Jack's reading was very puzzling. He always had the same book - that
"Cardinal's Snuff-box" - and pored over it with a strange persistence,
that could not have been inspired by the book. There was no expression on
his face of lively interest or pleasure, just an intent, dogged
persistence; the strong, firm chin set as though he were colt-breaking.
Gradually, as I watched him that night, the truth dawned on me: the man
was trying to teach himself to read. The "Cardinal's Snuff-box"! and the
only clue to the mystery, a fair knowledge of the alphabet learned away
in a childish past. In truth, it takes a deal to "beat the Scots," or,
what is even better, to make them feel that they are beaten.
As I watched, full of admiration, for the proud, strong character of the
man, he looked up suddenly, and, in a flash, knew that I knew. Flushing
hotly, he rose, and "thought he would turn in "; and Dan, who had been
discussing education most of the evening, decided to "bottle off a bit of
sleep too for next day's use," and opened up his swag.
"There's one thing about not being too good at the reading trick," he
said, surveying his permanent property: "a chap doesn't need to carry
books round with him to put in the spare time."
"Exactly," the Maluka laughed. He was Iying on his back, with an open
book face downwards on his chest, looking up at the stars. He always had
a book with him, but, book-lover as he was, it rarely got farther than
his chest when we were in camp. Life out-bush is more absorbing than
books.
"Of course reading's handy enough for them as don't lay much stock on
education," Dan owned, stringing his net between his mosquito-pegs, then,
struck with a new idea, he "wondered why the missus never carries books
round. Any one 'ud think she wasn't much at the reading trick herself,"
he said. "Never see you at it, missus, when I'm round."
"Lay too much stock on education," I answered, and, chuckling, Dan
retired into his net, little guessing that when he was "round," his own
self, his quaint outlook on life, and the underlying truth of his
inexhaustible, whimsical philosophy, were infinitely more interesting
than the best book ever written.
But the Quiet Stockman seemed perplexed at the answer. "I thought
reading 'ud learn you most things," he said, hesitating beside his own
net; and before we could speak, the corner of Dan's net was lifted and
his head reappeared. "I've learned a deal of things in my time," he
chuckled, "but READING never taught me none of 'em." Then his head once
more disappeared, and we tried to explain matters to the Quiet Stockman.
The time was not yet ready for the offer of a helping hand.
