Read After Many a Summer Dies the Swan for Free Online

to himself. “There is no death.” The late Prudence McGladdery Stoyte had been a Christian Scientist. “God is love,” he said again, and reflected that, if people would only stop being so exasperating, he would never have to lose his temper. “God is love.” It was all their fault.
    Clancy, meanwhile, had left his car and, grotesquely pot-bellied over spindly legs, was coming up the steps, mysteriously smiling and winking, as he approached.
    â€œWhat is it?” Mr. Stoyte inquired, and wished to God the man wouldn’t make those faces. “Oh, by the way,” he added, “this is Mr. . . . Mr. . . .”
    â€œPordage,” said Jeremy.
    Clancy was pleased to meet him. The hand he gave to Jeremy was disagreeably sweaty.
    â€œI got some news for you,” said Clancy in a hoarse conspiratorial whisper; and, speaking behind his hand, so that his words and the smell of cigar should be for Mr. Stoyte alone, “You remember Tittelbaum?” he added.
    â€œThat chap in the City Engineer’s Department?”
    Clancy nodded. “One of the boys,” he affirmed enigmatically, and again winked.
    â€œWell, what about him?” asked Mr. Stoyte; and in spite of God’s being love, there was a note in his voice of renascent exasperation.
    Clancy shot a glance at Jeremy Pordage; then, with the elaborate by-play of Guy Fawkes talking to Catesby on the stage of a provincial theatre, he took Mr. Stoyte by the arm and led him a few feet away, up the steps. “Do you know what Tittelbaum told me today?” he asked rhetorically.
    â€œHow the devil should I know?” (But no, no. God is love. There is no death.)
    Undeterred by the signs of Mr. Stoyte’s irritation, Clancy went on with his performance. “He told me what they’ve decided about . . .” he lowered his voice still further, “about the San Felipe Valley.”
    â€œWell, what have they decided?” Once more Mr. Stoyte was at the limits of his patience.
    Before answering, Clancy removed the cigar butt from his mouth, threw it away, produced another cigar out of his waistcoat pocket, tore off the cellophane wrapping and stuck it, unlighted, in the place occupied by the old one.
    â€œThey’ve decided,” he said very slowly, so as to give each word its full dramatic effect, “they’ve decided to pipe the water into it.”
    Mr. Stoyte’s expression of exasperation gave place at last to one of interest. “Enough to irrigate the whole valley?” he asked.
    â€œEnough to irrigate the whole valley,” Clancy repeated with solemnity.
    Mr. Stoyte was silent for a moment. “How much time have we got?” he asked at last.
    â€œTittelbaum thought the news wouldn’t break for another six weeks.”
    â€œSix weeks?” Mr. Stoyte hesitated for a moment; then made his decision. “All right. Get busy at once,” he said with the peremptory manners of one accustomed to command. “Go down yourself and take a few of the other boys along with you. Independent purchasers—interested in cattle raising; want to start a Dude Ranch. Buy all you can. What’s the price, by the way?”
    â€œAverages twelve dollars an acre.”
    â€œTwelve,” Mr. Stoyte repeated, and reflected that it would go to a hundred as soon as they started laying the pipe. “How many acres do you figure you can get?” he asked.
    â€œMaybe thirty thousand.”
    Mr. Stoyte’s face beamed with satisfaction. “Good,” he said briskly. “Very good. No mention of my name, of course,” he added, and then, without pause or transition: “What’s Tittelbaum going to cost?”
    Clancy smiled contemptuously. “Oh, I’ll give him four or five hundred bucks.”
    â€œThat all?”
    The other nodded. “Tittelbaum’s in the bargain basement,” he said. “Can’t afford to ask any fancy prices. He