We walked across the campus with him to the Museum, still
chatting. Norton was a tall, spare man, wiry, precisely the type
one would pick to make an explorer in a tropical climate. His
features were sharp, suggesting a clear and penetrating mind and a
disposition to make the most of everything, no matter how slight.
Indeed that had been his history, I knew. He had come to college a
couple of years before Kennedy and myself, almost penniless, and
had worked his way through by doing everything from waiting on
table to tutoring. To-day he stood forth as a shining example of
self-made intellectual man, as cultured as if he had sprung from a
race of scholars, as practical as if he had taken to mills rather
than museums.
We entered a handsome white-marble building in the shape of a
rectangle, facing the University Library, a building, by the way,
which Norton had persuaded several wealthy trustees and other
donors to erect. Kennedy at once began examining the section
devoted to Latin America, going over everything very carefully.
I looked about, too. There were treasures from Mexico and Peru,
from every romantic bit of the wonderful countries south of us--
blocks of porphyry with quaint grecques and hieroglyphic painting
from Mitla, copper axes and pottery from Cuzco, sculptured stones
and mosaics, jugs, cups, vases, little gods and great, sacrificial
stones, a treasure house of Aztec and Inca lore--enough to keep
one occupied for hours merely to look at.
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