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