“Oh, pother!” said Linda. “I know of a case where a little Indian was picked up from a tribal battlefield in South America and brought to this country and put into our schools, and there was nothing that any white pupil in the school could do that he couldn’t, so long as it was imitative work. You have got to be constructive. You have got to work out some way to get ahead of them; and if you will take the history of the white races and go over their great achievements in mechanics, science, art, literature—anything you choose—when a white man is constructive, when he does create, he can simply cut circles around the coloured races. The thing is to get the boys and girls of to-day to understand what is going on in the world, what they must do as their share in making the world safe for their grandchildren. Life is a struggle. It always has been. It always will be. There is no better study than to go into the canyons or the deserts and efface yourself and watch life. It’s an all-day process of the stronger annihilating the weaker. The one inexorable thing in the world is Nature. The eagle dominates the hawk; the hawk, the falcon; the falcon, the raven; and so on down to the place where the humming bird drives the moth from his particular trumpet flower. The big snake swallows the little one. The big bear appropriates the desirable cave.”
“And is that what you are recommending people to do?”
“No,” said Linda, “it is not. That is wild. We go a step ahead of the wild, or we ourselves become wild. We have brains, and with our brains we must do in a scientific way what Nature does with tooth and claw. In other words, and to be concrete, put these things in the car while I fold the blanket. We’ll gather our miners’ lettuce and then we’ll go home and search Daddy’s library and see if there is anything bearing in a higher way on any subject you are taking, so that you can get from it some new ideas, some different angle, some higher light, something that will end in speedily prefacing Oka Sayye’s perfect with your pluperfect!”
CHAPTER X
Katy to the Rescue
Linda delivered Donald Whiting at his door with an armload of books and a bundle of miners’ lettuce and then drove to her home in Lilac Valley—in the eye of the beholder on the floor-level macadam road; in her own eye she scarcely grazed it. The smooth, easy motion of the car, the softly purring engine were thrilling. The speed at which she was going was like having wings on her body. The mental stimulus she had experienced in concentrating her brain on Donald Whiting’s problem had stimulated her imagination. The radiant colour of spring; the chilled, perfumed, golden air; the sure sense of having found a friend, had ruffled the plumes of her spirit. On the home road Donald had plainly indicated that he would enjoy spending the morrow with her, and she had advised him to take the books she had provided and lock himself in his room and sweat out some information about Monday’s lessons which would at least arrest his professor’s attention, and lead his mind to the fact that something was beginning to happen. And then she had laughingly added: “To-morrow is Katy’s turn. I told the old dear I would take her as soon as I felt the car was safe. Every day she does many things that she hopes will give me pleasure. This is one thing I can do that I know will delight her.”
“Next Saturday, then?” questioned Donald. And Linda nodded.
“Sure thing. I’ll be thinking up some place extra interesting. Come in the morning if you want, and we’ll take a lunch and go for the day. Which do you like best, mountains or canyons or desert or sea?”
“I like it best wherever what you’re interested in takes you,” said Donald simply.
“All right, then,” answered Linda, “we’ll combine business and pleasure.”