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- Джек Лондон
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- Мартин Иден
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"
Knowledge
seems
to
me
like
a
chart
-
room
.
Whenever
I
go
into
the
library
,
I
am
impressed
that
way
.
The
part
played
by
teachers
is
to
teach
the
student
the
contents
of
the
chart
-
room
in
a
systematic
way
.
The
teachers
are
guides
to
the
chart
-
room
,
that
’
s
all
.
It
’
s
not
something
that
they
have
in
their
own
heads
.
They
don
’
t
make
it
up
,
don
’
t
create
it
.
It
’
s
all
in
the
chart
-
room
and
they
know
their
way
about
in
it
,
and
it
’
s
their
business
to
show
the
place
to
strangers
who
might
else
get
lost
.
Now
I
don
’
t
get
lost
easily
.
I
have
the
bump
of
location
.
I
usually
know
where
I
’
m
at
—
What
’
s
wrong
now
?
"
"
Don
’
t
say
‘
where
I
’
m
at
.
’
"
"
That
’
s
right
,
"
he
said
gratefully
,
"
where
I
am
.
But
where
am
I
at
—
I
mean
,
where
am
I
?
Oh
,
yes
,
in
the
chart
-
room
.
Well
,
some
people
—
"
"
Persons
,
"
she
corrected
.
"
Some
persons
need
guides
,
most
persons
do
;
but
I
think
I
can
get
along
without
them
.
I
’
ve
spent
a
lot
of
time
in
the
chart
-
room
now
,
and
I
’
m
on
the
edge
of
knowing
my
way
about
,
what
charts
I
want
to
refer
to
,
what
coasts
I
want
to
explore
.
And
from
the
way
I
line
it
up
,
I
’
ll
explore
a
whole
lot
more
quickly
by
myself
.
The
speed
of
a
fleet
,
you
know
,
is
the
speed
of
the
slowest
ship
,
and
the
speed
of
the
teachers
is
affected
the
same
way
.
They
can
’
t
go
any
faster
than
the
ruck
of
their
scholars
,
and
I
can
set
a
faster
pace
for
myself
than
they
set
for
a
whole
schoolroom
.
"
"
‘
He
travels
the
fastest
who
travels
alone
,
’
"
she
quoted
at
him
.
But
I
’
d
travel
faster
with
you
just
the
same
,
was
what
he
wanted
to
blurt
out
,
as
he
caught
a
vision
of
a
world
without
end
of
sunlit
spaces
and
starry
voids
through
which
he
drifted
with
her
,
his
arm
around
her
,
her
pale
gold
hair
blowing
about
his
face
.
In
the
same
instant
he
was
aware
of
the
pitiful
inadequacy
of
speech
.
God
!
If
he
could
so
frame
words
that
she
could
see
what
he
then
saw
!
And
he
felt
the
stir
in
him
,
like
a
throe
of
yearning
pain
,
of
the
desire
to
paint
these
visions
that
flashed
unsummoned
on
the
mirror
of
his
mind
.
Ah
,
that
was
it
!
He
caught
at
the
hem
of
the
secret
.
It
was
the
very
thing
that
the
great
writers
and
master
-
poets
did
.
That
was
why
they
were
giants
.
They
knew
how
to
express
what
they
thought
,
and
felt
,
and
saw
.
Dogs
asleep
in
the
sun
often
whined
and
barked
,
but
they
were
unable
to
tell
what
they
saw
that
made
them
whine
and
bark
.
He
had
often
wondered
what
it
was
.
And
that
was
all
he
was
,
a
dog
asleep
in
the
sun
.
He
saw
noble
and
beautiful
visions
,
but
he
could
only
whine
and
bark
at
Ruth
.
But
he
would
cease
sleeping
in
the
sun
.
He
would
stand
up
,
with
open
eyes
,
and
he
would
struggle
and
toil
and
learn
until
,
with
eyes
unblinded
and
tongue
untied
,
he
could
share
with
her
his
visioned
wealth
.
Other
men
had
discovered
the
trick
of
expression
,
of
making
words
obedient
servitors
,
and
of
making
combinations
of
words
mean
more
than
the
sum
of
their
separate
meanings
.
He
was
stirred
profoundly
by
the
passing
glimpse
at
the
secret
,
and
he
was
again
caught
up
in
the
vision
of
sunlit
spaces
and
starry
voids
—
until
it
came
to
him
that
it
was
very
quiet
,
and
he
saw
Ruth
regarding
him
with
an
amused
expression
and
a
smile
in
her
eyes
.
"
I
have
had
a
great
visioning
,
"
he
said
,
and
at
the
sound
of
his
words
in
his
own
ears
his
heart
gave
a
leap
.
Where
had
those
words
come
from
?
They
had
adequately
expressed
the
pause
his
vision
had
put
in
the
conversation
.
It
was
a
miracle
.
Never
had
he
so
loftily
framed
a
lofty
thought
.
But
never
had
he
attempted
to
frame
lofty
thoughts
in
words
.
That
was
it
.
That
explained
it
.
He
had
never
tried
.
But
Swinburne
had
,
and
Tennyson
,
and
Kipling
,
and
all
the
other
poets
.
His
mind
flashed
on
to
his
"
Pearl
-
diving
.
"
He
had
never
dared
the
big
things
,
the
spirit
of
the
beauty
that
was
a
fire
in
him
.
That
article
would
be
a
different
thing
when
he
was
done
with
it
.
He
was
appalled
by
the
vastness
of
the
beauty
that
rightfully
belonged
in
it
,
and
again
his
mind
flashed
and
dared
,
and
he
demanded
of
himself
why
he
could
not
chant
that
beauty
in
noble
verse
as
the
great
poets
did
.
And
there
was
all
the
mysterious
delight
and
spiritual
wonder
of
his
love
for
Ruth
.
Why
could
he
not
chant
that
,
too
,
as
the
poets
did
?
They
had
sung
of
love
.
So
would
he
.
By
God
!
—
And
in
his
frightened
ears
he
heard
his
exclamation
echoing
.
Carried
away
,
he
had
breathed
it
aloud
.
The
blood
surged
into
his
face
,
wave
upon
wave
,
mastering
the
bronze
of
it
till
the
blush
of
shame
flaunted
itself
from
collar
-
rim
to
the
roots
of
his
hair
.
"
I
—
I
—
beg
your
pardon
,
"
he
stammered
.
"
I
was
thinking
.
"
