"Reading's always had me dodged," he explained. "Left school before I
had time to get it down and wrestle with it."
"There's nothing like reading and writing," the Quiet Stockman broke in,
with an earnestness that was almost startling; and as he sat that evening
in the firelight poring over the "Cardinal's Snuff-box," I watched him
with a new interest.
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.
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