XXXII
A RAINY DAY WITH DUNBAR
DUNBAR was in excellent spirits that evening. He seemed indeed like onewho has had some specially good fortune happen to him, or one suddenlyrelieved of some distress or sore annoyance.
Throughout the evening he talked with the boys in a way that greatlyinterested them. He made no display of learning, but they easilydiscovered that his information was both vast and varied, and betterstill, that his thinking was sound, and that he was a master of the artof so presenting his thought that others easily grasped and appreciatedit.
When at last the evening was completely gone, he bade his companions acheery good night, saying that he would go over to the bluff and sleepnear the catalpa tree.
“You see there are no sand flies to-night,” he explained, “and I liketo smell the salt water as I sleep.”
“What do you make of him, Larry?” Dick asked as soon as their guest wasbeyond hearing.
“I don’t know. I’m puzzled. What’s your opinion?”
“Put it in the plural, for I’ve a different opinion every time I thinkabout it at all.”
“Anyhow,” said Tom, “he must be crazy. Just think—”
“Yes,” interrupted Cal, “but just think also how soundly he thinks.Let’s just call him eccentric and let it go at that. And who wouldn’tbe eccentric, after living alone in the woods for so long?”
“After all,” Dick responded, “we’re not a commission in lunacy,and we’re not under the smallest necessity of defining his mentalcondition.”
“No,” Cal assented; “it’s a good deal better to enjoy his company andhis talk than to bother our heads about the condition of his. He’s oneof the most agreeable men I ever met—bright, cheerful, good natured,scrupulously courteous, and about the most interesting talker I everlistened to. So I for one give up trying to answer conundrums, and I’mgoing to bed. I wouldn’t if he were here to go on talking, but after anevening with him to lead the conversation, I find you fellows dull anduninteresting. Good night. Oh, by the way, I’ll slip away from hereabout daylight and get some pan fish for breakfast.”
Early as Cal was in setting out, he found Dunbar on the shore ready togo with him.
“I hope to get a shark,” the naturalist said, “one big enough to show awell-developed jaw, and they’re apt to bite at this early hour. I’ve aline in the boat there with a copper wire snell.”
“Are you specially interested in sharks?”
“Oh, no, not ordinarily. It is only that I must make a careful drawingor two, illustrative of the mechanical structure and action of ashark’s jaw and teeth, to go with an article I’m writing on the generalsubject of teeth in fishes, and I wish to draw the illustrations fromlife rather than from memory. It will rain to-day, and I’m going toavail myself of your hospitality and make the drawings under yourshelter.”
“Then perhaps you’ll let us see them?”
“Yes, of course, and all the other drawings I have in my portfolio, ifthey interest you.”
“They will, if you will explain and expound a little.”
Dunbar gave a pleased little chuckle as he answered:
“I’ll do that to your heart’s content. You know, I really think I liketo hear myself talk sometimes.”
“Why shouldn’t you? Your talk would delight anybody else.”
“Here’s my shark,” excitedly cried Dunbar, as he played the fish. “He’snearly three feet long, too—a bigger one than I hoped for. Now if Ican only land him.”
“I’ll help you,” said Cal, leaning over the rail with a barbed gaffhook in his hand. “Play him over this way—there, now once morearound—here he is safe and sound.”
As he spoke he lifted the savage-looking creature into the boat andDunbar managed, with some little difficulty, to free the hook from hisjaws without himself having a thumb or finger bitten off.
“Not a tooth broken!” he exclaimed with delight. “I’ll dissect out theentire bony structure of the head to-day and make a drawing of it. ThenI’m going to pack it carefully in a little box that I’ll whittle out,and present it—if you don’t mind—to young Wentworth. He may perhapsvalue it as a souvenir of his visit to Quasi.”
Cal assented more than gladly, and the two busied themselves duringthe next half hour completing their catch of whiting and croakers forbreakfast. When they reached the camp the rain Dunbar had predictedhad set in.
As soon as breakfast was over Dunbar redeemed his promise to show theboys his lockers.
“I’m going over there now,” he said, “to get some paper, pencils anddrawing board. Suppose you go with me, if you want to see some of mywoodland devices.”
They assented gladly. They were very curious to see where and how theirguest cared for his perishable properties, the more because their ownsearch for the lockers had completely failed.
The matter proved simple enough. Dunbar led them a little way into thewoods and then, falling upon his knees, crawled into the end of a hugehollow log. After he had reached the farther end of the hollow part helighted a little bunch of fat pine splinters to serve as a torch, andinvited his companions to look in. They saw that he had scraped awayall the decaying wood inside the log, leaving its hard shell as a barewall. In this he had fitted a number of little wooden hooks, to each ofwhich some of his belongings were suspended.
It was a curious collection. There were cards covered with butterflies,moths and beetles, each impaled upon a large pin. There were thebeaks and talons of various birds of prey, each carefully labeled.There were bunches of feathers of various hues, some dried botanicalspecimens and much else of similar sorts.
From the farther end of the hollow he brought forth several compactlittle portfolios, each so arranged that no rain could penetrate itwhen all were bound together and carried like a knapsack.
“I’ll take two of these portfolios with me to your shelter,” hesaid, taking them under his arm. “One of them contains the writingand drawing materials that I shall need to-day. The other is filledwith my drawings of various interesting objects. Some of them may beinteresting to you during this rainy day, and each has a descriptionappended which will enable you to understand the meaning of it.”
But the boys had a rather brief time over the drawings that day. Theyran through a part of the portfolio while Dunbar was writing, but afteran hour he put his writing aside and began dissecting the shark’s head,stopping now and then to make a little sketch of some detail. Afterthat the boys had no eyes but for the work he was doing and no ears butfor the things he said.
“You see there are comparatively few species of fish that have anyteeth at all. They have no need of teeth and therefore have neverdeveloped them.”
“But why is that,” asked Tom; “I should think some of the toothlessvarieties of fish would have developed teeth accidentally, as it were.”
“Development is never accidental in that sense, Tom. It is Nature’suniform law that every species of living thing, animal or vegetable,shall tend to develop whatever is useful to it, and nothing else. Thatis Nature’s plan for the perpetuation of life and the improvement ofspecies.”
After pausing in close attention to some detail of his work, Dunbarwent on:
“You can see the same dominant principle at work in the varying formsof teeth developed by different species. The sheepshead needs teethonly for the purpose of crushing the shells of barnacles and the like,and in that way getting at its food. So in a sheepshead’s mouth youfind none but crushing teeth. The shark, as you see, has pointed teethso arranged in rows that one row closes down between two other rows inthe opposite jaw, and by a muscular arrangement the shark can work onejaw to right and left with lightning-like rapidity, making the saw-likerow of teeth cut through almost anything after the manner of a reapingmachine. Then there is the pike. He has teeth altogether different fromeither of the others. The pike swallows very large fish in proportionto his own size, and his need is of teeth that will prevent his preyfrom wriggling out of his mouth and escapi
ng while he is slowly tryingto swallow it. Accordingly his teeth are as small and as sharp ascambric needles. Moreover, he has them everywhere in his mouth—on hislips, on his tongue, and even in his throat. However, this is no timefor a lecture. If you are interested in the subject you can study itbetter by looking into fishes’ mouths than by listening to anybody talkor by reading books on the subject.”
Again Dunbar paused in order that his attention might be closelyconcentrated upon some delicate detail of his work.
When the strain upon his attention seemed at last to relax, Calventured to say something—and it was startling to his comrades.
“Of course you’re right about the books on such subjects,” he said.“For example, the most interesting of all facts about fish isn’t somuch as mentioned in any book I can find, though I’ve searched throughseveral libraries for it.”
“What is your fact?” asked Dunbar, suspending his work to listen.
“Why that fish do not die natural deaths. Not one of them in a millionever does that.”
“But why do you think that, Cal? What proof is there—”
“Why, the thing’s obvious on its face. A dead fish floats, doesn’t it?Well, in any good fishing water, such as the Adirondack lakes, where Ifished with my father one summer, there are millions of fish—big andlittle—scores of millions, even hundreds of millions, if you countshiners and the other minnows, that of a clear day lie in banks fromthe bottom of the water to its surface. Now, if fish died naturaldeaths in anything like the proportion that all other living things do,the surface of such lakes would be constantly covered with dead fish.Right here at Quasi and in all these coast waters the same thing istrue. Every creek mouth is full of fish and every shoal is alive withthem, so that we know in advance when we go fishing that we can catchthem as fast as we can take them off the hook. If any reasonable rateof natural mortality prevailed among them every flood tide would strewthe shores with tons of dead fish. As nothing of the kind happens, itseems to me certain that as a rule fish do not die a natural death.In fact, most of them have no chance to do that, as they spend prettynearly their entire time in swallowing each other alive.”
“You are a close observer, Cal. You ought to become a man of science,”said Dunbar with enthusiasm. “Science needs men of your kind.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” answered Cal. “I imagine Science can get on verycomfortably without any help of mine.”
“How did you come to notice all that, anyhow, Cal?” asked Dick.
“Oh, it didn’t take much to suggest that sort of thing, when the factswere staring me in the face. Besides, I may be all wrong. What do youthink of my wild guess, Mr. Dunbar?”
“It isn’t a wild guess. Your conclusion may be right or wrong—I mustthink of the subject carefully before I can form any opinion as tothat. But at any rate it is a conclusion reasoned out from a carefulobservation of facts, and that is nothing like a wild guess.”
Thus the conversation drifted on throughout the long rainy day, andwhen night came the boys were agreed that they had learned to knowDunbar and appreciate him more than they could have done in weeks ofordinary intercourse.
What Happened at Quasi: The Story of a Carolina Cruise Page 34