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- Джек Лондон
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He
never
lost
a
moment
.
On
the
looking
-
glass
were
lists
of
definitions
and
pronunciations
;
when
shaving
,
or
dressing
,
or
combing
his
hair
,
he
conned
these
lists
over
.
Similar
lists
were
on
the
wall
over
the
oil
-
stove
,
and
they
were
similarly
conned
while
he
was
engaged
in
cooking
or
in
washing
the
dishes
.
New
lists
continually
displaced
the
old
ones
.
Every
strange
or
partly
familiar
word
encountered
in
his
reading
was
immediately
jotted
down
,
and
later
,
when
a
sufficient
number
had
been
accumulated
,
were
typed
and
pinned
to
the
wall
or
looking
-
glass
.
He
even
carried
them
in
his
pockets
,
and
reviewed
them
at
odd
moments
on
the
street
,
or
while
waiting
in
butcher
shop
or
grocery
to
be
served
.
He
went
farther
in
the
matter
.
Reading
the
works
of
men
who
had
arrived
,
he
noted
every
result
achieved
by
them
,
and
worked
out
the
tricks
by
which
they
had
been
achieved
—
the
tricks
of
narrative
,
of
exposition
,
of
style
,
the
points
of
view
,
the
contrasts
,
the
epigrams
;
and
of
all
these
he
made
lists
for
study
.
He
did
not
ape
.
He
sought
principles
.
He
drew
up
lists
of
effective
and
fetching
mannerisms
,
till
out
of
many
such
,
culled
from
many
writers
,
he
was
able
to
induce
the
general
principle
of
mannerism
,
and
,
thus
equipped
,
to
cast
about
for
new
and
original
ones
of
his
own
,
and
to
weigh
and
measure
and
appraise
them
properly
.
In
similar
manner
he
collected
lists
of
strong
phrases
,
the
phrases
of
living
language
,
phrases
that
bit
like
acid
and
scorched
like
flame
,
or
that
glowed
and
were
mellow
and
luscious
in
the
midst
of
the
arid
desert
of
common
speech
.
He
sought
always
for
the
principle
that
lay
behind
and
beneath
.
He
wanted
to
know
how
the
thing
was
done
;
after
that
he
could
do
it
for
himself
.
He
was
not
content
with
the
fair
face
of
beauty
.
He
dissected
beauty
in
his
crowded
little
bedroom
laboratory
,
where
cooking
smells
alternated
with
the
outer
bedlam
of
the
Silva
tribe
;
and
,
having
dissected
and
learned
the
anatomy
of
beauty
,
he
was
nearer
being
able
to
create
beauty
itself
.
He
was
so
made
that
he
could
work
only
with
understanding
.
He
could
not
work
blindly
,
in
the
dark
,
ignorant
of
what
he
was
producing
and
trusting
to
chance
and
the
star
of
his
genius
that
the
effect
produced
should
be
right
and
fine
.
He
had
no
patience
with
chance
effects
.
He
wanted
to
know
why
and
how
.
His
was
deliberate
creative
genius
,
and
,
before
he
began
a
story
or
poem
,
the
thing
itself
was
already
alive
in
his
brain
,
with
the
end
in
sight
and
the
means
of
realizing
that
end
in
his
conscious
possession
.
Otherwise
the
effort
was
doomed
to
failure
.
On
the
other
hand
,
he
appreciated
the
chance
effects
in
words
and
phrases
that
came
lightly
and
easily
into
his
brain
,
and
that
later
stood
all
tests
of
beauty
and
power
and
developed
tremendous
and
incommunicable
connotations
.
Before
such
he
bowed
down
and
marvelled
,
knowing
that
they
were
beyond
the
deliberate
creation
of
any
man
.
And
no
matter
how
much
he
dissected
beauty
in
search
of
the
principles
that
underlie
beauty
and
make
beauty
possible
,
he
was
aware
,
always
,
of
the
innermost
mystery
of
beauty
to
which
he
did
not
penetrate
and
to
which
no
man
had
ever
penetrated
.
He
knew
full
well
,
from
his
Spencer
,
that
man
can
never
attain
ultimate
knowledge
of
anything
,
and
that
the
mystery
of
beauty
was
no
less
than
that
of
life
—
nay
,
more
that
the
fibres
of
beauty
and
life
were
intertwisted
,
and
that
he
himself
was
but
a
bit
of
the
same
nonunderstandable
fabric
,
twisted
of
sunshine
and
star
-
dust
and
wonder
.
In
fact
,
it
was
when
filled
with
these
thoughts
that
he
wrote
his
essay
entitled
"
Star
-
dust
,
"
in
which
he
had
his
fling
,
not
at
the
principles
of
criticism
,
but
at
the
principal
critics
.
It
was
brilliant
,
deep
,
philosophical
,
and
deliciously
touched
with
laughter
.
Also
it
was
promptly
rejected
by
the
magazines
as
often
as
it
was
submitted
.
But
having
cleared
his
mind
of
it
,
he
went
serenely
on
his
way
.
It
was
a
habit
he
developed
,
of
incubating
and
maturing
his
thought
upon
a
subject
,
and
of
then
rushing
into
the
type
-
writer
with
it
.
That
it
did
not
see
print
was
a
matter
of
small
moment
with
him
.
The
writing
of
it
was
the
culminating
act
of
a
long
mental
process
,
the
drawing
together
of
scattered
threads
of
thought
and
the
final
generalizing
upon
all
the
data
with
which
his
mind
was
burdened
.
To
write
such
an
article
was
the
conscious
effort
by
which
he
freed
his
mind
and
made
it
ready
for
fresh
material
and
problems
.
It
was
in
a
way
akin
to
that
common
habit
of
men
and
women
troubled
by
real
or
fancied
grievances
,
who
periodically
and
volubly
break
their
long
-
suffering
silence
and
"
have
their
say
"
till
the
last
word
is
said
.
The
weeks
passed
.
Martin
ran
out
of
money
,
and
publishers
’
checks
were
far
away
as
ever
.
All
his
important
manuscripts
had
come
back
and
been
started
out
again
,
and
his
hack
-
work
fared
no
better
.
His
little
kitchen
was
no
longer
graced
with
a
variety
of
foods
.
Caught
in
the
pinch
with
a
part
sack
of
rice
and
a
few
pounds
of
dried
apricots
,
rice
and
apricots
was
his
menu
three
times
a
day
for
five
days
hand
-
running
.
Then
he
startled
to
realize
on
his
credit
.
The
Portuguese
grocer
,
to
whom
he
had
hitherto
paid
cash
,
called
a
halt
when
Martin
’
s
bill
reached
the
magnificent
total
of
three
dollars
and
eighty
-
five
cents
.
"
For
you
see
,
"
said
the
grocer
,
"
you
no
catcha
da
work
,
I
losa
da
mon
’
.
"
And
Martin
could
reply
nothing
.
There
was
no
way
of
explaining
.
It
was
not
true
business
principle
to
allow
credit
to
a
strong
-
bodied
young
fellow
of
the
working
-
class
who
was
too
lazy
to
work
.
"
You
catcha
da
job
,
I
let
you
have
mora
da
grub
,
"
the
grocer
assured
Martin
.
"
No
job
,
no
grub
.
Thata
da
business
.
"
And
then
,
to
show
that
it
was
purely
business
foresight
and
not
prejudice
,
"
Hava
da
drink
on
da
house
—
good
friends
justa
da
same
.
"
