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- Джек Лондон
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A
policeman
on
a
street
corner
eyed
him
suspiciously
,
then
noted
his
sailor
roll
.
"
Where
did
you
get
it
?
"
the
policeman
demanded
.
Martin
Eden
came
back
to
earth
.
His
was
a
fluid
organism
,
swiftly
adjustable
,
capable
of
flowing
into
and
filling
all
sorts
of
nooks
and
crannies
.
With
the
policeman
’
s
hail
he
was
immediately
his
ordinary
self
,
grasping
the
situation
clearly
.
"
It
’
s
a
beaut
,
ain
’
t
it
?
"
he
laughed
back
.
"
I
didn
’
t
know
I
was
talkin
’
out
loud
.
"
"
You
’
ll
be
singing
next
,
"
was
the
policeman
’
s
diagnosis
.
"
No
,
I
won
’
t
.
Gimme
a
match
an
’
I
’
ll
catch
the
next
car
home
.
"
He
lighted
his
cigarette
,
said
good
night
,
and
went
on
.
"
Now
wouldn
’
t
that
rattle
you
?
"
he
ejaculated
under
his
breath
.
"
That
copper
thought
I
was
drunk
.
"
He
smiled
to
himself
and
meditated
.
"
I
guess
I
was
,
"
he
added
;
"
but
I
didn
’
t
think
a
woman
’
s
face
’
d
do
it
.
"
He
caught
a
Telegraph
Avenue
car
that
was
going
to
Berkeley
.
It
was
crowded
with
youths
and
young
men
who
were
singing
songs
and
ever
and
again
barking
out
college
yells
.
He
studied
them
curiously
.
They
were
university
boys
.
They
went
to
the
same
university
that
she
did
,
were
in
her
class
socially
,
could
know
her
,
could
see
her
every
day
if
they
wanted
to
.
He
wondered
that
they
did
not
want
to
,
that
they
had
been
out
having
a
good
time
instead
of
being
with
her
that
evening
,
talking
with
her
,
sitting
around
her
in
a
worshipful
and
adoring
circle
.
His
thoughts
wandered
on
.
He
noticed
one
with
narrow
-
slitted
eyes
and
a
loose
-
lipped
mouth
.
That
fellow
was
vicious
,
he
decided
.
On
shipboard
he
would
be
a
sneak
,
a
whiner
,
a
tattler
.
He
,
Martin
Eden
,
was
a
better
man
than
that
fellow
.
The
thought
cheered
him
.
It
seemed
to
draw
him
nearer
to
Her
.
He
began
comparing
himself
with
the
students
.
He
grew
conscious
of
the
muscled
mechanism
of
his
body
and
felt
confident
that
he
was
physically
their
master
.
But
their
heads
were
filled
with
knowledge
that
enabled
them
to
talk
her
talk
,
—
the
thought
depressed
him
.
But
what
was
a
brain
for
?
he
demanded
passionately
.
What
they
had
done
,
he
could
do
.
They
had
been
studying
about
life
from
the
books
while
he
had
been
busy
living
life
.
His
brain
was
just
as
full
of
knowledge
as
theirs
,
though
it
was
a
different
kind
of
knowledge
.
How
many
of
them
could
tie
a
lanyard
knot
,
or
take
a
wheel
or
a
lookout
?
His
life
spread
out
before
him
in
a
series
of
pictures
of
danger
and
daring
,
hardship
and
toil
.
He
remembered
his
failures
and
scrapes
in
the
process
of
learning
.
He
was
that
much
to
the
good
,
anyway
.
Later
on
they
would
have
to
begin
living
life
and
going
through
the
mill
as
he
had
gone
.
Very
well
.
While
they
were
busy
with
that
,
he
could
be
learning
the
other
side
of
life
from
the
books
.
As
the
car
crossed
the
zone
of
scattered
dwellings
that
separated
Oakland
from
Berkeley
,
he
kept
a
lookout
for
a
familiar
,
two
-
story
building
along
the
front
of
which
ran
the
proud
sign
,
HIGGINBOTHAM
’
S
CASH
STORE
.
Martin
Eden
got
off
at
this
corner
.
He
stared
up
for
a
moment
at
the
sign
.
It
carried
a
message
to
him
beyond
its
mere
wording
.
A
personality
of
smallness
and
egotism
and
petty
underhandedness
seemed
to
emanate
from
the
letters
themselves
.
Bernard
Higginbotham
had
married
his
sister
,
and
he
knew
him
well
.
He
let
himself
in
with
a
latch
-
key
and
climbed
the
stairs
to
the
second
floor
.
Here
lived
his
brother
-
in
-
law
.
The
grocery
was
below
.
There
was
a
smell
of
stale
vegetables
in
the
air
.
As
he
groped
his
way
across
the
hall
he
stumbled
over
a
toy
-
cart
,
left
there
by
one
of
his
numerous
nephews
and
nieces
,
and
brought
up
against
a
door
with
a
resounding
bang
.
"
The
pincher
,
"
was
his
thought
;
"
too
miserly
to
burn
two
cents
’
worth
of
gas
and
save
his
boarders
’
necks
.
"
He
fumbled
for
the
knob
and
entered
a
lighted
room
,
where
sat
his
sister
and
Bernard
Higginbotham
.
She
was
patching
a
pair
of
his
trousers
,
while
his
lean
body
was
distributed
over
two
chairs
,
his
feet
dangling
in
dilapidated
carpet
-
slippers
over
the
edge
of
the
second
chair
.
He
glanced
across
the
top
of
the
paper
he
was
reading
,
showing
a
pair
of
dark
,
insincere
,
sharp
-
staring
eyes
.
Martin
Eden
never
looked
at
him
without
experiencing
a
sense
of
repulsion
.
What
his
sister
had
seen
in
the
man
was
beyond
him
.
The
other
affected
him
as
so
much
vermin
,
and
always
aroused
in
him
an
impulse
to
crush
him
under
his
foot
.
"
Some
day
I
’
ll
beat
the
face
off
of
him
,
"
was
the
way
he
often
consoled
himself
for
enduring
the
man
’
s
existence
.
The
eyes
,
weasel
-
like
and
cruel
,
were
looking
at
him
complainingly
.
"
Well
,
"
Martin
demanded
.
"
Out
with
it
.
"
