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- Джек Лондон
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Martin
began
,
that
morning
,
a
story
which
he
had
sketched
out
a
number
of
weeks
before
and
which
ever
since
had
been
worrying
him
with
its
insistent
clamor
to
be
created
.
Apparently
it
was
to
be
a
rattling
sea
story
,
a
tale
of
twentieth
-
century
adventure
and
romance
,
handling
real
characters
,
in
a
real
world
,
under
real
conditions
.
But
beneath
the
swing
and
go
of
the
story
was
to
be
something
else
—
something
that
the
superficial
reader
would
never
discern
and
which
,
on
the
other
hand
,
would
not
diminish
in
any
way
the
interest
and
enjoyment
for
such
a
reader
.
It
was
this
,
and
not
the
mere
story
,
that
impelled
Martin
to
write
it
.
For
that
matter
,
it
was
always
the
great
,
universal
motif
that
suggested
plots
to
him
.
After
having
found
such
a
motif
,
he
cast
about
for
the
particular
persons
and
particular
location
in
time
and
space
wherewith
and
wherein
to
utter
the
universal
thing
.
"
Overdue
"
was
the
title
he
had
decided
for
it
,
and
its
length
he
believed
would
not
be
more
than
sixty
thousand
words
—
a
bagatelle
for
him
with
his
splendid
vigor
of
production
.
On
this
first
day
he
took
hold
of
it
with
conscious
delight
in
the
mastery
of
his
tools
.
He
no
longer
worried
for
fear
that
the
sharp
,
cutting
edges
should
slip
and
mar
his
work
.
The
long
months
of
intense
application
and
study
had
brought
their
reward
.
He
could
now
devote
himself
with
sure
hand
to
the
larger
phases
of
the
thing
he
shaped
;
and
as
he
worked
,
hour
after
hour
,
he
felt
,
as
never
before
,
the
sure
and
cosmic
grasp
with
which
he
held
life
and
the
affairs
of
life
.
"
Overdue
"
would
tell
a
story
that
would
be
true
of
its
particular
characters
and
its
particular
events
;
but
it
would
tell
,
too
,
he
was
confident
,
great
vital
things
that
would
be
true
of
all
time
,
and
all
sea
,
and
all
life
—
thanks
to
Herbert
Spencer
,
he
thought
,
leaning
back
for
a
moment
from
the
table
.
Ay
,
thanks
to
Herbert
Spencer
and
to
the
master
-
key
of
life
,
evolution
,
which
Spencer
had
placed
in
his
hands
.
He
was
conscious
that
it
was
great
stuff
he
was
writing
.
"
It
will
go
!
It
will
go
!
"
was
the
refrain
that
kept
,
sounding
in
his
ears
.
Of
course
it
would
go
.
At
last
he
was
turning
out
the
thing
at
which
the
magazines
would
jump
.
The
whole
story
worked
out
before
him
in
lightning
flashes
.
He
broke
off
from
it
long
enough
to
write
a
paragraph
in
his
note
-
book
.
This
would
be
the
last
paragraph
in
"
Overdue
"
;
but
so
thoroughly
was
the
whole
book
already
composed
in
his
brain
that
he
could
write
,
weeks
before
he
had
arrived
at
the
end
,
the
end
itself
.
He
compared
the
tale
,
as
yet
unwritten
,
with
the
tales
of
the
sea
-
writers
,
and
he
felt
it
to
be
immeasurably
superior
.
"
There
’
s
only
one
man
who
could
touch
it
,
"
he
murmured
aloud
,
"
and
that
’
s
Conrad
.
And
it
ought
to
make
even
him
sit
up
and
shake
hands
with
me
,
and
say
,
‘
Well
done
,
Martin
,
my
boy
.
’
"
He
toiled
on
all
day
,
recollecting
,
at
the
last
moment
,
that
he
was
to
have
dinner
at
the
Morses
’
.
Thanks
to
Brissenden
,
his
black
suit
was
out
of
pawn
and
he
was
again
eligible
for
dinner
parties
.
Down
town
he
stopped
off
long
enough
to
run
into
the
library
and
search
for
Saleeby
’
s
books
.
He
drew
out
"
The
Cycle
of
Life
,
"
and
on
the
car
turned
to
the
essay
Norton
had
mentioned
on
Spencer
.
As
Martin
read
,
he
grew
angry
.
His
face
flushed
,
his
jaw
set
,
and
unconsciously
his
hand
clenched
,
unclenched
,
and
clenched
again
as
if
he
were
taking
fresh
grips
upon
some
hateful
thing
out
of
which
he
was
squeezing
the
life
.
When
he
left
the
car
,
he
strode
along
the
sidewalk
as
a
wrathful
man
will
stride
,
and
he
rang
the
Morse
bell
with
such
viciousness
that
it
roused
him
to
consciousness
of
his
condition
,
so
that
he
entered
in
good
nature
,
smiling
with
amusement
at
himself
.
No
sooner
,
however
,
was
he
inside
than
a
great
depression
descended
upon
him
.
He
fell
from
the
height
where
he
had
been
up
-
borne
all
day
on
the
wings
of
inspiration
.
"
Bourgeois
,
"
"
trader
’
s
den
"
—
Brissenden
’
s
epithets
repeated
themselves
in
his
mind
.
But
what
of
that
?
he
demanded
angrily
.
He
was
marrying
Ruth
,
not
her
family
.
It
seemed
to
him
that
he
had
never
seen
Ruth
more
beautiful
,
more
spiritual
and
ethereal
and
at
the
same
time
more
healthy
.
There
was
color
in
her
cheeks
,
and
her
eyes
drew
him
again
and
again
—
the
eyes
in
which
he
had
first
read
immortality
.
He
had
forgotten
immortality
of
late
,
and
the
trend
of
his
scientific
reading
had
been
away
from
it
;
but
here
,
in
Ruth
’
s
eyes
,
he
read
an
argument
without
words
that
transcended
all
worded
arguments
.
He
saw
that
in
her
eyes
before
which
all
discussion
fled
away
,
for
he
saw
love
there
.
And
in
his
own
eyes
was
love
;
and
love
was
unanswerable
.
Such
was
his
passionate
doctrine
.
The
half
hour
he
had
with
her
,
before
they
went
in
to
dinner
,
left
him
supremely
happy
and
supremely
satisfied
with
life
.
Nevertheless
,
at
table
,
the
inevitable
reaction
and
exhaustion
consequent
upon
the
hard
day
seized
hold
of
him
.
He
was
aware
that
his
eyes
were
tired
and
that
he
was
irritable
.
He
remembered
it
was
at
this
table
,
at
which
he
now
sneered
and
was
so
often
bored
,
that
he
had
first
eaten
with
civilized
beings
in
what
he
had
imagined
was
an
atmosphere
of
high
culture
and
refinement
.
He
caught
a
glimpse
of
that
pathetic
figure
of
him
,
so
long
ago
,
a
self
-
conscious
savage
,
sprouting
sweat
at
every
pore
in
an
agony
of
apprehension
,
puzzled
by
the
bewildering
minutiae
of
eating
-
implements
,
tortured
by
the
ogre
of
a
servant
,
striving
at
a
leap
to
live
at
such
dizzy
social
altitude
,
and
deciding
in
the
end
to
be
frankly
himself
,
pretending
no
knowledge
and
no
polish
he
did
not
possess
.
He
glanced
at
Ruth
for
reassurance
,
much
in
the
same
manner
that
a
passenger
,
with
sudden
panic
thought
of
possible
shipwreck
,
will
strive
to
locate
the
life
preservers
.
Well
,
that
much
had
come
out
of
it
—
love
and
Ruth
.
All
the
rest
had
failed
to
stand
the
test
of
the
books
.
But
Ruth
and
love
had
stood
the
test
;
for
them
he
found
a
biological
sanction
.
Love
was
the
most
exalted
expression
of
life
.
Nature
had
been
busy
designing
him
,
as
she
had
been
busy
with
all
normal
men
,
for
the
purpose
of
loving
.
She
had
spent
ten
thousand
centuries
—
ay
,
a
hundred
thousand
and
a
million
centuries
—
upon
the
task
,
and
he
was
the
best
she
could
do
.
She
had
made
love
the
strongest
thing
in
him
,
increased
its
power
a
myriad
per
cent
with
her
gift
of
imagination
,
and
sent
him
forth
into
the
ephemera
to
thrill
and
melt
and
mate
.
His
hand
sought
Ruth
’
s
hand
beside
him
hidden
by
the
table
,
and
a
warm
pressure
was
given
and
received
.
She
looked
at
him
a
swift
instant
,
and
her
eyes
were
radiant
and
melting
.
So
were
his
in
the
thrill
that
pervaded
him
;
nor
did
he
realize
how
much
that
was
radiant
and
melting
in
her
eyes
had
been
aroused
by
what
she
had
seen
in
his
.
