Bruce: A Short Study of a Great Life by AA Mine
Bruce is a cricket When I am lying wako nights thinking of the wonderful things iam
going to do on the morrow Bruce is ons back, somewhere behind the book, singing to set
Looking back on the days when I first know him, so strange to rect that there was a time
when almost wanted to get rid of him. That was before I understood that he was really quite out
of roach behind the one the first night (how absurd it sounds now) got out of bed with a slipper
tracked him three times round the room, and returned to be very cold and mystified. The next day
spoke to the housekeeper about it, and learn that I should never be able to get the stoper on to
improperty
On that might he sang more loudy than ever, the way he kept the note was wonderful. I decided
to call himn Bruce and, as he and the boor were toidures to make the best of him. Even so I did not
love him. The intrinsic morts of this song were low-the position from which he gave it argueda
want of contence in his powers
And then I made a wonderful discovery I was told by a man who knew a more about
cricket than I did that Bruce did noting in the ordinary sense of the word, but that the chirping
noise characteristic of him he made by rubbing his knees together And the same with
grasshoppers
Now I invite you to consider what this really means. There is a heroism about this that is truly
wonderful Picture to yourself a hot August night on the one hand myself in bed cropping
comfortably off into a peaceful sumber-on the other hand, Bruce behind the boller vigorously
rubbing his knees together...
Of course I want to know two things. First, how did Bruce got behind the boller, second why
does herb his knees together? There are seventy-two steps up to my rooms he came by the
stairs was a long and ting journey for him, and there was always the chance of inding me out
Perhaps he came straight up the hot water pipe...
I like the picture of him coming up the hot-water pipe Probably he had others with him. They
would take up position on the first three foors.
Hallo, wherever are you off or they would say to Bruce, as they sat down and began to rosin
the nos
"How do you know there isn't another foort Bruce would answer "Anyhow I'm going to soo.
"Dont besy, It's warm enough here for anybody
"No, I think I just go on a bit. There's a chap up here who's never heard Bebol
Perhaps, though, Bruce was born behind the boller I should be sorry to think that. I don't le
the idea of him taking advantage of the accidents of birth in this way I prefer to regard him as a
self-made cricket
My knowledge of Bruce is contemptible. I don't even know why he wants to rub his knoos
together so violenty Is it merely a nervous spasmodic twitching? Oh no, It cannot be that it may be
with the others, but not with Bruce But he does it deliberately does he never get tired? Do his
koos never woar out? When does he take nourishment?
That brings me to another point. What does Bruce eat? He might possibly tap the boiler for hot
water now and then, but how does he manage for food? Is his diet animal, vegetable, or mineral?
Mineral, I would appear...
It is twelve o'clock. I have had a hard day's work, and I am tired. There is no noise save from the
direction of the boller As I lie awake, my thoughts are with Bruce. He has abandoned his whole
Doing to his song for one moment, it is true, I am tempted to say, "Confound the beast, why wont
he let me go to sloop? But then I think of his noble unselfish i think of his unceasing labor and
of his love for music And I recall, too, how in the face of disappointments which would have soured
and omittered the life of another he has remained cheerful. For while musicians have sung
hymns in praise of the boo, and have recommended the sluggard to the ant, no one has yet done
justice to the tross fo of the cricket.
Bruce, I raise the water bottle to you. More power to your kneest