The Little Lady of the Big House. Джек Лондон

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СКАЧАТЬ in literature and history into the Curry County hunting region of southwestern Oregon. He had learned the trick from his father, and he worked, and played, lived in the open air, and did three conventional years of adolescent education in one year without straining himself. He fished, hunted, swam, exercised, and equipped himself for the university at the same time. And he made no mistake. He knew that he did it because his father’s twenty millions had invested him with mastery. Money was a tool. He did not over-rate it, nor under-rate it. He used it to buy what he wanted.

      “The weirdest form of dissipation I ever heard,” said Mr. Crockett, holding up Dick’s account for the year. “Sixteen thousand for education, all itemized, including railroad fares, porters’ tips, and shot-gun cartridges for his teachers.”

      “He passed the examinations just the same,” quoth Mr. Slocum.

      “And in a year,” growled Mr. Davidson. “My daughter’s boy entered Belmont at the same time, and, if he’s lucky, it will be two years yet before he enters the university.”

      “Well, all I’ve got to say,” proclaimed Mr. Crockett, “is that from now on what that boy says in the matter of spending his money goes.”

      “And now I’ll have a snap,” Dick told his guardians. “Here I am, neck and neck again, and years ahead of them in knowledge of the world. Why, I know things, good and bad, big and little, about men and women and life that sometimes I almost doubt myself that they’re true. But I know them.

      “From now on, I’m not going to rush. I’ve caught up, and I’m going through regular. All I have to do is to keep the speed of the classes, and I’ll be graduated when I’m twenty-one. From now on I’ll need less money for education – no more coaches, you know – and more money for a good time.”

      Mr. Davidson was suspicious.

      “What do you mean by a good time?”

      “Oh, I’m going in for the frats, for football, hold my own, you know – and I’m interested in gasoline engines. I’m going to build the first ocean-going gasoline yacht in the world – ”

      “You’ll blow yourself up,” Mr. Crockett demurred. “It’s a fool notion all these cranks are rushing into over gasoline.”

      “I’ll make myself safe,” Dick answered, “and that means experimenting, and it means money, so keep me a good drawing account – same old way – all four of us can draw.”

      Chapter VI

      Dick Forrest proved himself no prodigy at the university, save that he cut more lectures the first year than any other student. The reason for this was that he did not need the lectures he cut, and he knew it. His coaches, while preparing him for the entrance examinations, had carried him nearly through the first college year. Incidentally, he made the Freshman team, a very scrub team, that was beaten by every high school and academy it played against.

      But Dick did put in work that nobody saw. His collateral reading was wide and deep, and when he went on his first summer cruise in the ocean-going gasoline yacht he had built no gay young crowd accompanied him. Instead, his guests, with their families, were professors of literature, history, jurisprudence, and philosophy. It was long remembered in the university as the “high-brow” cruise. The professors, on their return, reported a most enjoyable time. Dick returned with a greater comprehension of the general fields of the particular professors than he could have gained in years at their class-lectures. And time thus gained, enabled him to continue to cut lectures and to devote more time to laboratory work.

      Nor did he miss having his good college time. College widows made love to him, and college girls loved him, and he was indefatigable in his dancing. He never cut a smoker, a beer bust, or a rush, and he toured the Pacific Coast with the Banjo and Mandolin Club.

      And yet he was no prodigy. He was brilliant at nothing. Half a dozen of his fellows could out-banjo and out-mandolin him. A dozen fellows were adjudged better dancers than he. In football, and he gained the Varsity in his Sophomore year, he was considered a solid and dependable player, and that was all. It seemed never his luck to take the ball and go down the length of the field while the Blue and Gold host tore itself and the grandstand to pieces. But it was at the end of heart-breaking, grueling slog in mud and rain, the score tied, the second half imminent to its close, Stanford on the five-yard line, Berkeley’s ball, with two downs and three yards to gain – it was then that the Blue and Gold arose and chanted its demand for Forrest to hit the center and hit it hard.

      He never achieved super-excellence at anything. Big Charley Everson drank him down at the beer busts. Harrison Jackson, at hammer-throwing, always exceeded his best by twenty feet. Carruthers out-pointed him at boxing. Anson Burge could always put his shoulders to the mat, two out of three, but always only by the hardest work. In English composition a fifth of his class excelled him. Edlin, the Russian Jew, out-debated him on the contention that property was robbery. Schultz and Debret left him with the class behind in higher mathematics; and Otsuki, the Japanese, was beyond all comparison with him in chemistry.

      But if Dick Forrest did not excel at anything, he failed in nothing. He displayed no superlative strength, he betrayed no weakness nor deficiency. As he told his guardians, who, by his unrelenting good conduct had been led into dreaming some great career for him; as he told them, when they asked what he wanted to become:

      “Nothing. Just all around. You see, I don’t have to be a specialist. My father arranged that for me when he left me his money. Besides, I couldn’t be a specialist if I wanted to. It isn’t me.”

      And thus so well-keyed was he, that he expressed clearly his key. He had no flare for anything. He was that rare individual, normal, average, balanced, all-around.

      When Mr. Davidson, in the presence of his fellow guardians, stated his pleasure in that Dick had shown no wildness since he had settled down, Dick replied:

      “Oh, I can hold myself when I want to.”

      “Yes,” said Mr. Slocum gravely. “It’s the finest thing in the world that you sowed your wild oats early and learned control.”

      Dick looked at him curiously.

      “Why, that boyish adventure doesn’t count,” he said. “That wasn’t wildness. I haven’t gone wild yet. But watch me when I start. Do you know Kipling’s ‘Song of Diego Valdez’? Let me quote you a bit of it. You see, Diego Valdez, like me, had good fortune. He rose so fast to be High Admiral of Spain that he found no time to take the pleasure he had merely tasted. He was lusty and husky, but he had no time, being too busy rising. But always, he thought, he fooled himself with the thought, that his lustiness and huskiness would last, and, after he became High Admiral he could then have his pleasure. Always he remembered:

      “’ – comrades —

      Old playmates on new seas —

      When as we traded orpiment

      Among the savages —

      A thousand leagues to south’ard

      And thirty years removed —

      They knew not noble Valdez,

      But me they knew and loved.

      “’Then they that found good liquor

      They drank it not alone,

      And they that found fair plunder,

      They told us every one,

      Behind our chosen islands

      Or secret shoals between,

      When, walty from far voyage,

      We gathered СКАЧАТЬ