Мартин Иден / Martin Eden

He saw himself, stripped to the waist, with naked fists, fighting his great fight with Liverpool Red in the forecastle of the Susquehanna; and he saw the bloody deck of the John Rogers, that gray morning of attempted mutiny, the mate kicking in death-throes on the main-hatch, the revolver in the old man’s hand spitting fire and smoke, the men with passion-wrenched faces, of brutes screaming vile blasphemies and falling about him-and then he returned to the central scene, calm and clean in the steadfast light, where Ruth sat and talked with him amid books and paintings; and he saw the grand piano upon which she would later play to him; and he heard the echoes of his own selected and correct words, “But then, may I not be peculiarly constituted to write?”

“But no matter how peculiarly constituted a man may be for blacksmithing,” she was laughing, “I never heard of one becoming a blacksmith without first serving his apprenticeship.

“What would you advise?” he asked.

“You must get a thorough education,” was the answer, “whether or not you ultimately become a writer. This education is indispensable for whatever career you select, and it must not be slipshod or sketchy. You should go to high school.”

“Yes– “ he began; but she interrupted with an afterthought:

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

“I would have to,” he said grimly.

“Why?” She looked at him, prettily puzzled, for she did not quite like the persistence with which he clung to his notion.

“Because, without writing there wouldn’t be any high school. I must live and buy books and clothes, you know.”

“I’d forgotten that,” she laughed. “Why weren’t you born with an income?”

“I’d rather have good health and imagination,” he answered. “I can make good on the income, but the other things have to be made good for-” He almost said “you,” then amended his sentence to, “have to be made good for one.

“Don’t say �make good,’” she cried, sweetly petulant. “It’s slang, and it’s horrid.”

He flushed, and stammered, “That’s right, and I only wish you’d correct me every time.”

“I– I’d like to,” she said haltingly. “You have so much in you that is good that I want to see you perfect.