale, immovable stare. That young man looked very queer. You'll never make any sing of this, he said tartly, pointing at the mansion, two newfangled. Buccaneer gazed at him as though he had not heard. And Swizzin afterwards described him to Aunt Hester as an extravagant sort of fellow. Very odd way of looking at you, a bumpy beggar. What gave rise to this sudden peace of psychology he did not state? Possibly Bosini's prominent forehead and cheekbones and chin, or something hungry in his face which quarreled with Swizzin's conception of the calm, satiety that should characterize the perfect gentleman. He brightened up at the mansion of tea. He had a contempt for tea. His brother Jolian had been in tea, made a lot of money by it, but he was so thirsty and had such a taste in his mouth that he was prepared to drink anything. He longed to inform Irene of the taste in his mouth. She was so sympathetic. But it would not be a distinct thing to do. He rolled his tongue round and faintly smacked it against his palate. In a far corner of the tent, Adolf was bending his cat-like mustaches over a kettle. He left it at once to draw the cork of a pine bottle of champagne. Swizzin smiled and nodding at Bosini said, Why?  This celebrated novel, one of the half-dozen he had read had produced an extraordinary impression on his mind. Taking his glass from the table, he held it away from him to scrutinize the color. Sirsty as he was, it was not likely that he was going to drink trash. Then placing it to his lips, he took a sip. A very nice swine, he said at last, passing it before his nose, not the equal of my hide-seek. It was at this moment that the idea came to him which he afterwards imparted at Timothee's in this nutshell. I shouldn't wonder a bit if that architect chap were sweet upon Mrs. Soames. And from this moment his pale, round eyes never ceased to bulge with the interest of his discovery. The fellow, he said to Mrs. Septimus, follows her about with his eyes like a dog, the bumpy beggar. I don't wonder at it. She is a very charming woman and I should say the pink of discretion. A vague consciousness of perfume caging about Irene, like that from a flower with half-closed petals and a passionate heart moved him to the creation of this image. But I wasn't sure of it, he said, till I saw him pick up her handkerchief. Mrs. Small's eyes boiled with excitement. Did he give it her back, she asked? Give it back, said Swizin. I saw him slobber on it when he thought I wasn't looking. Mrs. Small gasped, too interested to speak. But she gave him no encouragement when on Swizin. He stopped and stared for a minute or two in the way that alarmed Aunt Hester's soul. He had suddenly recollected that as they were starting back in the fayton she had given Bosini her hand a second time and let it stay there, too. He had touched his horses smartly with the whip, anxious to get her all to himself. But she had looked back and she had not answered his first question. Neither had he been able to see her face, she had kept it hanging down. There is somewhere a picture which Swizin has not seen of a man sitting on a rock and by him immersed in the still green water, a scene him flying on her back with her hand on her naked breast. She has a half-smile on her face, a smile of hopeless surrender and of secret joy. Seated by Swizin's side, Irene may have been smiling like that. When worn by Champagne, he had her all to himself, he unbosomed himself of his wrongs, of his mothered resentment against the new chef at the club, a quarry over the house in Wigmore Street where the rascally tenant had gone bankrupt through helping his brother-in-law as if charity did not begin at home, of his deafness, too, and that pain he sometimes got in his right side.  He thought she was sinking deeply of his troubles and pitted himself terribly. Yet in his fur coat with frogs across the breast, his top had a slant driving this beautiful woman he had never felt more distinguished. A coaster, however, taking his girl for a Sunday airing seemed to have the same impression about himself. This person had flocked his donkey into a gallop alongside and sat upright as a vexwork. In his shallowy chariot, his chin settled pompously on a red handkerchief like swizzens on his full cravat, while his girl, with the ends of a fly-blown boar floating out behind, aped the woman of fashion. Her swain moved a stick with a ragged bit of string dangling from the end, reproducing with strange fidelity the circular flourish of swizzens' whip and rolled his head at his lady with a leer that had a weird likeness to swizzens' primeval stare. Though for a time unconscious of the lowly Raffian's presence, swizzens presently took it into his head that he was being guide. He laid his whip, lash, across the mare's flank. The two chariots, however, by some unfortunate fatality, continued abreast. Swizzens' yellow puffy face grew red. He raced his whip to lash the coaster-monga, but was saved from so far forgetting his dignity by a special intervention of Providence. A carriage driving out through a gate forced fate and donkey cart into proximity. The wheels grated, the lighter vehicle skidded and was overturned. Swizzens did not look round on no account would he have pulled up to help Raffian, serve him right if he had broken his neck, but he could not if he would. The grace had taken alarm. The fate then swung from side to side and people raced frightened faces as they went dashing past. Swizzens' great arms stretched at full length, tugged at the reins. His cheeks were puffed, his lips compressed, his swollen face was of a dull, angry red. Irene had her hand on the rail and at every lurch she gripped it tightly. Swizzens heard her ask, Are we going to have an accident, Uncle Swizzens? He gasped out between his pants. It is nothing, a little fresh. I have never been in an accident. Don't you move, he took a look at her. She was smiling perfectly calm. Sit still, he repeated. Never fear, I will get you home. And in the midst of all his terrible efforts he was surprised to hear her answer in a voice not like her own. I don't care if I never get home. The carriage giving a terrific lurch Swizzens' exclamation was jerked back into his throat. The horses, winded by the rise of a hill, now steadied to a trot and finally stopped of their own accord. When Swizzens described it at Timothy's I pulled them up, there she was as cool as myself. God bless my soul. She behaved as if she didn't care whether she broke her neck or not. What was it she said? I don't care if I never get home. Leaning over the handle of his cane he reached out to Mrs. Small's terror and I am not altogether surprised with a finicky fella like young Somes for a husband. It did not occur to him to wonder what Bosini had done after they had left him there alone. Whether he had gone wandering about like the dog to which Swizzens had compared him wandering down to that copse where the spring was still in riot the cuckoo still calling from afar gone down there with her handkerchief pressed to lips its fragrance mingling with the scent of mint and thyme gone down there with such a wild exquisite pain in his heart that he could have cried out among the trees or what indeed the fellow had done in fact till he came to Timothy's Swizzens had forgotten all about him. End of part 2 chapter 3 Drive with Swizzens Recording by Eva Harnick Part 2 chapter number 4 of the Man of Property this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Eva Harnick the foresight saga The Man of Property by John Galsworthy Part 2 chapter 4 James Goes to See for Himself Those ignorant of foresight change would not perhaps foresee all the stir made by Irene's visit to the house after Swizzens had related at Timothy's the full story of his memorable drive the same with the least suspicion of curiosity the merest touch of malice and the real desire to do good was passed on to June and what a dreadful thing to say my dear and around Julie that about not going home what did she mean? it was a strange recital for the girl she heard it flushing painfully and suddenly with a curt handshake took her departure almost rude Mrs. Moore said to Aunt Hester when June was gone the proper construction was put on her deception of the news she was upset something was therefore very wrong odd she and Irene had been such friends it all tallied too well with whispers and hints that had been going about for some time past recollections of Euphemia's account of the visit to the theater Mr. Bosini always at Somes' oh indeed yes of course he would be about the house nothing open only upon the greatest the most important provocation was it necessary to say anything open on four sides change this machine was too nicely adjusted a hint the merriest trifling expression of regret or doubt suffice to set the family's soul so sympathetic vibrating no one desired that harm should come of these vibrations far from it they were set in motion with the best intentions with the feeling that each member of the family had a stake in the family's soul and much kindness lay at the bottom of the gossip it would frequently result in visits of condolence being made in accordance with the customs of society thereby conferring a real benefit upon the sufferers and affording consolation to the sound who felt pleasantly that someone at all events was suffering from that from which they themselves were not suffering in fact it was simply a desire to keep things well aired the desire which animates the public press that brought James, for instance into communication with Mrs. Septimus Mrs. Septimus with the little Nicholases the little Nicholases with who knows whom and so on that great class to which they had risen and now belonged demanded a certain candor a still more certain reticence this combination guaranteed their membership many of the younger foresight's felt very naturally and would openly declare that they did not want their affairs pride into but so powerful was the invisible magnetic current of family gossip that for the life of them they could not help knowing all about everything it was felt to be hopeless one of them, young Roger had made a heroic attempt to free the rising generation by speaking of Timothy as an old cat the effort had justly recalled upon himself the words coming round in the most delicate way to Aunt Julie's ears repeated by her in a shocked voice to Mrs. Roger whence they returned again to young Roger and after all it was only the wrongdoers who suffered as for instance George when he lost all that money playing billiards or young Roger himself when he was so dreadfully near to marrying the girl to whom it was whispered he was already married by the laws of nature or again Irene who was sought rather than said to be in danger all this was not only pleasant but solitary and it made so many hours go lightly at Timothy's in the base water road so many hours that must otherwise have been sterile and heavy to those three who lived there and Timothy's was but one of the hundreds of such homes in this city of London the homes of neutral persons of the secure classes who are out of the battle themselves and must find their reason for existing in the battles of others but for the sweetness of family gossip it must indeed have been lonely there rumors and tales, reports, surmises were they not the children of the house as dear and precious as the prattling babes the brother and sisters had missed in their own journey to talk about them was as near as they could get to the possession of all those children and grandchildren after whom their soft hearts yearned for though it is doubtful where the Timothy's heart yearned it is indubitable that at the arrival of each fresh foresight child he was quite upset useless for young Roger to say old cat for euphemia to hold up her hands and cry oh those three and break into her silent laugh with the squee at the end useless and not too kind the situation which at this stage might seem and especially to foresight eyes strange not to say impossible was in view of certain facts not so strange after all some things had been lost sight of and first in the security bread of many harmless marriages it had been forgotten that love is no hot house flower but a wild plant born of a wet night born of an hour of sunshine sprung from wild seed blown along the road by a wild wind a wild plant that when it blooms by chance within the hedge of our gardens we call a flower and when it blooms outside we call a weed but flower or weed whose scent and color are always wild and further the facts and figures of their own lives being against the perception of this truth it was not generally recognized by foresight that where this wild plant springs men and women are but most around the pale flame like blossom it was long since young Jolions escapade there was danger of a tradition again arising that people in their position never crossed the hedge to pluck that flower that one could reckon on having love like measles once in due season and getting over it comfortably for all time as with measles on a soothing mixture of butter and honey in the arms of wedlock of all those whom this strange rumor about Bosnay and Mrs. Soames reached James was the most affected he had long forgotten how he had hovered, lanky and pale inside whiskers of chestnut hue round Emily in the days of his own courtship he had long forgotten the small house in the pearl years of Mayfair where he had spent the early days of his married life or rather he had long forgotten the early days not the small house a foresight never forgot a house he had afterwards sold it at a clear profit of 400 pounds he had long forgotten those days with their hopes and fears and doubts about the prudence of the match for Emily though pretty had nothing and he himself at that time was making a bear thousand a year and that strange irresistible attraction which had drawn him on till he felt he must die if he could not marry the girl with the fair hair looked so neatly back the fair arms emerging from a skin tight bodies the fair form decorously shielded by a cage of release to pender's circumference James had passed through the fire but he had passed also through the river of years which washes out the fire he had experienced the saddest experience of all forgetfulness of what it was like to be in love forgotten forgotten so long that he had forgotten even that he had forgotten and now this rumor had come upon him this rumor about his son's wife very vague a shadow dodging among the palpable straightforward appearances of things unreal, unintelligible as a ghost but carrying with it like a ghost inexplicable terror he tried to bring it home to his mind but it was no more use than trying to apply to himself one of those tragedies he read of daily in his evening paper he simply could not there could be nothing in it it was all their nonsense she did not get on with soams as well as she might but she was a good little thing a good little thing like the not inconsiderable majority of men James relished a nice little bit of scandal and would say, in a matter of fact tone licking his lips yes, yes, she and young Dyson they tell me they are living at Monte Carlo but the significance of an affair of this sort of its past, its present or its future had never struck him what it meant what torture and raptures had gone to its construction what slow over mastering fate had lurked within the facts very naked, sometimes sordid but generally spicy presented to his gaze he was not in the habit of blaming, praising, drawing deductions or generalizing at all about such things he simply listened rather greedily and repeated what he was told finding considerable benefit from the practice as from the consumption of a sherry and withers before a meal now, however, that such a thing or rather the rumor the breath of it had come near him personally he felt as in a fog which filled his mouth full of a bad, sick flavor and made it difficult to draw breath a scandal, a possible scandal to repeat this word to himself thus was the only way in which he could focus or make it thinkable he had forgotten the sensations necessary for understanding the progress, fate or meaning of any such business he simply could no longer grasp the possibilities of people running any risk for the sake of passion amongst all those persons of his acquaintance who went into the city day after day and did their business there, whatever it was and in their leisure moments both shares and houses and ate dinners and played games as he was told it would have seemed to him ridiculous to suppose that there were any who would run risks for the sake of anything so recondite so figurative as passion passion, he seemed indeed to have heard of it and rules such as a young man and a young woman ought never to be trusted together were fixed in his mind as the parallels of latitude are fixed on a map for all four sides when it comes to bedrock matters of fact have quite a fine taste in realism but as to anything else well he could only appreciate it all through the catch word scandal ah, but there was no truth in it could not be, he was not afraid she was really a good little sing but there it was when you got a sing like that into your mind and James was of a nervous temperament one of those men whom sings will not leave alone who suffered tortures from anticipation and indecision for fear of letting something slip that he might otherwise secure he was physically unable to make up his mind until absolutely certain that by not making it up he would suffer loss in life however there were many occasions when the business of making up his mind did not even rest with himself and this was one of them what could he do talk it over with souls that would only make matters worse and after all there was nothing in it he felt sure it was all that house he had mistrusted the idea from the first what did souls want to go into the country for and if he must go spending a lot of money building himself a house why not have a first rate man instead of this young bosony whom nobody knew anything about he had told them how it would be and he had heard that the house was costing souls a pretty penny beyond what he had reckoned on spending this fact more than any other brought home to James the real danger of the situation it was always like this with these artistic chaps a sensible man should have nothing to say to them he had worn Irene II and see what had come of it and it suddenly sprung into James's mind that he ought to go and see for himself in the midst of that fog of uneasiness in which his mind was enveloped the notion that he could go and look at the house afforded him inexplicable satisfaction it may have been simply the decision to do something more possibly the fact that he was going to look at the house that gave him relief he felt that in staring at an edifice of bricks and mortar of wood and stone built by the suspected man himself he would be looking into the heart of that rumour about Irene without saying a word therefore to anyone he took a handsome to the station and proceeded by train to Robin Hill then there being no flies in accordance with the custom of the neighbourhood he found himself obliged to walk he started slowly up the hill his angular knees and high shoulders bent complainingly his eyes fixed on his feet yet need for all that in his high hat and his frock coat on which was the speckless gloss imparted by perfect superintendence Emily saw to that that is she didn't of course see to it people of good position not seeing to each others buttons and Emily was of good position but she saw that the butler saw to it he had to ask his way three times on each occasion he repeated the directions given him got the man to repeat them then repeated them a second time for he was naturally of a talkative disposition and one could not be too careful in a new neighbourhood he kept assuring them that it was a new house he was looking for it was only however when he was shown the roof through the trees that he could feel really satisfied that he had not been directed entirely wrong a heavy sky seemed to cover the world with grey whiteness of a whitewashed ceiling there was no freshness of fragrance in the air on such a day even British workmen scarcely cared to do more than they were obliged and moved about their business without the drone of talk which wires away the pangs of labour through spaces of the unfinished house shirt-sleeved figures worked slowly and sounds arose spasmodic knockings the scraping of metal the sawing of wood with the rumble of wheel-barrows along boards now and again the foreman's dog tethered by a stringed and oaken beam whimpered feebly with a sound like the singing of a cattle the fresh-fitted windowpains doped each with a white patch in the centre stared out at James like the eyes of a blind dog and the building chorus went on strident and merciless under the grey-white sky but the thrushes hunting amongst the fresh-turned-earths for worms were silent quite James picked his way among the heaps of gravel the driver's being laid till he came opposite the porch here he stopped and raised his eyes there was but little to see from this point of view and that little he took in at once but he stayed in this position many minutes and who shall know of what he sought his china-blue eyes on the white-eyed brows that jutted out in little horns never stirred the long upper lip of his white mouse between the fine-white whiskers twitched once or twice it was easy to see from that anxious-wrapped expression when soams derived the handicapped look which sometimes came upon his face James might have been saying to himself I don't know life is a tough job in this position Bosini surprised him James brought his eyes down from whatever bird's-ness they had been looking for in the sky to Bosini's face which was a kind of humorous corn how do you do Mr. Forsythe come down to see for yourself it was exactly what James as we know had come for and he was made correspondingly uneasy he had out his hand however saying how are you without looking at Bosini the latter made way for him with an ironical smile James centred something suspicious in this courtesy I should like to walk round the outside first he said and see what you have been doing a flagged terrace of rounded stones with a list of two or three inches to port had been laid round the southeast and southwest sides of the house and ran with a beveled edge into mould which was in preparation for being turfed along this terrace James led the way now what did this cost he asked when he saw the terrace extending round the corner what should you sing inquired Bosini how should I know replied James somewhat non-plus two or three hundred I dare say the exact sum James gave him a sharp look but the architect appeared unconscious and he put the answer down to miss hearing on arriving at the garden entrance he stopped to look at the view that ought to come down he said pointing to the oak tree you think so you think that with the tree there you don't get enough view for your money again James eyed him suspiciously this young man had a peculiar way of putting things well he said with a perplexed nervous emphasis I don't see what you want with a tree it shall come down tomorrow said Bosini James was alarmed oh he said don't go saying I said it was to come down I know nothing about it no James went on in a fluster why what should I know about it it is nothing to do with me you do it on your own responsibility you will allow me to mention your name James grew more and more alarmed I don't know what you want mentioning my name for him mattered you should better leave the tree alone it is not your tree he took out a silk handkerchief and wiped his brow they entered the house like swizzing James was impressed by the inner courtyard you must have spent a deuce of a lot of money here he said after staring at the columns and gallery for some time now what did it cost to put up those columns I can't tell you offhand thoughtfully answered Bosini but I know it was a deuce of a lot I should think so said James I should he caught the architect's eye and broke off and now whenever he came to anything of which he desired to know the cost he stifled that curiosity Bosini appeared determined that he should see everything and had not James been of too noticing a nature he would certainly have found himself going around the house a second time he seemed so anxious to be asked questions too that James felt he must be on his guard he began to suffer from his exertions for though wired enough for a man of his long build he was 75 years old he grew discouraged he seemed no nearer to anything had not obtained from his inspection any of the knowledge he had vaguely hoped for he had merely increased his dislike and mistrust of this young man who had tired him out with his politeness and in whose manner he now certainly detected mockery the fellow was sharper than he had sought and better looking than he had hoped he had a don't care appearance that James to whom risk was the most intolerable thing in life did not appreciate a peculiar smile too coming when least expected and very queer eyes he reminded James as he said afterwards of a hungry cat this was as near as he could get in conversation with Emily to a description of the peculiar exasperation velvetiness and mockery of which Bosini's manner had been composed at last having seen all that was to be seen he came out again at the door where he had gone in and now feeling that he was wasting time and strength and money all for nothing he took the courage of a foresight in both hands and looking sharply at Bosini said I dare say you see a good deal of my daughter-in-law now what does she think of the house but she hasn't seen it I suppose this he said knowing all about Irene's visit not of course that there was anything in the visit except that extraordinary remark she had made about not caring to get home and the story of how June had taken the news he had determined by this way of putting the question to give Bosini a chance as he said to himself the latter was long in answering but kept his eyes with uncomfortable steadiness on James she has seen the house but I can't tell you what she thinks of it nervous and baffled James was constitutionally prevented from letting the matter drop oh he said she has seen it Somes brought her down I suppose Bosini smilingly replied oh no what did she come down alone oh no then who brought her I really don't know whether I ought to tell you who brought her to James who knew that it was Swissine this answer appeared incomprehensible why he stumbled you know that but he stopped suddenly perceiving his danger well he said if you don't want to tell me I suppose you won't nobody tells me anything somewhat to his surprise Bosini asked him a question by the by he said could you tell me if there are likely to be any more of you coming down I should like to be on the spot any more said James bewildered who should there be more I don't know of any more goodbye looking at the ground he held out his hand crossed the palm of it with Bosinis and taking his umbrella just above the silk walked away along the terrace before he turned the corner he glanced back and saw Bosini following him slowly slinking along the wall as he put it to himself like a great cat he paid no attention when the young fella raised his head outside the drive and out of sight he slackened his pace still more very slowly more bent than when he came lean, hungry and disheartened he made his way back to the station the buccaneer watching him go so sadly home felt sorry perhaps for his behavior to the old man end of part 2 chapter 4 James goes to sea for himself recording by Ava Harnick


SNES DRUNK The launch of the Guardian legend for NES got off to a pretty conspicuous start back in 1988 a commercial kicked off its ad campaign by announcing the action was blazing in Zelda the adventures of blast with link now Experience guardian legend the original commercial was unfortunately pulled off of youtuber else I just show it here But when it originally aired it was really confusing for a lot of people is it a Zelda sequel What does this have to do with either of those games the answer is nothing at all But despite the initial confusion guardian legend is a really impressive title and easily a top 20 NES game of all time It's another one of those hybrid genre games this time combining vertically scrolling shoot-em-up gameplay with top-down shooter levels a little Reminiscent of blaster master only you can fire your weapon in eight different directions Not only is guardian legend ambitious for attempting this combination But it's also a nonlinear game where the story dictates the action you play as this badass woman who has the ability to turn Into a friggin spaceship no really check out the PAL region cover that looks friggin awesome as opposed to the Japanese cover which Looks kind of terrifying Anyway, the game starts out with a vertically scrolling shoot-em-up level and you beat the boss and then earn a key to open up with the Manual refers to as the labyrinth or the top-down stages you get a message relate to you by a former Inhabitant of the world you're on called Naju they were invaded and this poor fellow is leaving instructions for how to activate the Self-destruct mechanism to blow up the whole dang planet invaders and all to do this You have to deactivate the safety protocol in 10 different areas And you have to find them all in the labyrinth and locate all the different corridors Which zip you around to different parts of the planet the use of the word labyrinth here is no joke You can spend forever just wandering around these mazes Thankfully the select button brings up a map which helps so you look for special weapons that unlock new areas with the help of Some clues you'll stumble upon here and there and eventually you'll come to these corridor entrances Which lead you back to the shoot-em-up stages these corridors are actually pathways within the planet itself Which is actually a pretty dang clever way of organically combining story and gameplay There's actually ways you can skip certain sections altogether here So this is a very speedrun friendly game, but in this case I'm not sure why you'd want to do that since there's so much here to enjoy But I just thought I'd throw it out there now a guardian legend was developed by compile who you might know better from games like Blazing lasers gun-knack and the eleste series including super eleste or space mega force So, you know only some of the best shoot-em-ups ever made the shoot-em-up levels and guardian legend aren't quite at that level But what compile pulls off here is still really impressive One big reason is how the two game modes seamlessly fit together And one reason for that is unlike a game like zexus a similar game I looked at a few weeks ago the special weapons you obtain can be used in both game modes There's 12 total weapons that can be upgraded up to three times and you use power chips You find to buy different weapons and upgrades in these shops You'll stumble across now and again the B button fires your normal weapon and a fires your special weapon with ammo being found In the form of these blue and red squares. There's weapons that fire backward. There's bullet shields that protect you There's the saber laser and the cutter laser And there's just the good old-fashioned big-ass fireball among other things and again They're used in both the labyrinth levels and the shoot-em-up corridors in addition to that compile Just did a hell of a job cramming as many moving objects onto the screen at once I don't know what it is about that dev team But they were able to figure this out better than most developers back then in some older NES games You've got these weapons that can only fire two or sometimes only one projectile at once and guardian legend You can shoot a huge frickin fireball and back it up with tons of extra firepower behind it It feels really satisfying the game also strikes a good difficulty balance here because yeah It feels awesome to be so overpowered But the game throws it right back at you with some of these huge boss fights Thankfully instead of one hit deaths, which is what most people are used to in games like this You have a health meter so you can afford to take some damage You only get one life though and it's game over and there is a password system here instead of a battery saved So it's another situation where you're better off just taking a picture of the screen with your phone if you want to play This one on original hardware. So yeah guardian legend has a ton to offer It's a hugely ambitious game and it comes through big-time both from a technical standpoint and from a design standpoint The music in this game is great The visuals are distinct some of the boss design is cool really the only flaws I can think of are the occasional slowdown that pops up here and there and the fact that it's pretty easy to get lost And not know where the hell to go next But even then the game gives you ample opportunities to get your wits about you and figure things out for yourself There isn't another game quite like guardian legend out there period and it's a must-play for the NES And I want to thank you for watching and I hope you have a great rest of your day


Hello, Oslo, it's Sink here. It's Halloween, which means that by the rules of the YouTube algorithm I am required to do a spooky video today So what I thought I would do is I would get some kind of Creepy video and then maybe do a sound design soundtrack over the top of it So I asked my friend Mark who's a video maker whether he had some Creepy footage just sort of lying around because he's the kind of guy that would he did he sent me Some stuff over and I cut it together into like two minutes of just sort of uneasy creepy kind of visuals So that left me with the question of what synth I was going to use to create the sounds and as it so happens I have just been sent this Which is the stylophone Gen X1 Those of you familiar with the original stylophone might know it to be quite a basic synth Basically, that's one sound and you play it with this little Stylus hence the name But Dubwreck who now owned the stylophone brand Brought out the Gen X1 which added some of the features that you might expect from a Proper synth so we've got a filter. We've got an LFO on here We've got an envelope and we've got a delay as well So I thought it'd be really interesting to take the Gen X1 and use it as the sole sound source for this creepy soundtrack Although I will also bring in the Palawa reverb, which is just out of shot up there Because you know you need reverb you always need reverb Okay, so I think the place where I'll start for this track is to give it an underlying sense of dread And I think the best way to create an underlying sense of dread is a good solid drone sound so The first thing we'll need to do Is tune this down so we have only got this Range here on the keyboard. We also have this ribbon controller Which allows us to do sort of pure glissando type stuff, which I will come back to you later I think for some other parts. So the first thing we want to do is on the back of the unit Just here there is a tuning control So just bear with me a moment While I tune it so I've just got a tuner on up on my computer screen through the Magic of editing this will probably not take very long at all Close enough for jazz so now I've done that That's some extra low-end but not enough yet So I'm just going to come on to the underside here. I don't know whether it will focus. There we go I think that's got it We've got these three buttons So we've got minus one minus two so those are sub-octaves one octave down two octaves down So let's start by introducing the one octave down there to give us a little bit more Low-end doom Immediately more doomful The other thing that I'm going to turn on here is the one that's marked X The one that's marked X enables pulse width modulation, which will Please the great Nick bat and also make everything sound better because it always does Nice the other thing I think that is good with a drone Is to introduce some kind of slow pitch wobble not very much just enough to make it feel a little bit uneasy So if we go over to the LFO by default, this is going to control the pitch I want it on the triangle wave for smooth for vibrato And we can turn up the depth Maybe drop the rate a little bit as well. Okay, so that's Starting to feel a little bit doomful, but it's too bright at the moment. So let's use our filter to take that down a little bit We can also increase the resonance extra bit of mid-range The resonance on this actually gets pretty screamy if you want it to already here. It's kind of Almost oscillating this But you do need to be careful it isn't robbed too much bottom end Okay, so that's sounding Somewhere decent I think But let's also turn on the delay to create extra drone movement And that's sounding pretty cool now And what I'll do during the performance if you like is that I can be tweaking the filter and Also the feedback level on the delay because this delay will go into self-oscillation so we can create sort of clattering menace Which we can then just back off just by bringing that feedback back And then I think the finish in touch here the seasoning on top I think if I reach across and I'll turn on my Polaro reverb Which is on a hall setting and so do two things one obviously You'll get that sort of long drawn out reverb But the other thing it will do is it will widen the sound as well because it's stereo reverb which I'll leave us with something like this Which I think sounds rather good, I think what I'll do is maybe double track two of these For double doom Okay, so next thing I want to lean into the fact that the style of phone is Delightfully cheesy when it wants to be so I thought what I'd try and do is create kind of a faux Theramint kind of sound to give it the kind of that B movie kind of vibe There's nothing spookier than a Theramint. I reckon so to play in commas And quotes rather the Theramint what we're going to use is this strip here Which gives us kind of like a full Glideable playing surface because otherwise we're not going to be able to do Kind of glissando type of stuff On the main keyboard, which is fine. So let's get our Theramint happening. So the first thing is It's a little bit bright, so let's just Bring that down a little bit and the other thing when we come to actually play it We can use the filter to get that kind of Fading in kind of thing that you can do with a Theramint That we can't do so easily here so next thing let's fake up some vibrato because With the Theramint you're constantly kind of giving it that sort of wobble Which is kind of part of the signature sound. So let's bring in the LFO this time for a little bit faster. So again on the triangle mode Fast on that Push the depth as far as we can without it sounding seasick Probably about there Let's bring in the delay again because you know, it's there. Why wouldn't you? Maybe I feel like a short kind of slapbacky type thing this time. That's feedback. Maybe This level feedback Something like that and let's bring in some reverb again I think this time maybe a spring sound might be nice sort of lean into that kind of vintage vibe So I've set the spring algorithm on the Polaro. I think that will work Okay, so what I think I want next is kind of like a pulsing bass Just maybe like even if it's just one note Just to kind of bring in partway through the track to kind of add to the building menace as the track builds up So I'm tuned Back up, but what we'll do is we'll turn on both the one octave down and that Two octave down as well and we'll put on the Pulse width modulation for good measure as well So that's our kind of our starting point and we'll darken that down because this is a bass And then we'll come over to the envelope the envelope by default is going to affect the filter So if we just bring up the decay a little bit Maybe down there a little bit of resonance, I don't know about you, but that's Quite a cool kind of classic bass sound So I was thinking rather than actually having to play a pulse Don't don't what if we just get the delay to do it? So let's slap that delay on and we'll just crank the delay time Bring up the level Yeah, the delay is not pristine We'll play it like that just try tweaking the Get the feedback so we're getting Four pulses and then I'll replay each time hold it down. Let it build up And let's give it some review as well. Just to keep with the theme I think maybe the plate algorithm this time be nicer did lay went slightly longer, but it is what it is I think and we can probably affect the filter Manually as the track progresses, I think that'll do very nicely indeed Okay, I think we're on the home straight here but I want to introduce a couple of other kind of effect II kind of things just to Bring about a great sense of unease in the listener And I think probably one way that we can create unease is by using kind of Fibrato and sort of out of tune II kind of sounds and we're just going to sweep them in now weave them into the track I think so Back at our kind of There's already some for our two on the kind of our bass line track here Well, let's bring about some vibrato. Let's go fairly deep. I think probably also maybe We played them On there maybe a little bit. Anyway, that's way too bright at the moment. So let's darken that down Let's also use the envelope we crank the attack and decay will get a natural filter sweep because the envelope is Normal to the filter and give it some delay a bit more resonance wider depth I think darker and more resonance perhaps Something like that and let's give it a little bit of reverb Maybe a room reverb this time Something like that. I think Okay, so I think I want to create one more kind of effect And then it's kind of the effect of skin crawling. So I'm thinking kind of like a something creepy crawly And I think the way I'm going to do this is by using the square wave on the LFO Do it quite fast and maybe adjust the rates to play and just kind of drag a sound Down here I've tuned up really really high Because I figure creepy crawly things of my pitch. Don't know. I might adjust the tuning. It's really high up at the top There isn't it too high? Probably too high Yeah, something like that. Okay, so let's Bring the rate up fairly high on the LFO and the depth up fairly high Actually, I'll have the pulse with modulation on just because I haven't for a while Faster than that. It's way too bright. So let's just bring the filter down some things I think like that That sounds not great at this point. I think I only need some delay It has almost like a Metallic sound to it So I think something like that. Maybe with a shorter delay time We need to be tweaking that delay time and getting those kind of pitch-bendy things happening Yes, so tweaking the rate and the delay time. I think there and Let's come full circle and I'll put a haul reverb on that perhaps Yes, I think that'll do very nicely Anyway, I hope you found that interesting and enjoyable and a little bit spooky as well If you did make sure you hit the old thumbs up button and make sure you subscribe to the channel So you don't miss out on any upcoming Synth fun on the channel and also make sure you check out the finished video Which will be linked in the description and also probably the thing will pop up there if I remember to do it You'll find it on the channel anyway. Thank you to Dubreck for sending this over for me to have a play with I've had good fun with it If you have any questions, of course, you can just drop me a line in the comments below and other than that Thank you so much for joining me as always take care and I'll see you again soon