In many ways the first winter of their squatting in the Nicola Valley was a tester on the ex-bankclerks. They sometimes felt like giving up; not because they needed food or drink, but because of the youth in them. Young men are impetuous animals; they want to be forever shifting. Sometimes Evan had to walk in the beautiful winter night until he was tired out, so that he could forget his yearnings for city life, especially New York life. He felt the lure of the White Way at a distance of three thousand miles. Others had felt it from the ends of the earth, and had succumbed to it.
But Nelson did not succumb. He knew he must take his mind off the East, if he would succeed in the West, and he did so. He read more and more every week. When Henty was away at the scantlings Evan studied and thought. At last he began to write down his thoughts; he discovered that there was great satisfaction in expressing himself to a sheet of paper. He eventually sent to Vancouver for a typewriter, bought a book of instruction, and for twenty-one days studied the touch method. He practised six and eight hours a day, with his eyes on the chart before him. At the end of the twenty-one days he was a touch-typist, accurate and fairly rapid. The typewriter off his mind, he wrote and wrote. His heart was fast wrapping itself in vellum. Henty looked on in silence for a few weeks, then shook his head and said facetiously:
"I'm afraid you don't love me any more, Nelsy."
But spring soon came to A. P.'s relief, with the advent of which Evan had to set aside his typewriter and dream without writing down his dreams. Because of faculties newly awakened, however, he found more beauty and entertainment in Nature than he had ever seen there before. He began to think poems as he worked on the land. The plots of stories came to him, and articles grew upward from the horizon to the sun, or in columns like Oriental writings. At night he would sit up an hour longer than his big red-faced friend, and pour out his imaginings to the typewriter—the poor typewriter. The speed he developed was a detriment to composition; the faster he went the more hyperbolic and awful became his effusions, and so we repeat, the poor typewriter! It had brought about its own terrible punishment.
The summer passed, bringing its crops again, and another batch of pigs. A mare and a cow added to the animal creation, too. Old man Henty sent out a reaper and commanded his son to grow hay the following year instead of buying it from the Okanagan Valley. The boys built another out-house, bought some calves, and kept adding to their effects. The calves gave Evan copy for some humorous stories, several of which were good enough to be rejected by an Eastern magazine. The young "writer" thought the "not available" slip had been written especially for him, and its wording flattered him to further submissions.
The second winter was almost a repetition of the first—for Henty; but not for his companion. They made a trip to Vancouver at Christmas and sent bundles of presents home. A. P. loaded up with novels, and, to Evan's consternation, bought a guitar. But he learned to strum it, although it took him all winter.
Henty was a marvel in his way. Nelson put him in many a sketch and story. Not once during the long months had the Banfield ex-junior acted the part of a weakling. Evan reflected that it was easy enough for himself to keep within bounds, speaking after the manner of Physical Culture, being mentally engaged all the time; but Henty seemed to contain himself by force of will. His virility made a man of him instead of being a snare to him. Evan conceived a hope, founded on the respect he had for his companion, that was some day going to be realized.
A. P. took increased interest in the writings of his friend.
"Evan," he said, one day, in his sudden way, "I should think that a fellow with your habit of writing would tell the story a certain ex-bankclerk has to tell about the bank."
"By Jove!" exclaimed Evan.