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COMPUTER
SCIENCE
AND CODING
0101010001
11001010110
01101100011
 Copyright © 2020 by Workman Publishing Co., Inc.

By purchasing this workbook, the buyer is permitted to reproduce pages for

classroom use only, but not for commercial resale. Please contact the publisher
for permission to reproduce pages for an entire school or school district. With the
exception of the above, no portion of this book may be reproduced-mechanically,
electronically, or by any other means, including photocopying-without written
permission of the publisher.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

ISBN 978-1-5235-0277-6

Author: Grant Smith

Illustrator: Chris Pearce
Vetter: Dawn Dupriest
Designer: Abby Dening
Concept by Raquel Jaramillo

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registered trademarks of Workman Publishing Co., Inc.
Scratch is a project of the Scratch Foundation, in collaboration
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It is available for free at https://scratch.mit.edu.

Printed in Thailand

First printing March 2020

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
 guide
the complete middle school study

COMPUTER
SCIENCE
AND CODING

WO R K M A N P UBL I S HI N G
N EW YO R K
COMPUTER
EVERYTHING YOU NEED TO ACE

SCIENCE AND CODING

HI!
In this notebook you’ll find everything you’ll need to
ace computer science and coding: from understanding
computer systems to reading and writing with programming
languages; from using basic algorithms to writing Boolean
expressions; from working with Scratch and Python to
exploring web development. This is the really important
stuff that you’ll need to understand computer science
and to build a foundation in coding.
You’ll find the notes pret ty straightforward, with the
following format ting to keep things organized:

• vocabulary words highlighted in YELLOW

• definitions set aside in boxes
• important people, places, dates,
and terms writ ten in blue
• doodles, graphics, and charts that
show the big ideas
• main ideas underlined

If you’re having trouble in computer science class or

have an issue with a coding project, this notebook will
help. It hits all the major points of computer science and
walks you through the basics of Scratch, Python, and
web development. It’s also a great study resource!
Whether you want to refresh your memory, reinforce
class instruction, or teach yourself the basics, this
notebook is the way to go.
 CONTENTS

UNIT 1: COMPUTING SYSTEMS 1

1. What Is Computer Science? 2
2. What Is a Computer? 13
3. How Do We Interact with Computers? 29

UNIT 2: DATA AND ANALYSIS 39

4. Storing Information 40
5. Collecting and Using Information 57
UNIT 3: SOFTWARE ENGINEERING 67
6. Designing Computer Systems 68
7. Testing 73 COM E CH ECK O UT
M Y GAM E SO FAR.
8. Documenting 81
9. Incorporating
Feedback 89
10. Collaborating 97

ALGORITHMS AND
UNIT 4:
PROGRAMMING 109
11. Using Algorithms 110
12. Programming Languages 121
13. Computational Thinking 139
HEY!
 UNIVERSAL PROGRAMMING
UNIT 5:
PRINCIPLES 147
I AM A
14. Variables 148 DATA TY P E.

15. Conditional Statements 163

16. Loops 179
17. Events 187
18. Procedures 191

PROGRAMMING
UNIT 6:
WITH SCRATCH 199
19. Getting Started 200
20. Basic Algorithms 223
21. Data and Operators 247
22. Control Blocks and Event Blocks 273
23. Reusing Scripts 299
UNIT 7: PROGRAMMING IN PYTHON 309
24. Getting Started with Python 310
25. Variables in Python 323 L ET'S G ET
26. Strings 333 CO DING!

27. Numbers as Variables 351

28. Lists and Boolean Expressions 365
29. For Loops 381
30. While Loops and Nested Loops 393
31. Conditional Statements 403
32. Functions 423

UNIT 8: WEB DEVELOPMENT 443

33. What Is the Internet? 444
34. Cybersecurity 463
35. Creating a Basic Web Page 481
36. HTML Text Elements 497
37. Link Elements 511
38. Styling with CSS 523
39. Styling Individual Elements
with CSS 539

Index 555
 Unit
TURN
TH E
PAG E!

1
Computing
Systems

11
 Chapter 1
WHAT IS
COMPUTER
SCIENCE?
A COMPUTER is a device that stores and processes
(changes, moves, or rewrites) information. It can perform
complicated computations and organize and store huge
amounts of information. Computer science is the study of
computers and how computer technology can be used to
solve problems. It involves studying COMPUTING
SYSTEMS , programming rules, data and analysis,
networking, the internet,
and how computers affect COMPUTING SYSTEM
our lives. Computers are All the basic hardware (the parts
you can see and touch) and
bet ter than humans at software (the programs) that work
storing and sharing tons together to make a computer run.

12
of information, solving complex calculations quickly, and
learning things. Computer scientists use computers' abilities to
help them develop new technologies that make our lives easier.

Computer technology affects the way we live and think.

It can help us solve our problems and make our lives seem
easier, more fun, and safer.

For example:

* Computers helped navigate

spacecraft to the moon
and Mars.

* Robots help surgeons

perform surgeries with
great precision.

* Computers add realistic

visual and sound effects to
movies and video games.

13
Computer scientists use and create technology to solve
problems. They program computers to both complete tasks
bet ter and faster as well as teach them how to do new
things. Becoming a computer scientist means shifting from
being only a consumer (someone who uses something) to
being a creator.

Computer science is a type of problem solving; it includes the

study of computers, their design, and the way they process
information.

Examples of what computer science IS and IS NOT:

COMPUTER SCIENCE COMPUTER SCIENCE

IS IS NOT

creating a phone app watching videos

(application or program) that on the internet
allows friends to share funny of cats riding
cat videos with each other. tricycles.

programming your own playing your favorite

video game. video game.

14
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
Mr Dupuy never quite understood how he managed to reel out of
the governor’s drawing-room without fainting, from sheer
astonishment and horror; or how he managed to restrain his legs
from lifting up his toes automatically against the sacred person of
the Queen’s representative. But he did manage somehow to stagger
down the steps in a dazed and stupefied fashion, much as he had
staggered along the path when he felt Delgado hacking him about
the body at the blazing cane-houses; and he rode back home to
Orange Grove, red in the face as an angry turkey-cock, more
convinced than ever in his own mind that Trinidad was indeed no
longer a fit place for any gentleman of breeding to live in. And in
spite of Edward’s having taken passage by the same ship, he
determined to clear out of the island, bag and baggage, at the
earliest possible opportunity.
As for Harry Noel, he, too, had engaged a berth quite undesignedly
in the self-same steamer. Even though he had rushed up to Orange
Grove in the first flush of the danger to protect Nora and her father,
if possible, from the frantic rioters, it had of course been a very
awkward position for him to find himself an unwilling and uninvited
guest in the house which he had last quitted under such extremely
unpleasant circumstances. Mr Dupuy, indeed, though he admitted,
when he heard the whole story, that Harry had no doubt behaved
‘like a very decent young fellow,’ could not be prevailed upon to take
any notice of his unbidden presence, even by sending an occasional
polite message of inquiry about his slow recovery from the adjoining
bedroom. So Harry was naturally anxious to get away from Orange
Grove as quickly as possible, and he had made up his mind that
before he went he would not again ask Nora to reconsider her
determination. His chivalrous nature shrank from the very
appearance of trading upon her gratitude for his brave efforts to
save her on the evening of the outbreak; if she would not accept
him for his own sake, she should not accept him for the sake of the
risk he had run to win her.
The first day when Harry was permitted to move out under the
shade of the big star-apple tree upon the little grass plot, where he
sat in a cushioned bamboo chair beside the clump of waving cannas,
Nora came upon him suddenly, as if by accident, from the Italian
terrace, with a bunch of beautiful pale-blue plumbago and a tall
spike of scented tuberose in her dainty, gloveless, little fingers.
‘Aren’t they beautiful, Mr Noel?’ she said, holding them up to his
admiring gaze—admiring them, it must be confessed, a trifle
obliquely. ‘Did you ever in your life see anything so wildly lovely in a
stiff, tied-up, staircase conservatory over yonder in dear old
England?’
‘Never,’ Harry Noel answered, with his eyes fixed rather on her
blushing face than on the luscious pale white tuberose. ‘I shall carry
away with me always the most delightful reminiscences of beautiful
Trinidad and of its lovely—flowers.’
Nora noticed at once the significant little pause before the last word,
and blushed again, even deeper than ever. ‘Carry away with you?’
she said regretfully, echoing his words—‘carry away with you? Then
do you mean to leave the island immediately?’
‘Yes, Miss Dupuy—immediately; by the next steamer. I’ve written off
this very morning to the agents at the harbour to engage my
passage.’
Nora’s heart beat violently within her. ‘So soon!’ she said. ‘How very
curious! And how very fortunate, too, for I believe papa has taken
berths for himself and me by the very same steamer. He’s gone to-
day to call on the governor; and when he comes back, he’s going to
decide at once whether or not we are to leave the island
immediately for ever.’
‘Very fortunate? You said very fortunate? How very kind of you. Then
you’re not altogether sorry, Miss Dupuy, that we’re going to be
fellow-passengers together?’
‘Mr Noel, Mr Noel! How can you doubt it?’
Harry’s heart beat that moment almost as fast as Nora’s own. In
spite of his good resolutions—which he had made so very firmly too
—he couldn’t help ejaculating fervently: ‘Then you forgive me, Miss
Dupuy! You let bygones be bygones! You’re not angry with me any
longer!’
‘Angry with you, Mr Noel—angry with you! You were so kind, you
were so brave! how could I ever again be angry with you!’
Harry’s face fell somewhat. After all, then, it was only gratitude. ‘It’s
very good of you to say so,’ he faltered out tremulously—‘very good
of you to say so. I—I—I shall always remember—my—my visit to
Orange Grove with the greatest pleasure.’
‘And so shall I,’ Nora added in a low voice, hardly breathing; and as
she spoke, the tears filled her eyes to overflowing.
Harry looked at her once more tenderly. How beautiful and fresh she
was, really! He looked at her, and longed just once to kiss her. Nora’s
hand lay close to his. He put out his own fingers, very tentatively,
and just touched it, almost as if by accident. Nora drew it half away,
but not suddenly. He touched it again, a little more boldly this time,
and Nora permitted him, unreproving. Then he looked hard into her
averted tearful eyes, and said tenderly the one word, ‘Nora!’
Nora’s hand responded faintly by a slight pressure, but she answered
nothing.
‘Nora,’ the young man cried again, with sudden energy, ‘if it is love,
take me, take me. But if it is only—only the recollection of that
terrible night, let me go, let me go, for ever!’
Nora held his hand fast in hers with a tremulous grasp, and
whispered in his ear, almost inaudibly: ‘Mr Noel, it is love—it is love!
I love you—indeed I love you!’
When Macfarlane came his rounds that evening to see his patients
he declared that Harry Noel’s pulse was decidedly feverish, and that
he must have been somehow over-exciting himself; so he ordered
him back again ruthlessly to bed at once till further notice.
 A LEOPARD HUNT.
It was my good fortune, a great many years ago, to be cantoned at
Julbarri. I say ‘good fortune,’ for so I considered it; but I am afraid, if
you had asked at our mess for votes as to whether I ought to qualify
the word fortune with the adjective ‘good’ or ‘bad,’ I should have got
very few to vote for my word. Good fortune I considered it,
nevertheless; for I was an ardent sportsman; Julbarri was almost
untried ground; and the neighbouring jungles abounded in game of
many kinds, among which the rhinoceros, the tiger, and the leopard
were by no means few and far between. And yet I cannot deny that
for any one who was not a sportsman, Julbarri was about as slow a
station as could be picked out in all the length and breadth of our
vast Indian empire. It was situated in an out-of-the-way corner of
Bengal; and there was no large station within a couple of hundred
miles of us where a man with social and gregarious tastes could go
for a few days to get rid of the oft-told tales and well thrashed-out
politics of the limited circle of our small mess-table. Julbarri was,
alas, a single-corps station; and except a Civil officer or two, the
whole society consisted of the gallant British officers of the
distinguished 76th Native Infantry; a nice set of fellows enough, I
allow; but still the best of listeners must in time grow inattentive to
Smith’s ideas on the comparative merits of Arab and English horses;
and it is difficult to wage any real warfare with Jones as he
challenges you for the hundredth time to defend Lord Gough’s
tactics at Chilianwalla.
At the time of which I write, our society was at a peculiarly low ebb.
The drill season was over; the hot weather was coming on; and the
leave season had begun. There was so little work to be done, that
our colonel had taken pity on our isolation, and had been unusually,
perhaps almost unauthorisedly, liberal in the matter of leave; and
our mess, small enough at its best, had dwindled and dwindled, until
now not more than half-a-dozen unfortunates daily stretched their
legs beneath its well-spread mahogany. For me, the approaching
heat had no terrors, the smallness of our society no ennui, and the
prospect of escape from Julbarri no charms; for the beginning of the
hot weather is the very time when the best shooting can be
obtained, and I had long been watching the drying up of the grass in
the jungles, and had been looking forward to the time when we
might start a tiger with some chance of bagging him. There was one
thing in which we were particularly fortunate: we had attached to
our regiment nine elephants as a part of our regimental transport. I
need scarcely say that it was not long before we had the elephants
and their mahouts (drivers) thoroughly trained for shooting. The
largest elephants we trained to carry our howdahs, and the smaller
we used to form a line to beat the jungles and drive out the game.
With these elephants we had lots of fun, and there were few weeks
after the shooting season began in which some of us did not go out
two or three times. We generally took it in turns; four of us went
out, and two remained behind to look after the regiment and the
station.
We kept three or four shikarees (native hunters), who were
constantly going about the villages and jungles within a radius of six
or seven miles of cantonments; and as soon as they heard of a tiger
having killed a bullock or any other animal, or as soon as they
discovered the fresh footmarks of any animal worth going after, they
would come in and give the khubber (news); and then those whose
turn it was would send the elephants and their arms on towards
where the game had been seen, and would follow themselves on
horseback as quickly as possible. The best kind of khubber was
when a bullock or any other large animal had been killed. The tiger
usually prowls round some village or some place where cattle is
pastured and kept for the night; and when he sees his opportunity,
will spring on some unfortunate animal which has got separated
from the rest of the herd, or has remained out too late in the jungle,
heedless of the herdsman’s call home, will kill it with a blow of his
paw, and drag it into some neighbouring jungle thicker and denser
than that immediately around the village.
Nothing shows more the marvellous strength possessed by the tiger
than the way in which he carries his victim away. I remember the
first time I was shown where a tiger had dragged a full-grown
bullock. I could not believe it possible; and it was not until after we
had killed the robber—only an ordinary-sized tigress—and I had
carefully gone over on foot the ground where she had dragged her
prey, that I found that she had not only dragged the dead bullock—
an animal, I should think, considerably beyond her own weight—
over very rough ground and through a dense cane-brake; but that in
some places, as the marks showed, she must actually have lifted the
fore-quarters of the bullock off the ground in her mouth, and have
walked several yards with it in that position. When the victim has
been dragged to what the tiger considers a position of security, it
will sit down and make a good meal, and then retire a short distance
from its prey to some particularly thick bush or tuft of grass, and
there remain until the following night, and then return for another
meal. In consequence of this well-known habit, ‘a kill,’ as it is called,
is the best of all khubber, and in such cases, if the tiger has not
been disturbed, the sportsman is almost sure to find him lying
somewhere close to the carcase; and if his arrangements are well
made, is pretty sure to get a shot at him.
Our shikarees, stimulated by liberal backsheesh when their news
resulted in a bag, used often to bring us in khubber; but sometimes
the news was not very good; and when this was the case, the less
ardent sportsmen of our number would frequently refuse to go out,
and would make over their turn to me. I never refused, for I was
young and enthusiastic enough to love the fun and the excitement of
the hunt, even when our expedition resulted in no bag; and did not
care for the chaff with which my sedater comrades would greet me
on my return. Sometimes, however, the laugh was on my side; but I
was wise enough, with a view to future contingencies, not to indulge
in it too much.
We had been having very fair sport on and off for about six weeks,
and the animals in the jungles close around the station seemed to
have been all killed off or driven away; for a whole week passed,
and no khubber good enough to tempt even me did our shikarees
bring. It was the seventh blank day, and as we sat at our chota hazri
(early morning cup of some invigorating but harmless beverage),
under the shade of a splendid mango-tree which grew conveniently
close to our messhouse veranda, my chum and I were discussing the
necessity of taking a week’s trip across the river which skirted our
station, and were trying to cajole our companions into letting us
have the use of the elephants for so long a time. We had nearly
succeeded in persuading them of the uselessness of expecting to get
any more shooting close to Julbarri, and two of the least enthusiastic
of our Nimrods had actually given in, when into the compound and
right up to our table who should dash but Jamala, the very best and
most trustworthy of all our shikarees! Almost breathless, he
stammered out: ‘Sahib, sahib, two such huge tigers! Their pugs are
as big as that;’ and he described with the end of the stick he held in
his hand a figure in the dust, intended to portray the size of their
footprints, which would have done credit to a well-grown mammoth.
‘They have killed a bullock in the Kala jungle, only six miles off; and
I am sure they were still there when I left half an hour ago. I
ordered the elephants to be got ready as I passed the lines.’
Here was news with a vengeance; but alas, it was my turn to stay in
cantonments; and with such splendid khubber as this I could not, of
course, even hint the suggestion of an exchange. It was the custom
of those going out, to borrow all the firearms of those remaining
behind; so I and Castleton, who was my comrade in misfortune,
made over our Joe Manton guns and our Purdeys to our luckier
companions, and wished them good speed with the best grace we
could muster; and if we betrayed our feelings a little by throwing
after them the parting exhortation, ‘Mind you don’t miss the fifteen-
footer,’ well, I really think we ought to be forgiven.
Castleton was a married man; and I must crave the ladies’ pardon
for omitting in my list of our Julbarri residents the really charming
Mrs Castleton and her fascinating sister, Miss Jervoise. As soon as
the hunters had gone, Castleton turned to me, and said: ‘You had
better come over and lunch with us, Watson. You’ll only be breaking
your heart over visions of those two fabulously footed tigers, if you
lunch at mess alone.’
I thanked him; and two o’clock found me receiving the
commiserations of the two fair ladies, while they pressed upon me
the usual profuse hospitality of an Indian luncheon. We had reached
the dessert stage, and Mrs Castleton was just pressing me to taste
some specially delicious plantains which a neighbouring rajah had
sent her the day before, when the bearer came in, and making a
salaam, said to Castleton: ‘A man has just come from that little
hamlet of Goree; he wants the sahib log to go out and shoot a
leopard which has just killed one of his kids, and is now lying eating
it in a small patch of jungle. Goree is only a mile and a half from
here.’
We stared blankly at each other.
‘What can we do?’ said Castleton.
‘Do? Why, go and shoot it, of course!’ exclaimed the enthusiastic
Miss Jervoise.
‘But, Kate dear,’ broke in Mrs Castleton with wifely solicitude, ‘the
elephants are all away, and how can they shoot it?’
‘Oh, I am not thinking about the elephants,’ replied Castleton; ‘but
Watson and I have lent all our rifles and guns, and we haven’t a
single thing of any kind left.’
‘There are the sepoys’ rifles,’ I suggested. ‘We could take one of
them apiece; and, you know, we can’t let the leopard get off without
having a try for him. Can we?’
‘Yes, there are the sepoys’ rifles, certainly,’ replied Castleton rather
doubtfully; ‘but’——
‘And I have got a couple of spears,’ I interrupted. ‘Oh, do let us go at
once, before he is disturbed.’
‘Well—all right; we’ll try it,’ said Castleton hesitatingly.
I lost no time in running home and changing into a shooting
costume. Castleton sent his orderly off to the lines for our weapons;
and by the time I had returned with the spears, the orderly
reappeared with a couple of rifles and a packet of cartridges. So, a
very short time saw us mounted on our horses and following our
guide out to the little village of Goree.
‘I am not very sure about the wisdom of this business,’ said
Castleton.
‘Oh, it will be all right,’ I replied. ‘We must be careful not to fire until
we are pretty sure to kill—that’s all.’
‘Hm, yes, I suppose so,’ assented my comrade somewhat doubtfully.
As a matter of fact, it was not an overwise business. Our regiment
was armed in those days with the short two-grooved Brunswick rifle,
a muzzle loader, of course, and one in which the bullet had to be
hammered into the muzzle with a small wooden hammer carried for
the purpose, before it could be rammed down with the ramrod. This
rendered the process of loading so dreadfully slow that practically it
would make it quite impossible for either of us to get more than one
shot, and it is no easy matter to kill a leopard with one bullet,
however well placed. If he were not killed, he would be pretty
certain to charge, and we should be in an awkward plight.
Matters did not look much more encouraging when we reached
Goree. The khubber was good enough: there was the place where
the kid had been struck, and there were the drops of blood and
footprints of a large leopard leading into a patch of dense cane-
jungle about one hundred yards long and sixty yards broad, and we
had very little doubt that he was in there, sure enough. We
arranged, somewhat rashly, that we would enter the jungle from
nearly opposite ends of the patch and work towards the centre. If
either of us saw the leopard, we were, if possible, first to whistle
and then to call out before shooting. We did this with a double
object—first, that we might not shoot each other; and secondly, that
if one of us wounded the beast and he came towards the other, we
might be on the lookout for him, and not be taken unawares. So we
separated; and I cautiously entered the left end of the patch, while
Castleton made his entrance on the right. My end of the jungle was
thicker than Castleton’s; but the edge was fairly clear, and by
peering under the brake, I could see four or five yards in front of
me. Very soon, the cane and bushes became so dense that I had to
clear away the leaves with one hand while I held the rifle ready
cocked in the other. We had each a sepoy accompanying us and
carrying our second weapon, the spear. To my man I gave
instructions that the moment I fired, I would hand him back the rifle,
and he was to give me the spear. Of course I kept him behind me,
so that he should be in no danger. We had not begun our advance
more than two or three minutes, and had not penetrated, at our
slow and cautious pace, more than about twenty yards, when
Castleton whistled. I at once stood still. After a slight pause, he
called out in a sort of stage whisper: ‘I see him; but it’s a nasty shot.
I can only see his hind-quarters, and there is a lot of jungle in the
way. Shall I shoot?’
‘Fire away,’ I replied, in an equally melodramatic tone, heartily
wishing that his chance had been mine. In about half a minute the
report of Castleton’s rifle rang out. It was followed by an angry roar
somewhere from my right front, and there was a dead silence. The
smoke from Castleton’s rifle came floating over my head; but though
I listened intently with my rifle half raised to my shoulder, not the
sound of a footstep or the cracking of a twig could I hear. At last
Castleton called out: ‘I’ve hit him, but not badly, I think; and he has
gone off in your direction.’
Giving Castleton time to reload, I again began moving forward with
even greater caution than before. I had advanced only a few paces,
when on pushing aside a screen of leaves thicker than usual, and
thrusting my head into a bush, I met a sight that made my heart
jump: there, within about six feet of me, crouched the leopard, his
eyeballs glowing like balls of green fire in the dark jungle, a look of
the most savage mischief on his face, and evidently just on the point
of springing straight at me. My first impulse was to throw my rifle to
my shoulder and fire at once; but more quickly than a flash of
lightning came the conviction, like a living voice speaking in me: ‘If
you do, and if you don’t kill him dead, he’ll kill you.’ My nerves
seemed to grow steady at once, and I checked my first rash impulse.
Then keeping my eye fixed on his, I raised my rifle slowly and
deliberately, took a steady aim, and fired. A dull groan and a
desperate convulsion followed, and then in half a minute all was still.
My faithful sepoy had duly obeyed my instructions; he had taken my
rifle and had given me the spear, and with this spear held at the
charge, ready to receive the leopard if he came my way, we waited
until the convulsion subsided. Then peering in again, we found that
the leopard had gone back; and it was not until we had advanced
some ten yards that we came upon him lying dead. It shows the
marvellous vitality of the feline race; for though the ball was a heavy
one, and had crashed right through the brain, yet he had managed
to go fully eight yards from where he was crouching. Had the ball
been turned aside at all by a twig, or had it glanced off his skull, he
would almost certainly have made his spring, and in a jungle so
dense I could hardly have hoped to keep him off or defend myself.
I called up Castleton at once, and we soon pulled the leopard out of
the thicket. We found Castleton’s bullet had hit him in the side, but
far back, so as not to interfere in any way with his powers of attack.
I congratulated myself on a lucky escape. The villagers were
delighted at the death of a robber which had more than once laid
their flocks under contribution, and pressed their services on us to
carry him home. A procession was soon formed, and we returned to
Julbarri in triumph with the leopard swung on a pole in front of us.
The other hunters had not returned; so we had ample time to
exhibit our prize to the sympathetic eyes of Mrs Castleton and Miss
Jervoise. In about an hour, the others returned, wearied and
disgusted. The tigers had been disturbed before their arrival, and
had betaken themselves to some very heavy jungle, whence, in spite
of their best efforts, they were unable to dislodge them. It required
a lot of good feeling on their part to make them congratulate us as
heartily as they did; and I hope our sympathy with their ill-luck
showed itself quite untinged with any sense of our own better
fortune.
 A TALE OF TWO KNAVERIES.
IN FOUR CHAPTERS.—CHAP. III.
In the course of the next three months, Mr Blackford’s relations with
his crazy client Willoughby entered upon a somewhat uncomfortable
phase. He had continued his heartless game with the poor wretch,
entertaining him with purely imaginative accounts of the
superhuman exertions which were being made on his behalf, and
bleeding him with a rapacity which grew with each successive
extortion. He had in this way obtained nearly a hundred pounds,
when something happened which he might have foreseen had he
not been blinded by his greed, and which caused him to entertain
very unpleasant misgivings. Had Willoughby been a sane man,
pursuing a sane object, these repeated demands for money,
unaccompanied by any tangible performance, would have aroused
suspicions which would have manifested themselves in the usual
manner. But being as he was, his disease coloured everything which
happened to him; and the perfectly natural suspicions which arose in
his mind made themselves heard only by the mocking voices of his
airy persecutors. So one morning he informed Mr Blackford that the
persons who followed him wherever he went had adopted fresh
tactics.
‘They have managed to find out what I come here for,’ said he, ‘and
they are trying to frighten me out of doing so in a very curious way.
In fact,’ he continued with an uneasy laugh, ‘they have taken to
slandering you as well.’
‘And what are they good enough to say about me?’ inquired the
solicitor, in much surprise.
‘Of course I pay no attention to it. I have every confidence in you; I
am sure you are doing the best you can for me—as you are, are you
not?’ added the unfortunate client, with a look of pitiful appeal,
which would have softened the heart of any but a necessitous and
perfectly unprincipled man. As it was, Mr Blackford experienced an
unpleasant spasm in the place where his conscience used to be,
before it had dwindled away like an unused muscle.
‘Of course I am,’ he replied. ‘I hope you don’t doubt it?’
‘Oh, certainly not; on the contrary,’ returned Willoughby, with a
courteous bow. ‘But last night they mentioned your name in a most
unpleasant way. “He went to the wrong man when he went to
Blackford.” That was what one of them said. And another answered:
“Yes, Blackford is altogether on our side. He’ll spend all his money
on Blackford, and get no good whatever.” And they said—they said
—— I can’t remember everything; but it was all to the same effect.
Of course that kind of thing makes a man uneasy—naturally. Isn’t it
disgraceful that the law can do nothing to protect one from such
persecution?’
Mr Blackford thought it best to laugh the matter off. ‘Well,’ said he
jocularly, ‘if we can but catch sight of them, I’ll soon disabuse them
of any such idea.—Don’t you pay any attention to their nonsense. Of
course they would like to put you off the scent. The rascals! I’d give
a good deal to get fairly at them. It won’t be long, now, before I do
so. We are well on their track; and once we have them before the
magistrate, we’ll pay them out for all the trouble they’ve given us.’
Willoughby rose to go. ‘I hope, as you say, that it will not be long
now,’ said he, with a doubtful and dissatisfied air. ‘You see, it is
wearing me out, and I have spent a good deal of money over it,
besides. One of them threatened to kill me last night. If anything of
that kind is to be attempted, they won’t find me an easy victim, Mr
Blackford! I shall try to be beforehand with them, at anyrate. I’m not
a man to be played with too long.’
And there was a look in the madman’s eyes as he spoke, and a kind
of quiver through his brawny muscles, which seemed to say that the
moment was fast approaching when playing with him would be a
very risky amusement indeed.
‘By George!’ said the solicitor to himself, wiping his forehead, when
he was once more alone, ‘this is getting rather too warm. The fellow
gave me quite a turn. If he takes that notion into his head, things
may become awkward.’ And Mr Blackford decided that the time had
arrived for communicating with Willoughby’s friends in Cape Town.
He would have tried to induce the police to move in the matter at
once; but this remedy, as he knew, was difficult and uncertain, and
should it fail, would but add to the danger. He wrote off then and
there, representing in feeling language the condition of his
unfortunate client, which he stated he had only just discovered, and
urging that some one should come to England immediately, with a
view to putting the lunatic’s person and property under proper
control. Of course he said nothing about the money he had extorted
for his phantom services. Fortunately, it was against his principles to
give receipts unless they were demanded, which in this case they
had not been, and all the payments had been made in cash; so he
left it to be inferred that his exertions had been gratuitously
rendered entirely from a sense of duty, and delicately hinted at their
continuance on a different footing. Practice ‘In Lunacy’ is very
lucrative; and Mr Blackford was not the man to neglect such chances
as came in his way.
After this, owing to certain instructions which Mr Blackford gave to
his staff, Willoughby found it surprisingly difficult to obtain a
satisfactory interview with his solicitor. If he made an appointment
by letter, Mr Blackford had always been unavoidably called out, and
the time of his return was certain only in that it would be very late.
If the client called unexpectedly, he always found the lawyer putting
on his hat and gloves in a violent hurry, to attend some important
appointment; and the interview was restricted to a short
conversation as they walked through the streets, with ready
assistance at hand on all sides. Willoughby’s manner under this
treatment grew more and more unsatisfactory. Jobson, the clerk,
who knew nothing of the business in hand, never suspected the
visitor’s peculiar condition, and cheerfully assured him, according to
orders, that all was going on well. But this did not satisfy him; and
on the few occasions of his seeing the lawyer in person, he made
that gentleman extremely uncomfortable by the growing gloom and
wildness of his looks, and by persistent references to the hints of
treachery which his mysterious foes continued to throw out.
Suddenly, he discontinued his visits. A fortnight went by, during
which he made no sign; and then something happened which drove
him entirely out of Mr Blackford’s mind. This was the receipt of a
letter written by Lucy Wedlake, at the request of her uncle, who
wished to see his solicitor at once on important business. It was
added that Mr Franklin had been seriously ill, but was now much
better, and it was hoped that with care he would soon recover.
Mr Blackford found his client in his bedroom, propped up with
pillows in a chair by the fireside. It was evident at the first glance
that he had received a heavy blow. His face was anxious and
watchful, like that of one who expects from hour to hour the advent
of a dreaded enemy, and fears to be taken unprepared. It was with
little trace of his ordinary rough irritability, and with a tremulous and
feeble voice, that he bade the solicitor sit down, for there was a deal
to talk about. He had had ‘an attack,’ he said; the doctors told him it
was the heart, and he must be very careful. They had to say
something for their money, of course; still, it might be true. We must
all go some time; and his time might be short. He had committed an
injustice, which must be put right at once. His niece had done her
duty by him, and he had broken his promise to her. It was his wish
to make a fresh will at once, leaving her the whole of his property,
according to his original intention.
‘I’ve planned it all in my mind,’ said he. ‘It is to be for her alone,
mind you; her husband shall never touch a penny that I can keep
from him. He’s an impudent upstart. He spoke to me as no man ever
ventured to speak before; and I doubt he’s brought me to my grave,
through being upset the way I was. Take that pen and paper,
Blackford, and set it down just as I tell you. The money is to be
invested, and the income to be paid to my niece Lucy Wedlake as
long as she lives; after her death, the capital is to be divided equally
among the children. If she has no children, it’s all to go to the
Vintners’ Company. That cuts out Thomas Wedlake, doesn’t it?
That’s all right.—Now about yourself. I suppose you consider that
you’re an injured man, don’t you—hey?’
To this question, put with some approach to Uncle Franklin’s usual
manner and tone, Mr Blackford found it difficult, in the then state of
his emotions, to make any reply whatever. He managed to stammer
out, with a ghastly attempt at a smile, that he was aware that he
had no right to expect——
‘No more you had,’ interrupted Mr Franklin; ‘that’s very true; so
there’s little harm done. Though I don’t say but what I’ll do
something for you too. That has happened to me which makes a
man think of things he usen’t to mind. Maybe I’ve no right to
disappoint you altogether, after what I led you to expect. I might
have employed another lawyer to make this will; but I thought you
were entitled to have what business was to be got out of the thing.
And you shan’t say I was unhandsome. Put yourself down for a
thousand pounds.’
Mr Blackford expressed his gratitude as well as he could, which was
not very well; but it was a great deal more than he felt under the
circumstances.
‘You have named no trustees,’ said he, recovering himself a little; ‘it
will be necessary to do so. I myself should be very happy’——
‘No,’ said the old man; ‘I don’t care for lawyers as trustees; they
never seem to run straight. Let me see—put down William Brown, of
the Stock Exchange, and James Harberton, of Leadenhall Street,
merchant. Give them each a hundred pounds for their services. They
won’t refuse to act when they find their names in the will; if they
were to be asked beforehand, they’d say no; so don’t you tell either
of them till I’m gone. And talking of that—don’t let my niece or any
one else hear a word about this. I shall keep the will myself this
time, and you will be the only person to know where it is to be
found. Otherwise, they’ll all be scrabbling after it as soon as the
breath is out of me—perhaps before; and it may be a whim, but I
don’t like the notion. Lucy’s a good sort; but then she is only a
woman, and curious, like the rest of ’em. I shall tell her to send for
you when the right time comes; and then you can lay your hand
upon the will and do what’s needful—which will bring a little more
grist to your mill, to console you. Get the thing ready by to-morrow
at this time, and bring it here with two witnesses, as before. Bring
the old will as well; I wish to destroy it myself.’
‘That is hardly necessary,’ said the solicitor, catching at he knew not
what straw of hope; ‘it will be effectually revoked by the later
document.’
‘Don’t you argue with me; do as I tell you. I say I shall destroy it
with my own hands; then there can’t be any question about it.—
Don’t fail to come to-morrow; I want to get it over. I don’t think
there’s much time to waste. If you were to take me anywhere near a
churchyard and lay me down, I doubt I shouldn’t be in a hurry to get
up again.’
Mr Blackford attempted a politely deprecatory murmur, but was
testily interrupted. ‘Oh, I daresay you won’t be sorry to get your
money. I’m tired talking. Mind you do just as I have told you.—Good-
day.’
It was not until he found himself sitting in his own room, staring
blankly at the opposite wall, that the solicitor realised the full weight
of his misfortune. He had no feeling of anger; the blow, though he
had all along had a lurking presentiment of it, was too cruel and
staggering, now that it had fallen, to arouse any such emotion. He
was bitterly disappointed. A thousand pounds! But a few months
ago, a thousand pounds would have seemed a fortune, and the
windfall would have set him planning innumerable ways of turning it
to the best advantage. But what was it now to him, who had been
deprived of the expectation of a sum which would have rendered all
planning unnecessary, only to be resorted to as a recreation, for the
remainder of his life? Nothing, and worse than nothing—a mere
tantalising taste of the good fortune which ought in justice—so it
really appeared to him—to have been his. And must he now give up
all his hopes? Must he remain for ever a mere plodding man of
business of doubtful reputation—even with a thousand pounds of
capital? Were the delights of unlimited leisure, of freedom from
thought for the morrow, of unstinted gratification of animal
appetites, of worldly consideration, never to be his, after all? He was
fast approaching middle life; the time remaining to him for the
enjoyment of all these things was growing shorter and shorter. To
the purer pleasures of honest labour, to the noble ambition of
building up a modest fortune by dauntless perseverance and
undeviating rectitude, in the hope that some day, with folded hands,
he might fearlessly await the end in the quiet of an old age free from
reproach—to all this he was utterly a stranger; nor would the
prospect, had it been suggested, have at all allured him. His life had
been one of poverty tempered by knaveries too petty to attract
punishment; his dream of success had been one of sudden and
unearned wealth, coming without effort, to be applied only to selfish
gratification. To such men, crime, as crime, presents nothing
repulsive; they abstain from it only so long as it offers no advantage
commensurate with the risk. Given advantage and opportunity, crime
follows with the certainty of a mathematical demonstration. He
would not give way without a struggle. He could not. Something
must be done. But what?
He opened his safe, and took out the will which was to have made
him rich, and by that time to-morrow would be a mere piece of
waste paper. He read it through, dwelling on every word with the
bitterness of one who takes leave of hope for ever. When he came to
the end, he gave a slight start of surprise—the date was blank. It
had been left blank, he remembered, when the document was
signed. He had intended to fill it in on his return to the office, but he
had forgotten to do so. It should have been the 28th of November.
What did it matter now! He threw the will on his desk with a
despairing gesture, and walked up and down, trying to think. His
brain was in a whirl; he could see no loophole of escape from the
impending sacrifice. Then he remembered—and it came to him as an
additional stab—that he had his bread to earn; whatever else he
might do, he must at present carry out his client’s instructions. He
must with his own hands prepare the instrument which was to rob
him—so he put it to himself—of his just expectations.
As he turned to the table, his eye again fell upon the blank space at
the end of the will where the date should have been inserted; and at
that moment, the crime which was to come to his aid stepped up
softly behind him and whispered its first hint into his ear.
It was a revelation. Mr Blackford, as he sat and thought out the
details, though by no means a religious man, almost considered it to
be providential. No shrinking from the cruel wrong he was about to
commit, no sentiment of justice or compassion interfered with his
determination to avail himself of it to its fullest extent. He set to
work at once. His first step was to walk across to the law-stationer
and inform him that the writer who had witnessed a will on a former
occasion would be required for a like service to-morrow. The
testator, he explained, was the same; he was making a fresh will; he
was an eccentric old gentleman, who insisted that the very persons
who had attested the old will should also attest the new one; and he
took the precaution of seeing the writer himself and making sure of
his attendance. As he went back to the office, he warned Jobson
that he, too, would be required for the same purpose.
He got down his books and set to work. He drew the new will with
the greatest care and accuracy, according to the instructions which
he had just received. Everything was vested in the trustees named,
in trust to pay the income to the testator’s dear niece Lucy, the wife
of Thomas Wedlake, for her life, for her separate use, free from the
debts, control, or engagements of her present or any future
husband. After her death, the fund was to be divided amongst her
children as she should direct; in default of children, the whole to be
paid to the Vintners’ Company of London. Nothing was neglected; all
the usual and proper powers and provisos were inserted with careful
attention to detail.
The previous will he had fair-copied with his own hand, instead of
handing it to his clerk or law-stationer. He did the same in this case,
though the document was longer and the transcription involved
considerable labour. His next proceeding, in the eyes of another
lawyer, would have seemed very curious, for lawyers are extremely
particular about the preservation, for future reference, of the draft of
any deed or other document which they prepare; but the draft of
this will Mr Blackford tore to fragments, which he afterwards burned
in the grate. He was taking unusual pains, in fact, to carry out the
testator’s wishes, that no one beside himself and his solicitor should
be aware of the contents of the will.
It was now past his usual lunch-time; and he strolled into the outer
office, and sent his boy to get him a dry biscuit and a glass of
brandy-and-water. Until this arrived, he stood chatting to Jobson on
indifferent subjects; and then intimating to him that he was going to
be extremely busy with private affairs, and must not be disturbed on
any account whatever, he retired with his spare meal. He locked the
door of his room behind him; he was about to enter on an important
part of his operation. He took up the old will—that which was to be
destroyed on the morrow—and examined it carefully as he ate and
drank. It was copied on a piece of the paper known as ‘demy;’ it
occupied the whole of the first page and four lines of the second.
Then followed the long and cumbrous attestation clause, with Mr
Franklin’s straggling and irregular signature against it. Taking a
paper of the same size, shape, and quality, the solicitor made an
exact and laboured copy, or rather fac-simile. It had the same
number of lines, and each line contained the same words as in the
original. One or two unimportant erasures and carelessly formed
letters were faithfully repeated. The signature, ‘Wm. Franklin,’ was
transferred by means of tracing and carbonised paper, and then
gone over and touched up with the pen, until a most successful
imitation was produced. Two small blots, or rather splutters, had
been made by the testator in writing his name. Their positions were
accurately ascertained by measurement, their outlines transferred
with the tracing-paper and then filled in with ink; a final touch of
which Mr Blackford was reasonably proud, as indicating real genius.
The result was a duplicate, which only a very careful scrutiny could
have distinguished from the original of the will which was in his own
favour. This ended his labours for the present.
Next day, Mr Blackford presented himself and his two witnesses
before his client with the new will for signature. The old man, who
was in much the same condition, read it through for himself and
expressed his approval. The usual formalities were gone through,
and the witnesses dismissed.
‘Now,’ said Mr Franklin, ‘have you brought the other will?’
‘I have, as you requested me to do so,’ said the solicitor, producing
it; ‘though, as I said at the time, it was not necessary.’
‘Never mind,’ said his client, taking it from his hand; ‘it’s just as well
out of the way. How do I know what tricks a lawyer might be up to?’
To this speech, in Mr Franklin’s best style, the solicitor made no
reply; he was conscious of being ‘up to tricks’ of a rather elaborate
nature. His client read the revoked will through with the same care
as he had bestowed on that which superseded it. When he came to
the signature, something about it seemed to arrest his attention; he
turned it to the light and inspected it closely. Mr Blackford’s heart
thumped uncomfortably against his ribs.
‘Curious!’ said Mr Franklin slowly; ‘I never knew myself to miss
dotting an i before.’
He continued to pore over the signature, making grumbling
comments, in an undertone, for some seconds, during which Mr
Blackford felt an almost irresistible desire to snatch the document
from him and knock his venerable head against the wall. At last, to
the solicitor’s intense relief, he tore it across and across and threw it
upon the fire, where it was quickly destroyed.
‘That’s done with,’ said Mr Franklin. ‘The next thing is to put this one
away where no one but you and I will know where to find it. I prefer
to keep it here, because then I shall know it’s all safe. As to the last,
it didn’t so much matter; you were the person most interested in its
safety, so it was very well that you should have the custody of it. It’s
different now.—D’ye see that half-dozen of books on the shelf in the
recess? At this end, you’ll find a big old illustrated Prayer-book. Put
the will in there, and remember the page.’
Mr Blackford took down the book, which opened of itself—ominously
enough—at the service for the Burial of the Dead. He did not
mention this circumstance, but put the folded paper in its place and
closed and replaced the volume.
‘That’s well,’ said Mr Franklin in a weary voice. ‘I’m weaker than I
thought; all this has tired me out.—Good-bye, Blackford; shake
hands. You’ll do your part at the proper time; I shall tell ’em to send
for you. Don’t forget—the old Prayer-book at this end of the shelf.’
‘I won’t forget,’ replied the lawyer; ‘but I hope it may be many a
long day yet before I am called on to remember.—Good-bye, sir.’
Uncle Franklin did not reply; he was lying back on his pillows with
closed eyes; and so Mr Blackford left him.
The first steps of his scheme had been well planned, well carried
out, and had met with entire success. He had been obliged, it is
true, to forge a duplicate of the former will; but the forgery had just
been put out of evidence by the testator himself. There was nothing
to bear witness against him on that score. There were now two wills
in existence, both bearing the testator’s genuine signature, both
attested by the same witnesses, and both dated—or shortly to be
dated—on the same day; the only difference between them being
the trifling one, that the will which was between the leaves of the
old Prayer-book was in favour of Lucy Wedlake, while that which
remained in Mr Blackford’s possession constituted him the sole
legatee. The witnesses, having merely signed their names to two
documents of very similar appearance on two different occasions,
would be quite unable to say which they had last attested, for they
knew nothing of the contents of either.
So far, so good. What was to be the next step? That, as Mr Blackford
perceived, was a matter requiring very careful consideration.
 BIG UNDERTAKINGS.

Nothing seems too big for the present age, for we are continually
being startled with something new and something immense, which
has either been just completed, or is about to be carried out, or, at
anyrate, is projected or proposed. Within the last few weeks three
new schemes have been either commenced or suggested in
Switzerland, Greece, and Canada. The first-named scheme in
Switzerland is proposed by an Italian engineer named Agudio, of
Milan, for making a way through the Simplon, which he declares he
can do by a tunnel of only six thousand and fifty metres, the traction
and haulage being done by hydraulic power. He says that by this
means from three to four thousand tons of goods could be safely
transported without any breaking-up or trans-shipment of trains;
while the cost of the whole proceeding would be only twenty-eight
millions of francs.
Number Two project consists of the bold but practical scheme of
draining the Lake of Copaïs, near Thebes, in Bœotia, by which an
area of a hundred square miles will be added to the territory of
Greece. The acquiring of so very large a piece of land, which may be
put to useful purposes, though undoubtedly one of vast importance,
is not the only object intended to be effected by the proposal—the
other being the destruction of one of the greatest fever-producing
places in the country by reason of the pestilential malaria always
arising from the waters of this lake. This alone would be an
unspeakable blessing to the country round, and money should be
readily forthcoming for the carrying out of so beneficial an
undertaking. The rivers now flowing into the lake would be
employed for irrigation and other purposes of practical utility.
Number Three project proposes to connect Prince Edward Island
with the Canadian mainland by means of a submarine railway
tunnel, by which all communication can be kept open with the
inhabitants of the island during the winter, a circumstance at present
almost impossible, from the terribly rigorous nature of the winter
climate of Canada; but Canada is bound legally to do everything that
is possible to keep open a communication with this island at all times
and by all means, for the accommodation and assistance of the
hundred and twenty-five thousand persons who constitute the
present population. The distance of the island is only six miles and a
half, and the bed of the Northumberland Straits, under which the
railway will be carried, presents no very apparent difficulties. The
depth of water is on the island side thirty-six feet; and ten feet six
inches on the New Brunswick side; and about eighty feet in the
middle. The tunnel will be eighteen feet in diameter, and will be
made of ‘chilled white cast-iron,’ in sections, these latter being bolted
together with inside flanges, exactly in the same way in which the
little tunnel for foot-passengers under the Thames, and known as
the ‘Tower Subway,’ was constructed some years ago. The cost of
this undertaking is estimated at about one million sterling. It has
been well considered and highly commended, and will be brought
before the Canadian parliament very speedily, when the scheme will
no doubt be fully sanctioned, as it has many warm supporters in the
Legislative Assembly. Canada will therefore have her ‘submarine
railway’ long before her illustrious ‘mother’ on this side the Atlantic.
 AUTUMN DAYS.

A of beauty meets my eye—

wealth
Yellow and green, and brown and white,
In one vast blaze of glory fill
My happy sight.

The rich-robed trees, the ripening corn,

Bright coloured with September fire—
Fulfilment of the farmer’s hope,
And year’s desire.

Sweet in the air are joyous sounds

Of bird and bee and running brook;
And plenteous fruits hang ripening round,
Where’er I look.

The mellow splendour softly falls

On morning mists and evening dews,
And colours trees and flowers and clouds
With thousand hues.

O dreaming clouds, with silver fringed!

I watch ye gathering side by side,
Like armies, in the solemn skies,
In stately pride.

I love the woods, the changing woods,

Fast deepening down to russet glow,
When Autumn, like a brunette Queen,
Rules all below.
 The soul of Beauty haunts the heavens,
Nor leaves for long the warm-faced Earth,
And like a mother, the kind air
To life gives birth.

But Death rides past upon the gale,

And blows the rustling golden leaves;
They whirl and fall, and rot and die,
And my heart grieves.

Farewell! O Autumn days—farewell!

Ye go; but we shall meet again,
As old friends, who are parted long
By the wild main.

William Cowan.

Printed and Published by W. & R. Chambers, 47 Paternoster Row,

London, and 339 High Street, Edinburgh.

All rights reserved.

FOOTNOTES:
[1] We are indebted for much of the information contained in this
article to an excellent glossary compiled by Mr W. H. Patterson,
M.R.I.A., of Belfast.
 *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHAMBERS'S
JOURNAL OF POPULAR LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART, FIFTH
SERIES, NO. 142, VOL. III, SEPTEMBER 18, 1886 ***

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