No More Learning

Mr. Beeton addressed Dick soothingly, but it was some time before the
latter, threshing up and down his bedroom, could realise the intention
of the promises to 'find everything tomorrow, sir. '

"Oh, you copper-nosed old fool--you impotent Academician! " he shouted
at last. "Do you suppose I want to shoot myself? Take the pistol in your
silly shaking hand then. If you touch it, it will go off, because it's
loaded. It's among my campaign-kit somewhere--in the parcel at the
bottom of the trunk. "

Long ago Dick had carefully possessed himself of a forty-pound weight
field-equipment constructed by the knowledge of his own experience. It
was this put-away treasure that he was trying to find and rehandle. Mr.
Beeton whipped the revolver out of its place on the top of the package,
and Dick drove his hand among the khaki coat and breeches, the blue
cloth leg-bands, and the heavy flannel shirts doubled over a pair of
swan-neck spurs. Under these and the water-bottle lay a sketch-book and
a pigskin case of stationery.

"These we don't want; you can have them, Mr. Beeton.
Everything else
I'll keep. Pack 'em on the top right-hand side of my trunk. When you've
done that come into the studio with your wife. I want you both. Wait a
minute; get me a pen and a sheet of notepaper. "

It is not an easy thing to write when you cannot see, and Dick had
particular reasons for wishing that his work should be clear. So he
began, following his right hand with his left: "The badness of this
writing is because I am blind and cannot see my pen. " H'mph! --even a
lawyer can't mistake that. It must be signed, I suppose, but it
needn't be witnessed. Now an inch lower--why did I never learn to use
a type-writer? --"This is the last will and testament of me, Richard
Heldar. I am in sound bodily and mental health, and there is no previous
will to revoke. "--That's all right. Damn the pen! Whereabouts on the
paper was I?