Мартин Иден / Martin Eden. Джек Лондон

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think of him now!” she cried enthusiastically. “Think of what his income affords him.”

      Martin looked at her sharply.

      “There’s one thing I’ll tell you,” he said, “Mr. Butler has had no joy for years, hasn’t he? I think his stomach is not very good now. I’ll bet[48] he’s got dyspepsia right now!”

      “Yes, he has,” she confessed; “but – ”

      “And I bet,” Martin continued, “that he isn’t joyful when others have a good time. Am I right?”

      She nodded her head in agreement, and hastened to explain:

      “But he is not that type of man. By nature he is sober and serious. He always was that.”

      “Three dollars a week,” Martin proclaimed. “And four dollars a week, and a young boy cooking for himself and saving money, working all day and studying all night, just working and never playing, never having a good time, and never learning how to have a good time – of course his thirty thousand came along too late.[49]”

      “Do you know,” he added, “I feel sorry for Mr. Butler. He was too young to know better, but he robbed himself of life for the sake of thirty thousand a year. Thirty thousand, a great sum, can’t buy for him right now what ten cents could when he was a kid.”

      Such points of view were new to Ruth, and contrary to her own beliefs. But she was twenty-four, conservative by nature, and already crystallized into the cranny of life where she had been born and formed. It was true, his bizarre judgments troubled her, but she ascribed them to his novelty of type and strangeness of living, and they were soon forgotten. Nevertheless, Marin’s strength, and the flashing of eyes and earnestness of face thrilled her and drew her toward him.

      “But I have not finished my story,” she said. “He worked, so father says, as no other office boy he ever had. Mr. Butler was always eager to work. He never was late, and he was usually at the office a few minutes before his regular time. And yet he saved his time. Every spare moment was devoted to study. He quickly became a clerk, and he made himself invaluable. Father appreciated him, and he went to law college. He became a lawyer. He is a great man.”

      “Yes, he is a great man,” Martin said sincerely.

      But it seemed to him that thirty thousand a year was all right, but dyspepsia and inability to be humanly happy robbed the value of this great income.

      Chapter 9

      Martin Eden’s store of money exhausted, and he went to the sea. He has worked as a sailor for eight months. He earned enough money to stay on land for many weeks, and he did a great deal of studying and reading.[50]

      He mastered the grammar and noticed the bad grammar used by his shipmates. He took the dictionary and started to add twenty words a day to his vocabulary. He found that this was not an easy task. He repeated new words in order to accustom his tongue to the language spoken by Ruth.

      The captain possessed of a complete Shakespeare, which he never read, and Martin had washed his clothes for him and received the permission to read the precious volumes.

      He was touched by the exquisite beauty of the world, and wished that Ruth were there to share it with him. He decided that he would describe to her the South Sea beauty. But soon he understood that he would describe the beauty of the ocean for a wider audience than Ruth. And then came the great idea. He will write! He will write – everything – poetry and prose, fiction and description, and plays like Shakespeare. It is the way to win Ruth. The men of literature were the world’s giants, greater than Mr. Butlers.

      To write! This thought was fire in him.

      So he entered his old room at Bernard Higginbotham’s and set to work. He did not tell Ruth that he was back. He did not know how long an article he would write, but he counted the words in a article in the SAN FRANCISCO EXAMINER.[51] His writing lasted for three days. Also, he learned that first-class papers paid a minimum of ten dollars a column. So one hundred dollars! and he decided that that was better than seafaring.[52]

      He mailed the manuscript in a big envelope, and addressed it to the editor of the SAN FRANCISCO EXAMINER. He had an idea that everything sent to a newspaper was published immediately. Then he decided to write an adventure story for boys and sell it to THE YOUTH’S COMPANION.[53]

      He wanted to write about the things he knew. It was easy work, he decided on Saturday evening. He had completed on that day the first instalment of three thousand words.

* * *

      After breakfast he went on with his story. He often read or re-read a chapter. This was his programme for a week. Each day he did three thousand words, and each evening he studies stories, articles, and poems that editors saw fit to publish.[54] One thing was certain: What these writers did he could do, and only give him time and he would do what they could not do. He was glad to read in BOOK NEWS[55] that Rudyard Kipling[56] received a dollar per word, and that the minimum rate paid by first-class magazines was two cents a word. THE YOUTH’S COMPANION was certainly first class, and at that rate the three thousand words he had written that day would bring him sixty dollars – two months’ wages on the sea![57]

      On Friday night he finished the story, twenty-one thousand words long. At two cents a word, he calculated, that would bring him four hundred and twenty dollars. Not a bad week’s work. It was more money than he had ever possessed at one time.[58] He did not know how he could spend it all. He planned to buy some more clothes, to subscribe to many magazines, and to buy many useful books. And still there was a large portion of the four hundred and twenty dollars unspent. Finally, he decided to hire a servant for Gertrude and to buy a bicycle for Marion.[59]

      He mailed the big manuscript to THE YOUTH’S COMPANION, and on Saturday afternoon he went to see Ruth. He had telephoned, and she went herself to greet him at the door. He flushed warmly as he took her hand and looked into her blue eyes. She noted his clothes. They really fitted him, – it was his first made-to-order suit.[60] Ruth did not remember when she had felt so happy. This change in him was her handiwork, and she was proud of it.

      But the most radical change of all, and the one that pleased her most, was the change in his speech. Not only did he speak more correctly, but he spoke more easily, and there were many new words in his vocabulary. He displayed a lightness and facetiousness of thought that delighted her.

      He told her of what he had been doing, and of his plan to write for a livelihood and to go on with his studies. But she did not think much of his plan.

      “You see,” she said frankly, “writing must be a trade, like anything else. You can’t become a blacksmith without spending three – or five! – years at learning the trade.”

      “What would you advise?” he asked. “And don’t forget that I feel in me this capacity to write – I can’t explain it; I just know that it is in me.”

      “You must get a good education,” was the answer, “You must go to high school.”

      “Yes – ” he began; but she interrupted:

      “Of course, you can go on with your writing, too.”

      “I will,” he said grimly.

      “Why?” She looked at him, prettily puzzled.

      “Because I must live and buy books and clothes, you know.”

      “I forgot that,” she laughed. “Why weren’t you

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