Chapter 1.X. He Shows His Teeth.
Doss sat among the karoo bushes, one yellow ear drawn over his wickedlittle eye, ready to flap away any adventurous fly that might settle onhis nose. Around him in the morning sunlight fed the sheep; behind himlay his master polishing his machine. He found much comfort in handlingit that morning. A dozen philosophical essays, or angelically atunedsongs for the consolation of the bereaved, could never have been to himwhat that little sheep-shearing machine was that day.
After struggling to see the unseeable, growing drunk with the endeavourto span the infinite, and writhing before the inscrutable mystery, itis a renovating relief to turn to some simple, feelable, weighablesubstance; to something which has a smell and a colour, which may behandled and turned over this way and that. Whether there be or be nota hereafter, whether there be any use in calling aloud to the Unseenpower, whether there be an Unseen power to call to, whatever be the truenature of the "I" who call and of the objects around me, whatever beour meaning, our internal essence, our cause (and in a certain order ofminds death and the agony of loss inevitably awaken the wild desire,at other times smothered, to look into these things), whatever be thenature of that which lies beyond the unbroken wall which the limits ofthe human intellect build up on every hand, this thing is certain--aknife will cut wood, and one cogged wheel will turn another. This issure.
Waldo found an immeasurable satisfaction in the handling of his machine;but Doss winked and blinked, and thought it all frightfully monotonousout there on the flat, and presently dropped asleep, sitting boltupright. Suddenly his eyes opened wide; something was coming from thedirection of the homestead. Winking his eyes and looking intently, heperceived it was the grey mare. Now Doss had wondered much of late whathad become of her master. Seeing she carried some one on her back, henow came to his own conclusion, and began to move his tail violently upand down. Presently he pricked up one ear and let the other hang; histail became motionless, and the expression of his mouth was one ofdecided disapproval bordering on scorn. He wrinkled his lips up on eachside into little lines.
The sand was soft, and the grey mare came on so noiselessly that the boyheard nothing till Bonaparte dismounted. Then Doss got up and moved backa step. He did not approve of Bonaparte's appearance. His costume,in truth, was of a unique kind. It was a combination of the town andcountry. The tails of his black cloth coat were pinned up behind to keepthem from rubbing; he had on a pair of moleskin trousers and leathergaiters, and in his hand he carried a little whip of rhinoceros hide.
Waldo started and looked up. Had there been a moment's time he wouldhave dug a hole in the sand with his hands and buried his treasure. Itwas only a toy of wood, but he loved it, as one of necessity loves whathas been born of him, whether of the flesh or spirit. When cold eyeshave looked at it, the feathers are rubbed off our butterfly's wingforever.
"What have you here, my lad?" said Bonaparte, standing by him, andpointing with the end of his whip to the medley of wheels and hinges.
The boy muttered something inaudible, and half spread over the thing.
"But this seems to be a very ingenious little machine," said Bonaparte,seating himself on the antheap, and bending down over it with deepinterest. "What is it for, my lad?"
"Shearing sheep."
"It is a very nice little machine," said Bonaparte. "How does it work,now? I have never seen anything so ingenious!"
There was never a parent who heard deception in the voice that praisedhis child--his first-born. Here was one who liked the thing that hadbeen created in him. He forgot everything. He showed how the shearswould work with a little guidance, how the sheep would be held, and thewool fall into the trough. A flush burst over his face as he spoke.
"I tell you what, my lad," said Bonaparte emphatically, when theexplanation was finished, "we must get you a patent. Your fortune ismade. In three years' time there'll not be a farm in this colony whereit isn't working. You're a genius, that's what you are!" said Bonaparte,rising.
"If it were made larger," said the boy, raising his eyes, "it would workmore smoothly. Do you think there would be any one in this colony wouldbe able to make it?"
"I'm sure they could," said Bonaparte; "and if not, why I'll do my bestfor you. I'll send it to England. It must be done somehow. How long haveyou worked at it?"
"Nine months," said the boy.
"Oh, it is such a nice little machine," said Bonaparte, "one can't helpfeeling an interest in it. There is only one little improvement, onevery little improvement, I should like to make."
Bonaparte put his foot on the machine and crushed it into the sand. Theboy looked up into his face.
"Looks better now," said Bonaparte, "doesn't it? If we can't have itmade in England we'll send it to America. Good-bye; ta-ta," he added."You're a great genius, a born genius, my dear boy, there's no doubtabout it."
He mounted the grey mare and rode off. The dog watched his retreat withcynical satisfaction; but his master lay on the ground with his head onhis arms in the sand, and the little wheels and chips of wood lay onthe ground around him. The dog jumped on to his back and snapped at theblack curls, till, finding that no notice was taken, he walked off toplay with a black beetle. The beetle was hard at work trying to rollhome a great ball of dung it had been collecting all the morning: butDoss broke the ball, and ate the beetle's hind legs, and then bit offits head. And it was all play, and no one could tell what it had livedand worked for. A striving, and a striving, and an ending in nothing.
The Story of an African Farm Page 12
