On the following afternoon, not only was Jimmy presented with one of the standard learn-it-yourself books on touch-typing, but Jake also contrived a sturdy desk out of one old packing case and a miniature chair out of another. Both articles of home-brewed furniture Jake insisted upon having painted before he permitted them inside his odd dwelling, and that delayed Jimmy one more day. But it was only one more day; and then a new era of experience began for Jimmy. It would be nice to report that he went at it with determination, self-discipline, and system, following instructions to the letter and emerging a first-rate typist. Sorry. Jimmy hated every minute of it. He galled at the pages and pages of _juj juj juj frf frf frf_. He cried with frustration because he could not perform the simple exercise to perfection. He skipped through the book so close to complete failure that he hurled it across the room, and cried in anger because he had not the strength to throw the typewriter after it. Throw the machine? He had not the strength in his pinky to press the carriage-shift key! Part of his difficulty was the size of his hands, of course. But most of his trouble lay deep-seated in his recollection of his parents' fabulous machine. It would have made a typist of him in a single half-hour session, or so he thought. He had yet to learn about the vast gulf that lies between theory and practice. It took Jimmy several weeks of aimless fiddling before he realized that there was no easy short-cut. Then he went back to the _juj juj juj frf frf frf_ routine and hated it just as much, but went on. He invented a kind of home-study "hooky" to break the monotony. He would run off a couple of pages of regular exercise, and then turn back to the hunt-and-peck system of typing to work on a story. He took a furtive glee in this; he felt that he was getting away with something. In mid-July, Jake caught him at it. "What's going on?" demanded Jake, waving the pages of manuscript copy. "Typing," said Jimmy. Jake picked up the typing guidebook and waved it under Jimmy's nose. "Show me where it says you gotta type anything like, 'Captain Brandon struggled against his chains when he heard Lady Hamilton scream. The pirate's evil laugh rang through the ship. "Curse you--"'" Jake snorted. "But--" said Jimmy faintly. "But nothing!" snapped Jake. "Stop the drivel and learn that thing! You think I let you keep the machine just to play games? We gotta find a way to make it pay off. Learn it good!"