A CHARACTER SKETCH OF OUR HERO
Steve was not fond of school. He liked studying and learning, but he
wanted to select his own studies, and hated to be forced to learn what
he did not wish to study. He was passionately fond of books, with
hardly any distinction. He would never allow a book to pass out of his
hand without first reading it, if he could help it. If he got hold
of a book he would read it. If he had no time, he would make time.
While walking in the street, he would be holding the book in front
of his nose, while carefully feeling his steps, or while taking his
hurried meals, or when other people were soundly sleeping at night,
and even in school he would find time to read; and read books, too,
which no teacher of any self-respect would have tolerated. But what
did Steve care for the opinion of his teacher as to what books he
should read? A book was a book to him, to be used and to be made the
most of possible. He would smuggle the book into school under his
coat, and while his teacher was thinking that Steve was studying his
lessons most diligently, that young man would be deeply interested in
some book of travels, or something of the kind. Not that Steve did not
learn his lessons. He did learn them, but it did not take him long to
do so; reading his task over once or twice was quite sufficient for
him to know as much of it as he cared to know. His object was not to
be at the top of his class. No, his nature was too retiring to allow
him to render himself as conspicuous as all that. If he did happen to
come up top by accident, he made his way down to the bottom again as
fast as he could. His friend, Gus Turner, was also fond of being at
the bottom of the class, but not from choice, but perforce because his
mental abilities did not allow him to get up higher, and he always did
his best to keep Steve near him, for he found Steve useful to prompt
him when his own knowledge of questions asked, failed him. Steve
always obliged his friend as best he could, both in supplying answers
as well as in keeping near him at the bottom of the class. One day he
was caught in the act. The teacher had come down with a question right
from the top of the class, and no one could answer the question asked,
until he had come to Steve, who thoughtlessly answered it correctly.
‘Go up top,’ said the teacher. But Steve quietly kept his seat. He was
not going to leave his friend at the bottom while he went to the top!
The teacher soon noticed this, and asked him why he did not go up.
He replied that he did not care to do so. ‘Go to the bottom then,’
commanded the angry teacher. Steve did so. What did he care? His friend
was at the bottom; he had been just above him, now he was just below
him. What difference did it make?
I have said that Steve was fond of reading; he was also fond of
_thinking_--day-dreaming. His great delight was, when he had the time
for it, as on Sundays, for instance, to go out for a walk into the
veld, and find a shady grassy spot on which to lie on his back, looking
up into the sky, to _think_--think about all sorts of things, past,
present, and future. He did not fear to try and think out problems
which had puzzled greater and more matured brains than his. There was
one great mystery to which his thoughts generally would come back again
and again. He could generally find some solution to all questions that
cropped up, but this particular one would not be solved, turn it over
as he would. This mystery was--_Space_.